My mom and I are two women separated by great disparities. For example, my mom would greet people with a friendly smile and “Hi, how are you?”, and then there’s me. I just slouch and growl at everyone I see. I know; I’m very salty. Next, we don’t have the same mentality. My mom’s that kind of person who actually cares about people. For instance, she prepares food for me during the morning even though she doesn’t have to, and I’m old enough to get my own breakfast. On the other hand, I’m that kind of person who would rip a heart out of a person’s chest and stomp on it. At fifty-four, my mother is a radiant dew-sprinkled rose. At sixteen, I kind of look like a middle-aged Satan. Admittedly, not everything about my mother is entirely great. She can kind of be a dictator sometimes. (Don’t tell her I said that.) Anyway, she’s stifling my creativity which according to her would help me do better in school. It’s not. When it comes to my kind of discipline though, I’m pretty lenient. If my child will grow up to be an arsonist and set the world on fire, so be it; I can’t control what the person thinks.