Birdfaced

"Did I ever tell you the story about the kid who got bird-faced?"

That's how this conversation usually starts. In education, we have a lot of fancy terms that we throw around: Enrichment. Fidelity. Bird-faced.

It started outside at kindergarten recess this past week. The year is coming to an end, the weather is getting warmer, and tempers are getting shorter.

One of my "old friends", a cute little guy we will call Colin for anonymity's sake, had been repeatedly bothering a cute little red-headed girl in the same grade throughout the entire year. Apparently she had enough of the constant annoyances and decided to take matters into her own hands. Vigilante. Colin can definitely be a bit long in the tooth, so I didn't blame her for what happened next.

See, at recess, our red headed little friend found a dead bird. A long-dead, puss-filled, bloated, rotting, dead bird. It was dead. She then picked up the dead bird and called Colin over to come see it. She then took the dead bird and smashed it into Colin's face. Colin screamed. Teachers screamed. In the hoopla the red-head didn't even get into trouble because the staff were so concerned about bird-flu and various other diseases, they forgot to write her up.

"What do I tell his mom?" the principal asked the staff at recess as the nurse held Colin.

"Tell her that he got Birdfaced" someone piped up.