My Father Came Back My father came back from the grave. He broke his silence with an unknowing look. He said, “Son, you’re old and bald and fat.” “Thanks, Dad! You’re not at your best. Those eighteen years under the hill have not treated you kindly,” was all I said. He did not take umbrage. There was no fight in him. He had become the kind of spook I could poke right through, like a hole in my hat. “To have become like you, is that so bad?” With no comfort to offer, without a sound, he withdrew from the…