Some years ago my father had a temporary obsession with death. He read every book he could find on mummification, other embalming procedures, religious/philosophical and scientific theories on the end of human life, and pretty much any other non-fiction work about dead people. Then one Day he found an article in the Dallas Morning News about the National Museum of Funeral History in Houston.
At this point, my mother, brother, and I knew our fate. Sure enough, two months later, Dad drug us two hundred miles to Houston for a "family vacation". He made us some lame excuse about wanting to go to Astroworld, but we knew the truth. The trip was entirely motivated by his desire to visit the death mu...Read More