Look, look, the sun has come out. Mom and Dad, look at it. The sun looks so beautiful when it comes out. I want to go home and draw it. Mom, Mom, do you think my painting looks good? You have to say good-looking even if I don’t look good. It’s not that I’m overbearing, but you always hit me. I’m a child and I need constant praise. I’m not allowed to say bad things anyway...