Vis Mea

      My mother has this uncanny knack of being right. Unless she's wrong. See, my mother and I don't always see eye to eye on things. Sometimes I think one of her favorite pastimes is criticizing me. Whether it's my art, my grades, or the state of my room, I can always "do better." To make matters more difficult, she is also my dance teacher. How's that for a plot twist. Our dance relationship is not one that can be called productive or even remotely cohesive. In fact, most of the time it ends in a lot of tears and shouting matches. At the very least, one of us is grumbling about the innate incompetence of the other. Somehow we manage to actually pull off performances and recitals; trust me, that's the real miracle. But other than the occasional, rare compliment, I spend most of the time being lectured on how I have "talent" and I'm "wasting" it. In her defense, I'm not the best student around. I tend to be the most serious one in most situations, but in dance, I find freedom: it is my relief. But for her, dance is serious: it is her entire world. Like I said, we don't see eye to eye. I guess being the dance teacher's daughter isn't the easiest title to live up to; it may have its perks, but that benefit is canceled out by the weight of the expectations everyone holds. And if any of you have had a parent as a teacher, then you feel my pain. My mom used to say to me, "In dance class, I'm not your mom, I'm your teacher." But the truth is its hard to see your parent as anything other than exactly that, a parent. It's even harder to believe that they can be competent at anything other than parenting. If mom is so good at being mom, how could she possibly be sufficient at anything else? Technically you know that your parents have real jobs and lives, but actually witnessing them doing those jobs is a bit shocking and a little hard to swallow. It's easy to forget that my mom still has her own dreams, and that her sole purpose in life is not to help me through my (petty) teenage problems. For what it's worth, she's not that bad. (She's yelling at me right now.) She let's me go out to parties (what parties?) she lets me hang out with my friends (we don't get out much), and she lets me take the car (within the allotted five mile radius). But all in all she stands by me. She may be my harshest critic, but she is also my most devoted supporter. Myself excluded, no one else has ever fought that hard for my dreams, and I don't think anyone else ever will. Now that I'm older, I feel like I have to take care of her, but I forget how strong she really is. She may need me to life a heavy box, but she is no means frail or fragile. In fact, she is incredibly strong willed and brutally honest. She says that she criticizes me because if she doesn't, who will. I think she does it because, when it comes down to it, I am exactly like her (give or take a little work ethic). She sees her own mistakes and tries to make sure that I don't repeat them. But she is passionate, smart, quick-tempered, and talented. Flaws and strengths, there's honestly no one I'd rather be like. We don't see eye to eye, but I think it's the universe keeping everything in balance. Because if my mom and I were on the same side, watch out, we might just take over the world.