Q: "To be real honest, Jeffrey, you're not making much progress," said Greg. "Are you practicing at all?" "Well, yeah. Mom makes me. She sits there watching to make sure I'm getting the right fingering and phrasing." "Hmm. I might need to talk to her about that." Greg hated when kids were forced into musicianship. He had been teaching private music lessons for more than ten years, and had seen it often. Parents made their kids miserable. It rarely worked anyway. "You don't really want to take piano, do you?" "No, Sir." "Well... " "I wish my mom would let me take guitar lessons. That would be cool." "You know you'd get calluses like this." Greg held out left hand and showed Jeffrey his fingertips. "Yeah! My friend, Zach, has calluses. They're hard like plastic." "Well, you know, it hurts for a while--until you build them up." "I don't care. I love the guitar. I've been begging Mom to switch me from piano to guitar." "I'll talk to her." "Great! I already have a guitar and--" "--don't get too excited yet. We'll see what she says." "Thanks, Mr. Tenorly." He jumped up and ran for the front door. Then he stopped, rushed back over to grab his piano books, and raced out the door. Greg's 3:30 lesson had been cancelled, so he now had a thirty minute break. Oftentimes, during a break, he would step outside and wander down the sidewalk, observing the townspeople going in and out of the shops around Coreyville Square. But something was bugging him. His dad's birthday party was only a few days away. He hoped he wouldn't regret letting Cynthia talk him into going. Question: What does Greg think about kids being forced into playing music? === The answer to the above question is

OPTIONS:
- He hates it.
- not enough information
- He thinks it makes kids happy.
- He thinks they are protecting their children from calluses.

A: He hates it.

input: OPTIONS:
- Doesn't care about their family
- not enough information
- Tries hard to maintain their family bond
- Wants to leave the family once the twins graduate Now, answer this question: Hmmm that's a hard one. At first I was going to say giving them daily chores, but the "reward" part of that has actually not been realized yet (what with all the eye rolling and such). So I will have to go with family dinners at the table. Sometimes, "dinner" is fast food, sometimes it is a meal I slaved over for hours - that part doesn't seem to matter. Whether we are talking about our day, learning manners, having serious discussions, or laughing until we spit our drinks - it is where grow. There have been horrible nights at the table, where we shared bad news. There have been fabulous nights where we celebrated successes and talked about exciting things to come. There have been nights where the kids can see that Mom and Dad are "at odds" and nights where they see us push that aside and joke with each other for the sake of saving the evening. When they were little, we did "About Your Day" - one funny thing, one sad thing, one new thing you learned. Now, they are all teenagers, and the conversations just seem to flow, with never enough time to fit it all in before someone has to rush off to work, to study, or to get ready for bed because we are eating "after practice". My twins will be Seniors next year, and I know that our table will look a little different from now on. But when I look at that worn oak (outdated) table, that needs refinishing in the worst way - I am grateful for the evenings there, where my kiddos learned to be a family. Don't be misled, we are not the Cleavers. We have "Fun Friday" where Mom does not get to badger them about their table manners (ugh - they revel in this), Sometimes we eat in the living room while we watch a movie, sometimes we eat in shifts because of our schedules. However, the majority of meals have been together ~ I feel like this is a gift we gave them. Question: The kid's probably believe that their mom: === The answer to the above question is
A:
output: Tries hard to maintain their family bond

Problem:OPTIONS:
- too slow
- the speed limit
- not enough information
- too fast

Manny had Bob Marley cranking on the stereo, his van was full of passengers, and the air conditioning was working after a long week of giving him trouble. The sun beat down on the wet-looking asphalt road that ran along the harbor, next to the concrete waterfront. It curved along in front of the brightly colored Dutch Colonial warehouses of Charlotte Amalie, which were now converted restaurants and jewel shops. Tourists in day-glo shirts and daubs of sunscreen rubbed over peeling skin crowded both sides of the waterfront road. Manny slowed somewhat, keeping an eye on them. On the sidewalk by the shops a tall black man stood by a food cart. The hand-painted wooden sign hanging from the cart's side had faded letters. The man wore a grand suit with tails, like an orchestra conductor, and a top hat perched on his shaved head. A cigar burned in his mouth. For a brief second he held Manny's attention. Then the food cart's owner stepped forward and the strangely dressed man disappeared. Manny looked at the other side of the road. A white girl with oval shaped sunglasses and pink leather pants stepped off the sidewalk into the road in front of his van. He slammed on the brakes, trying to dodge her, but the van couldn't respond that fast. Her ponytail flew up towards the windshield and her head struck the star-shaped hood ornament. She bounced along the asphalt. Manny weaved the van to a stop, with swearing from the passengers in the back. He opened the door and stepped out into the heat. Get up, stand up, the radio cried out, and that was what Manny hoped would happen. He hoped that she would at least just stir and be okay. But she just lay there. Question: Manny was probably driving: === The answer to the above question is
****
A:
not enough information