In the art class, the teacher let us create a painting by ourselves. When it was to be graded, I still had no ideas, so I imitated my classmates. She painted a picture that showed her and her father holding hands, walking together on the grass. Beside the painting was the crooked writing: I love father! Nevertheless, I got zero for that art class but I never felt sad about it because I believe that family is more important than anything else.
One day, Jonathan happened to find the painting in my schoolbag. He looked at it for a long time and asked me if I would give it to him. The picture was still in the drawer of his study in perfect condition.
"If you love to accept it then I will give it to you," she said.
"Is it for me? I love to accept it if you will give it to me then," he smiled at her.
Another time, he came home in a bad mood. Back then I was young and was not observant. Since it was cold, I poured a cup of hot water for him and put it in his hands. When he lost his temper, he reached out and smacked the glass, the hot water spilled on his hands.
I kept apologizing, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Then, I knelt on the ground to pick up the fragments. Even my hands were hurt by the glass, I still cleaned with the mess though. I was crying but I dared not wipe the tears away or lift my head either.