Jaundice

Johnny was a kid in third grade, as were most children his age. One particular summer afternoon, after getting off the bus and walking down the street toward his house, he stopped to talk to his neighbor who was standing in his yard. After a brief conversation, he went home, so as not to worry his mother.
“And just where have you been?” his mother asked as he walked in the front door.
“Talking to the guy next door,” he said as he set his backpack on a chair at the kitchen table and sat across from his mother. “What’s jaundice mean?” he asked.
“What?” queried his mother, confused as to how he had learned that word. “Where did you hear that?” she asked.
“I was coming down the street and saw the man next door. I asked him why his skin was so yellow!” Johnny stated, proudly.
“Oh. I see,” his mother said, “Go to your room, and do your homework.” She walked to the window and looked over to the house next door. She didn’t want to remind her son that their neighbor had died a week ago, from liver failure.
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