A stroke and the beginning of Parkinson’s disease had left my father a small fraction of the man he had once been. After church on a rather nice Sunday morning, I casually asked Dad, “How about if we go to the White Pine steam show at McGrath this afternoon? I’ll come pick you up about 1 o’clock or so.” Mother looked at Dad and said, “He can’t go.” Dad and I let that lay; Dad said, “I’ll call.” I said, “You do that.” My wife and I arrived home. The phone rang; it was Dad saying, “I am going.”

Arriving at the White Pine show, we parked as directed at least a qua...