Even when Bob was a child, it felt like the universe did everything in its power to make him suffer. That was how a nine-year-old Bob felt after Cecil's first day of kindergarten.

At the end of the school day, Bob had to fetch Cecil from his classroom. He found Cecil in quite a state: covered in food and finger paint, and sobbing his eyes out.

Bob sighed, having had a bad day himself and not wanting to deal with this. "Come on, Cecil!"

Cecil looked up and beamed. "Bobby!" His big feet flapped as he ran toward his big brother, and he stumbled, landing on the carpeted, but rather hard floor. Cecil burst into tears again, and Bob pulled him up.

"You have to be more careful when you have these cursed things." Bob indicated his own feet.

"I think I got hurt," Cecil said, rubbing his right knee. It had taken the brunt of the fall's impact.

"Anna can take care of it. Go get your things; you'll need your raincoat."

After Cecil had gotten everything from his cubby, Bob took his little brother's hand, in spite of the obvious paint stains on it.

To call this a miserable fall afternoon would have been an understatement: the rain gushed down from the almost black clouds in the sky, and the wind was strong enough to make the boys almost lose their balance. Bob took care to keep himself and Cecil in a spot away from the trees.

Unlike Cecil, Bob couldn't tuck all of his hair under the hood of his coat. The locks hat stuck out became heavy with water, and Bob decided to take out his umbrella. He pressed the button, but it did not open. It could be a little tricky sometimes.

"Drat." Bob pressed the button twice more; it usually worked the third time. This happened today, but as Bob triumphantly held up the umbrella, it closed on his face. Cecil laughed, and the nanny's car pulled up at last. Anna took in the sight of Cecil with paint splatters on his face, mixing in with the rain and trickling down his cheeks, and of Bob with the umbrella stuck on his head.

"I won't ask," she told herself, and repeated it like a mantra.

Back at home, the boys had hot baths, and Anna tended to Cecil's knee, which had both a scrape and an enormous bruise. Cecil screamed when Anna placed the freezing ice pack on his knee, and the tears renewed.

Not wanting to put up with this again, Bob turned on the television. "Look, Cecil, it's that clown you like!"

Cecil smiled and clapped, and his huge, bright eyes followed Krusty as he spun around the stage in a tiny car. Anna and Bob watched it too, but with more dismissive expressions.

"I don't get what's so special about him," Anna muttered. "I mean, you see one clown, you've seen them all."

"I know," Bob said. "Mother and Father call it 'inane garbage'."

Something came to Anna. "That's right, they did! And they told me not to let Cecil watch it anymore."

She marched up to the TV and reached out her arm for the power button, but Cecil screeched and seized her leg.

Anna wobbled and glared down at him. "Cecil, don't grab onto me like that!"

Cecil gave her a surprisingly venomous glare for a five-year-old. "If you turn it off, I'll tell Mommy and Daddy that you let me and Bob have chocolate."

Anna threw up her hands. "Okay, okay! Just let go now."

Once Cecil had released her, Anna stalked into the kitchen to start on dinner. Bob followed.

"Don't worry, I'm sure this is just a phase." Bob glanced back into the living room and saw how Cecil now sat only inches from the TV. "At least, I hope so."