Gemotions

He was up before his alarm, a rare occurrence. John whistled a jaunty tune as he made breakfast for his son, Ethan. Mrs. Periwinkle. His fifth-grade teacher. The woman who had taught him how to diagram a sentence, and maybe, just maybe, how to love learning. A thrill shot through him.

He double-checked Ethan's backpack, making sure he had all the necessary supplies. John found himself tapping his foot impatiently as they waited for the school bus. The ride felt too short. He waved goodbye with a flourish, his heart feeling unusually light.

At the office, he attacked his inbox with a renewed vigor. The mundane tasks seemed less daunting, the deadlines less stressful. He kept finding reasons to walk around, stretching his legs, and chatting with colleagues, a spring in his step that made others grin.