I pushed my daughter for eight plus years to be in ballet. I kept thinking of all the good it would produce, but in the end, she just worried her legs were too fat. Of course, they weren't, but they weren't pencils either like the other burgeoning ballerinas. I was propelled by the fear that she would grow up like me - good, or great or exceptional at NOTHING. 

But, these days, I just watch her play, and I see that she is this person I never really knew. She is gentler, kinder and more childlike than I had imagined. And, she's 11. I savor these last remnants of girlhood. Womanhood is around the corner. Ballet sucked. All those years. This, again, is why I read Amy Tan. I relate to the Chinese mothers and all their good intentions. 

Great post, KT