Jace

Jace.
J-Bird, Boisenberry, Mandukin, The Manchild.
My little brother, whatever name he goes by.
What can I tell you all about Jace?
He's the only 11-year-old I know that aspires to be an archaeologist and an architect. The only one that dreams of seeing all of the world's tallest and most amazing architectural feats. The only one who asked for all the architecture Lego sets for Christmas (which are labeled 16+).
He's a boy, through and through. Loves fishing, being outside in the woods, not taking showers, and roughing it up with his friends. He loves playing on the floor with his little brother, discussing the finer details of film scores with his big sister, working puzzles and Rubik's cubes with his mom, and wrestling with his dad. Although he does not enjoy mowing the lawn or taking out the recycling, he does it anyway with minimal complaints.
He still forgets to put on deodorant sometimes, and often sweats so much I wonder why he bothers to shower. He sometimes flies a remote-control bug into my head just to freak me out. He still has the weakest tolerance of pain I've ever seen in my life (a stubbed toe gets the reaction of a broken arm).
But, he also has the best belly laugh in the world. He has a heart of gold. He dances like a madman. He has no understanding of evil.
Jace is my brother - the best of the best, at that. He's sometimes loud and always smelly, but I couldn't imagine life without him. He's always there for me, always willing to listen to a new film score, or take my mind off things with a quick basketball game. And I try to be there for him - help him figure out a song on the piano, help him practice recorder, or have a swordfight on the Wii.
Jace is my brother - and I couldn't live without him.