  Its been one year in clinics, and I have seen the grim fathers and jittery mothers of my 30 classmates climb into their chairs with both a hint of parental pride and a great deal of human terror. In this course we have to source for our own patients, and who better to cajole into obedience and submission, then flesh and blood. Not so my mother. While others stoically gripped their seats and surfaced for discrete gasps of air at the spittoon, she had no qualms about punctuating my workspace with cries of: "Ouch. You're so crap! you're so crap! Are you finished?". After she had finally left in a huff, my instructor nodded sympathetically and began elaborating on practitioner medical-legal protection. Then I told him she was my mom. He bellowed in laughter, patted my shoulder in a most fatherly way and walked off. In return for their love, parents really do expect the world of you. 
