I hated being compared to my mother when I was young - or even when I was old - but I'm going to go ahead and put my daughter through a similar tragedy.
Grace is tall; I'm short. Grace had my red hair once, but she has since dyed it. This is not a subject you want to get me started on. Grace and I are both dancers, but she takes it a step further, with singing and acting. She's a triple threat entertainer; I was a business major. But in three years, we'll be able to do a side by side comparison of our diplomas from Metropolis University. She has my smile, but the rest is her father. The eyes, the cheekbones, the nose. We have the same mouth, and the same voice. When she still lived at home, people would call and not know which one of us had answered the phone.
Grace is nothing like I was at her age. I was quiet, studious, aloof, and altogether impervious. Grace is strong, impulsive, and, dare I say it, wild. She has no filter. I filtered everything. But like me, she is smart, enthusiastic, determined, and ambitious. And sharp as a tack.
I was average. My daughter is amazing. What's more, she knows it. And she knows what to do with it.
Martha Kent
Smallville
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