I was probably 16 or 17 when we realized that my Grandmother had issues. She had hit another defenseless parking meter. It was just standing there minding its own business when boom, out of nowhere it was knocked down for the count. Now this was the age of the classic boats, you know, the Oldsmobile all steel, double reinforced, who cares how heavy it was, car that could absorb almost any impact. Her car merely showed a few scratches on the fender but it was the first real sign of her Parkinson’s disease that I can recall. She would go on to fight it for many years before finally succumbing a few years after I got married.