Some people think my husband died in a tragic drowning when he was a mere thirty something, after taking the world by storm with his avant-garde music. But that, in fact, was a different Jeff Buckley, and ironically he died on the above Jeff Buckley's ninth wedding anniversary.
My Jeff Buckley has been married to me for eighteen years, and has read many a manuscript while I watched him from across the room, hoping for praise. The most coveted mark he can make on my page is the smiley face, which he only bestows upon things that make him laugh out loud. Sometimes he'll return a piece of writing to me and I'll say, after a quick perusal, "This page should have had at least one smiley." He shakes his head. The smileys are not given randomly.
Jeff is a good father and a nice man, and if he were more ambitious I'm sure he could have published books himself, especially a compilation of the stories he tells our children, which are outrageous, outlandish, and hilarious. I'll have to start recording them on his behalf.
But in the meantime, I wanted to sing the praises of a lesser known Jeff Buckley, especially as Father's Day approaches, because he's doing a wonderful job.