My Father Is Where I Come From
My father was walking through a door, a woman he did not know was walking through this same door in another direction, they had a moment of awkward and were polite about it. He noticed she was holding an obituary section of the newspaper, so jokingly he asks with cleverness of her obvious alive, “The obituary, you are not in it are you?” She looks at him and says, “No, but my friend is.” Then she started crying.
My father is where I come from.
