Squeaks

I've written about him before.

He points out "the dick" on Curious George, he asks about tomboys and Presidents' Day and what not. He's a smart kid. We'll call him Squeaks because of his unique voice.

The other day, I was walking home, enjoying the fact that spring seems to have finally sprung. I see him in front of me, idly swinging and tossing an unknown object up into the air and catching it. It looked like these cool new football thingies the school got for Physical Education that are inside a sac with a long handle so you can just toss 'em around. I thought perhaps he had confiscated one for his own personal use.

"Squeaks, what are you tossing around?" I inquired innocently.

"Um, I'm just playing," he replied, hiding the item behind his back.

"Squeaks, what is that?"

"Um... it's a... um... I'm going over to MD's house to play." A skilled deflector he is not.

"WHAT IS IT?"

"Um... it's a... dead bird."

Ew.

I got a peek at aforementioned dead bird. This wasn't a freshly-killed specimen. My guess it was killed last fall, but never got claimed by its killer, and it sat frozen all winter, to be exposed by the spring thaw.

Then today, he says to me (and his entire class), "Sara! I know how to spell a bad word. F-U..."

I screamed, "NO!"