I was not envious of Bud when I was a kid. He lived directly across from the Baptist church. He’d never have been able to come up with an excuse to skip church if his feet worked.

As was usual in that day, the parsonage was alongside the church. Also, as usual, the preacher’s kid was a rotter. Although there were no kids his age at the Bethea household, they’d made the mistake of tolerating him, so he haunted Bud’s poor sisters. He never bothered to knock, just made himself welcome.

One day, he showed up just as they were taking brownies out of the oven. The brownies were intended for an upcoming social event. Nonetheless , without waiting for an invitation, he helped himself. Finding them to his satisfaction, he remarked, “That was good. I’ll have another.”

On another occasion, he let himself in the front door without invitation, as usual, announcing he had a box of matches. Cognizant it was the fall of the year with tempting piles of dry leaves lying about the yard, one of the girls reminded him to keep those matches in his pocket. Her direction went in one ear and out the other. Within five minutes, he was tearing through the house shouting, “Fire! And I don’t know how it got started!”