He was loud. He was restless. He had one boot and no solid plan. He got into more than he was supposed to, fished further than he was allowed, and loved every muddy minute. He was country and wild and completely himself, and for most of our childhood, he drove me absolutely crazy.
His name was Jeffrey. He was my cousin, younger than me by a month (though he'd argue it was only 28 days). We grew up in the same schools, the same church, the same muddy creek at our grandparents' house. He was the trouble. I was the conscience. He didn't want to be kept, and I didn't want to keep him, but neither of us could shake our roles.
Jeffrey had asthma his whole life. In his early twenties, it won. But a few years before that, something happened: he fell in love. He became a father. He became soft and thoughtful and everything we always knew he was. His daughter was seven months old when we lost him. He was 24.
Ten years before that, we lost our grandpa. He was the quiet, steady presence at the creek. He had a way with Jeffrey that nobody else did. This book holds them both exactly where they belong, at the creek, with all of us.
This book is for Jeffrey's daughter, so she grows up knowing exactly who her daddy was: orange hat, big mouth, and more joy than he knew what to do with.
It's for our whole family, so we can remember two of the best people the creek ever knew.
It's for every wild little kid who can't sit still or stay quiet, and for the people who'd follow them anywhere.
Cousin Jeffrey is written by Dani and Jeffrey.
Jeffrey supplies the chaos.
I'm still trying to keep him.
Welcome to the creek ;)
