I first heard this story when I was in college. I had come home for winter break, and I remember it was just me and my dad in the house. I was watching some kind of ghost hunters program on TV, just for laughs. I don't really believe in that stuff. When you watch those supernatural programs on TV, it's obviously fake. It's too hard for me to let go of my preconceptions, watch, and try to accept the craziness going on.
My dad was the same way; so I thought. He didn't seem interested in the paranormal or anything. He was the kind of guy who would scoff at anything "supernatural". The program I was watching flipped to a commercial, and I casually got up and found my dad in the kitchen. Sort of out of the blue, I asked him, "Hey, Dad. do you believe in ghosts?" "Yup." His reply was so casual it shocked me. "Really?" I asked, a bit taken aback. "Like, it just doesn't really seem like you." He shrugged his shoulders and mulled over what I had just said.
"Yeah," he replied eventually, "But I know ghosts are real. I've met one.".
Upon hearing this statement I had to know the story. You see, my dad is like me, he likes to tell stories. I could retell most of his stories from memory, just because he would tell them so frequently, to anyone who would listen.yet here was a story I had never heard, of an event that changed my dad's life. To this day, I don't know if I believe it or not, but when someone who is so influential in your life, someone who seems so logical and so down to Earth, tells you something like this, it calls into question what you believe, and why. Though he never brings it up, when I talk to him about it, he swears it's completely true, no exaggeration and no doubt in his mind about what happened. .
Here it is, told from his point of view: It was back in the house in Tacoma, where you grew up until you were about 4. My parents still lived in the house, but I was going to college. I was back visiting them for a weekend.