We weathered two hurricanes while living on Parker Road. Greens Bayou, a major drainage artery ran along the back of the lot and after the hurricanes the water rose to cover the steps in front of the house and as much as 6 inches inside. In the forties, there was not much warning of an approaching hurricane, so evacuation was not an option.

The kids were allowed to drink coffee during a hurricane. The theory being, I suspect, that if the house blew away, we'd be wide awake enough to run for our lives. After the hurricanes, when the water went down, Aunt Myrtle and Uncle Robert Hardage (mother's sister and brother-in-law) would come and fetch the kids and take us home with them to East Texas while the house was dried out and cleaned up.

In one of my favorite sermons on forgiveness I tell a story about Tom Paul that happened on Parker Road.

One Christmas, I think in 1940, the three of us shared a gift from Santa Claus of a red wagon with a hitch-on trailer. Since it belonged to all three, were expected to play with it together. Tom Paul's idea of playing together was for me to pull, Richard to push, Tom Paul to ride. We left the trailer behind so it was easier for Richard to push, but he was too young to hold up long, so it ended up with me pulling and Tom Paul riding. We were supposed to take turns, but my turn to ride kept getting put off.

As I struggled to make headway in the muddy, oyster-shell pavement of the street, I was commanded to stop from time to time to pick up treasures discovered along the way. We picked up a vine full of "mush mellons," an interesting shell or two, and finally a snapping turtle. All the loot was placed in the wagon between Tom Paul's legs.

In supervising my inadequate pulling, Tom Paul forgot to keep his eyes on the turtle, and either with malice aforethought or just plan panic, the turtle crawled up the pants leg of Tom Paul's short pants and bit him and held on.