I found the hospital parking receipt from the day my son was born

Dear Delyara, I was cleaning my glove compartment and found a parking receipt dated seventeen years ago, the day my son was born. Eleven dollars. Entry 05:42, exit 23:18. I remember that day as huge: my wife screaming at me to stop asking whether she wanted water, my son appearing purple and furious, my hands shaking when the nurse let me hold him. Yet the parking machine recorded it like any other Tuesday. Eleven dollars for almost eighteen hours. My son is seventeen now and barely speaks to me unless he needs the car. We argued this morning because I found cannabis in his backpack. He said I do not trust him. I said he is becoming someone I do not recognize. Then I found that receipt. I sat in the driver’s seat looking at the date and remembered knowing absolutely nothing about the person they placed in my arms except that I loved him. Maybe parents become confused because we mistake familiarity for ownership. I knew every inch of him before he had secrets. Now he has entire rooms inside himself where I am not invited. Tonight, the parking receipt is in my wallet. I want to remember that I loved him before I understood anything about who he would become.