“She’s not claiming ownership.”
“She’s claiming you should allow it.”
“That distinction matters.”
The Black Homeowner understood.
The HOA President’s argument was not legal.
It was social pressure dressed in official language.
Then she tried making it official.
At the next HOA board meeting, she proposed a “temporary shared parking accommodation policy.”
The Black Homeowner learned because one board member called him privately.
The Board Member sounded embarrassed.
“She wants residents near corner lots to allow short-term parking when street conditions create inconvenience.”
The Black Homeowner sat in his home office.
“What conditions?”
“Sun exposure was mentioned.”
Silence.
The Board Member sighed.
“I know.”
The Black Homeowner asked:
“Can the HOA adopt that?”
“No.”
“Then why are we discussing it?”
“Because she put it on the agenda.”
The motion failed.
Four to one.
The HOA President was the only yes vote.
The next morning, her SUV appeared in his driveway.
Incident thirty-seven.
The Black Homeowner stood at the window.
His Wife joined him.
“She lost the vote yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“And parked today.”
“Yes.”
His Wife thought.
“That feels personal now.”
“It probably always was.”
The HOA President’s behavior grew stranger over time.
She began parking deeper into the driveway.
Sometimes directly outside one garage bay.
Sometimes halfway across both.
Once, the Black Homeowner returned from an early job-site meeting and found her SUV parked so close to his garage that he could not open one door fully.
He called her.
No answer.
He called again.
No answer.
Then he walked across the street.
She answered her front door wearing a robe.
The Black Homeowner looked at her.
She smiled.
“Morning.”
“Move your SUV.”
“I’m not dressed.”
“Neither is your vehicle.”
She stared.
“Excuse me?”
“Move it.”
She became angry.
“You crossed the street to my front door over parking?”
“You crossed the street with a vehicle.”
The HOA President folded her arms.
“I don't appreciate being confronted at my home.”
The Black Homeowner stared.
He waited several seconds.
Then smiled.
“What?”
she asked.
“Nothing.”
“No, say it.”
He shook his head.
“I just wanted to hear that sentence out loud.”
She slammed the door.
Then moved the SUV ten minutes later.
By April, the count reached fifty-one.
By May, sixty-eight.
Neighbors knew.
Some thought it was hilarious.
Others avoided taking sides.
A few quietly admitted they had their own stories.
One family said the HOA President repeatedly used their side yard as a shortcut during community events.
Another said she entered their backyard to photograph a shed without permission.
A retired couple said she once moved their trash cans herself because pickup day made the street “visually cluttered.”
The Black Homeowner listened.
But his dispute remained simple.
His driveway.
Her SUV.
The HOA President started claiming that board duties required convenient parking near the side street.
The Black Homeowner asked why she could not park at her own home.
Her answer:
“My driveway is used by my husband in the morning.”
He stared.
“You have a two-car garage.”
“We store things.”
“You have street parking.”
“I prefer not to leave the SUV exposed.”
“To what?”
“Traffic.”
The Black Homeowner pointed at his house.
“So you expose my driveway instead.”
“That isn’t the same.”
“How?”
She never answered that question well.
By June, the Black Homeowner had enough.