Gemotions

Michael dusted off the weathered box, his grandfather’s handwriting barely legible on the label: "Memories & Miscellany." His fingers, hesitant at first, slowly lifted the lid. He was looking for a photograph, a specific one of his father during his college years. Instead, he found a folded piece of paper, typed on a typewriter, its edges yellowed.

He recognized the familiar signature. His father's name. It was a resignation letter, addressed to the headmaster of his old boarding school. A surge of internal mirth took hold.

"I am writing to tender my resignation," the letter began, "effective immediately." He smirked. His father? A man of routine and rigid adherence to rules? This was rich.

The reasons for quitting were laid out with a surprising amount of detail, and with a tone that made Michael’s eyebrows rise. "...the persistent and frankly dreadful smell of the cabbage served at dinner... the utterly absurd dress code..." He stifled a laugh. He pictured the scene, his father, a young rebel, standing up to the establishment.