I’ll be 73 soon, and one memory of my father still follows me like a shadow. He was a man of few words—autistic, precise—speaking only when he chose to. And when he spoke to me, it was never about school, chores, or the weather.
It was always about one thing: ETs and UFOs 🛸.
No explanations, no details, just enough to make me wonder if he knew more than he could say… or more than he dared.
That was our connection, our quiet pact beneath the sky.
And that’s how I remember him.
My Near Death Experience Arts and Thoughts 