I arrived  to the hospital parking lot to visit my dad, who suffers from Lewy Body Dementia. He had just had his 6th hip operation, not from being too heavy or lazy his whole life but because he is very tall,  played racquet sports with a passion and has osteoarthritis.  Life never promises to play fair, but the frequent cutting open of this good man was becoming ridiculous.  I found a good spot but parked, with  emotion as my guide, on a slight angle.  I returned to my car, disoriented by that confusing feeling   where you feel like a kid but you have just been a parent to your parent. There was a note on my windshield screaming at me in upper case. “This is a fucking horrible parking job. I have your license plate number  if you scratch my car.” His Range Rover winked arrogantly at my minivan. I left him a note of reply, in lower case, ” I’ll forgive your self  importance if you forgive my distraction. Your car will be fine.  My father,  however,  is still in the hospital.”