Others said those accomplishments didn't excuse questionable contracts and deliberate property damage.
A few argued that homeowners shouldn't be allowed to disregard HOA rules simply because they disliked a particular board member.
I agreed with that last principle.
I had never claimed membership obligations were optional.
I wanted valid rules enforced fairly, using lawful procedures and accurate information.
But that distinction seemed to disappear whenever Patricia spoke.
She described every question as rebellion.
Every complaint as disloyalty.
And every request for documentation as a personal attack.
The community was beginning to see the cost of allowing one person to confuse authority with ownership.
The night before the meeting, Lena asked whether I was nervous.
We were sitting at the kitchen table while she worked on a drawing of the garden.
I smiled.
“A little.”
She looked surprised.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
She considered that.
“Why?”
“Because a lot of people will be there, and they'll have different opinions.”
Lena nodded.
Then asked, “Are you going to yell at the pink lady?”
I laughed softly.
“No.”
She looked disappointed.
“Even if she yells?”
“Even then.”
My daughter considered that.
Then said, “Mommy used to say being loud didn't make somebody right.”
I felt my throat tighten.
“She did.”
Lena smiled.
“She said it when I argued about bedtime.”
I laughed.
“That sounds familiar.”
She looked toward the drawing.
Then whispered, “I think she'd be proud of you.”
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Then I reached across the table.
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
She smiled.
Then returned to coloring the purple flowers.
I watched her for a moment.
And I realized that whatever happened at the meeting, I wanted to come home as the kind of father Lena could respect.
Not someone who won because he humiliated another person.
Someone who stood up for his family without becoming cruel.
That was the standard Nadia would've wanted me to meet.
And it was far more important than anything Patricia could say about me.