When I was eight, or there abouts, I folded my arms and leaned against a pine tree. In my mind I was in a smarty pants pose. I’d seen James Dean and others doing this and distained them for it, but I’d looked too long and often and it became desirable. So there I was showing my parents I was growing up to be a brat, except when I left my tree my hair stayed, it was caught in pine sap! My father kindly unstuck my hair, washed it with white gas to get the goo out, and shampooed it too even though he’d been in a hurry. Being a brat wasn’t worth my effort in the presence of good parents.
In Beefman, Who’s Beefman (my children’s picture book, free at amazon for a few more days as an E Book) Anna’s grandmother is having a rough day but is kind and patient when Anna knocks on her door with more problems than any child should have.