You bring out the hope in me.
I look to you in hope, hoping to see your head nodding in approval, a small smile, a simple "Good job," telling me that I'm doing okay, that you're happy with me.
You normally crush that hope in me, filling it's place with self-anger and thoughts screaming 'Why can't you ever get it right?'
You might make a joke about it, and they all laugh, while I stand there, trying to hold back the tears, vowing to myself that, 'Next time I'll try harder and do better.'
Tomorrow I'll do it all over again.