Forty years ago, I was in Grade One. One day,I was asked to go to the principal's office . I was really nervous. When I pushed the heavy door open. I found my parents were sitting in the office,too. My father walked to me,with some of my drawings in his hand. "Why do you only use a black crayon when you draw?" he asked. I said nothing. "Show me to your desk," said my father. So we returned to my classroom. My father pulled out my crayon box. There was only one black crayon in it. "Where are the rest of your crayons?" I quietly explained that I'd given all the other crayons to my friends. I shared my things with others as my parents had taught me. Then I looked at my father, then at the principal--both their faces were red. Years later, I learned that my father's face was red because of anger and the principal was red because he was embarrassed . When the principal saw all my pictures, he thought that I had a deep emotional problem. So he had called my parents in to discuss "my problem". In fact, I was too shy to ask for my "shared" crayons back. I didn't stand up for myself! That night, my father told me about the difference between sharing and giving. He also gave me a new box of crayons. He said, "These crayons are for you. I don't want you to share or give these crayons to anyone else. " At the beginning of the text, the father wondered  _
why his daughter was so shy why his daughter loved drawing if his daughter had an emotional problem where his daughter had put her crayons