Standing on that stage, in front of teachers, parents, grandparents, she will pick up her violin and look at it as if it were some new species of mushroom: strange, exotic, and most importantly, never before seen by this child. She will place it on the wrong shoulder, upside-down, while her teacher gasps accusingly at you from behind the piano where she has just played the introduction to "Twinkle" two times - "Twinkle" for chrissakes, the song you practiced together through tears and screaming twenty-five times in the last week alone! - and there up on stage, as the other mothers cluck disapprovingly and ask each other behind their hands, "Don't they ever practice at home?" that's when your child will look at you with a look that will clearly say: "Who's in charge now, motherfucker?"