When the driver brought my daughter, Holly Ramirez, home, I had just finished making stew. It was rare for me to have time to cook, and I thought she'd be pleased to come home to a hot meal. But when I called her name a few times, she didn't rush into my arms like she usually did. Instead, she headed straight for her bedroom."What's going on?" I opened the door, and she slowly lifted her head from the pillow. Her eyes were red and swollen. Before I could even blink, tears were already rolling down her cheeks."Mom, tell me the truth... Is my drawing really that bad?"I froze for a moment, and immediately thought of her weekend assignment. The school had said the task was to help develop children's all-around abilities—moral, intellectual, physical, artistic, and labor skills. But for a child who barely knew how to write her letters, this type of assignment was less about helping them and more about giving parents extra work.I worked in a field related to art, so drawing something
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