Gemotions

John watched his daughter, Maya, skip out the door, her bright yellow backpack bouncing. He leaned against the doorframe, a smile plastered on his face. This year, Mrs. Davis would be her teacher – the very same Mrs. Davis who had taught him in third grade.

He remembered her kindness, her patience, the way she made even fractions seem interesting. He felt a wave of contentment wash over him. A sense of history, of shared experience, swirled within him.

He reached for his phone, a sudden impulse urging him to text his wife. “Maya's with Mrs. Davis! Remember her? Good things ahead." He felt a sense of anticipation as he thought about her walking the same halls, hearing the same stories.