My father was a high school graduate, never went to college, but he believed he knew everything. He was a chain smoker, and I would tell him that I was allergic to nicotine. He said, "You're a f---ing liar! Nobody is allergic to nicotine!" He believed he was right. Since he never "read" that some people were allergic to nicotine, he assumed nobody was; because he never read about it, nor did he hear about it on television. Of course, we now know that, yes, some people are allergic to nicotine. Some people are allergic to milk. Some people are allergic to plastic, etc. But, again, my father believed he KNEW all the mysteries of the cosmos. If he hadn't read about it by the time he was forty, it was because it didn't exist.
He did NOT believe in ghosts, nor prophetic dreams, etc. He believed we reincarnated. The moment we died, we were born a baby somewhere. Thus, there were no ghosts, because, at the moment of death, we were born some place else.
Now, my father drove lettuce trucks in the late 1940s from Salinas, California, to the markets of San Francisco. This was before most people have refrigerators, so everybody bought their veggies fresh that day, to be used that day. So, he would help harvest the lettuce, and then drive the truck to the markets of San Francisco, where the lettuce was then distributed to the markets around San Francisco Bay. No, he was not Mexican. He got out of the Army at Fort Ord, which is not far from Salinas, and took the first job he could find.
Anyway, he told me, one night as he drove up to San Francisco with the lettuce, he looked over, and an old man with a long grey beard was in the passenger seat. This startled him, but he asked "How the Hell did you get in my truck?" The old man said, "Oh, I just needed a ride, that's all." They chatted for awhile, and my Dad looked over again, and the old man was gone. No, my Dad did not believe that was a ghost (since ghosts did not exist), but my Dad thought it was simply a "hallucination" since he had not slept in three days (which was common during lettuce harvest season).
Anyway, when my Dad turned 80, I became his caregiver, because he could not longer drive. Because he was still a chain smoker, and I will still allergic to nicotine (he finally admitted by then...yes...I was actually allergic) we did not get an apartment. Rather, we opted to get two motel rooms, next to each other. It was more expensive than one two bedroom apartment, but, again, he was a chain smoker, and smoked filterless Pall Mall cigarettes (the red pack), which were the most obnoxious cigarettes on the market (IMHO). All day. All night. Every waking moment of every day and night, he smoked. As soon as one was done, he'd light up another.
Anyway, we had two rooms next to each other, and the walls were as thin as rice paper. I could hear his tv, and he could hear mine, so I often had to shout "Can you turn your tv down a little please?" We could carry on conversations through the wall. This wasn't the Ritz or the Waldorf Astoria. It was a cheap motel on motel row in Portland Oregon. Not quite a "crack" motel, but not far from it.
Anyway, the lights started going on and off, flickering all the time. Then the tv (both of ours) started flickering. I'd come home, and the sink in the bathroom would be on: day after day. We asked the manager to send somebody to fix the "electrical problem". He never did.
Finally, after about a week, my Dad said through the wall "Is your TV going off and on by itself again?" I said: "Yes". Then, I said: "SPIRIT....LISTEN....STOP IT NOW!" and everything went quiet, for a few minutes, and then it would start up again. I would say: "Spirit...STOP IT!" and everything would go quiet. My Dad said, "What are you doing?" I said: "I'm coming over there" so I got up, and went next door, and went inside his room.
The lights and his tv were flickering on and off. I said to my Dad: "Watch". I then said: "Spirit, listen to me, when I count to three, turn off the TV...one...two...three!" When I got to "3" I pointed at the TV, which had been flickering wildly. At "3" the TV turned off, and the lights stopped flickering. My Dad said, "F_K, FK" (his favorite word). I then said, "Spirit, when I count to three, turn on the TV again, and flicker the lights again....one....two...THREE!"
As before when I got to "3" the TV turned itself on, and the lights started to flicker again. My Dad laid down on his bed saying, "FK.....FK!" while he shook his head and started laughing. I did that several more times, and I asked my Dad: "So, Dad, do ghosts exist?" And he said: "FK....F_K!" That was his way of saying, "Ok, you proved me wrong!"
We moved out a few days later, because the flickering of the lights and TV continued. I would say to the spirit "STOP" and it would cease for a minute or two, but then continue. Today, the motel has been turned into some sort of temporary housing for families in need. My Dad never doubted my ghost stories again.
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