It was a very remorseful Oliver who made a confession to me today. He held out his little fist and cried as though his five year old heart was broken, "I killed my friend!" I had been waiting for this day to come, based on past experiences, so I was not too surprised. But no, the juvenile detention centres would have to wait for him a little longer. Upon prying his fingers open I discovered nothing more horrifying than one very dead bug - or what I can only assume to be the remains of a bug. He spilled the whole truth out to me as he wept in my arms. We talked about how we need to be careful with delicate things because it is so easy to hurt them. He agreed, choking out "You can't squish them." before disolving again into tears.
So what is to be the penalty for his newly discovered 'crime' of insecticide? As I observed him cradling the buggy remains to his cheek and murmering, "I'm sorry little guy." I concluded that he had suffered enough.