HELP TIME LIMIT!
Chiba had never wanted anything more than to go back home. His son, now three, was beginning to ask questions. "Idua, there is no place like Abuja," Chiba said. He stroked his boy's hair, as he added, "I'm telling you!"
"Papa, is your yellow house still there? And the big river by the park? And the million trees?" Idua asked as the plane landed on the runway.
"We'll see. I haven't been home in years—not since I moved to Atlanta and met your mother," Chiba said, unable to contain his nostalgia and excitement.
The father and son were now outside the airport and roaming the city in a cab. Chiba looked outside the window trying to find the traces of his old city. The sky was punctuated by bridges, flyovers, and skyscrapers. As he passed the city gate, he saw more fast-food chains and tall office buildings than trees.
"This looks like Atlanta!" Idua made his disappointment clear. And he asked his father the same question again and again, "Papa, where's the yellow house, and the big river, and the million trees?"
A theme of this selection is
Group of answer choices

one may not feel at home with his or her family.

modernization is not always a good thing.

what a person sees may or may not be real.

children should retain their innocence.