At my mother's burial:

My two-year-old nephew was standing there, holding my hand. The priest was praying:

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
I will fear no evil..."

And the kid piped up with

"For I am the meanest bastard in the valley." (Dad and uncles are veterans of the Vietnam era.)

Pandemonium reigned, the priest cracked up. Mom would have loved it.

But then, just as we were getting ready to leave, he looked up at me and loudly asked, "Why are we putting her in that hole???"

"Because," I immediately responded, "we can't keep her in the living room any more."

"Oh."

Now he understood. Those around us were left wondering, the family were cracking up.