Gemotions

David tapped the thick folder against his leg. His mother, bless her heart, had been a veritable pack rat. He'd never expected this. He adjusted the angle of the porch light to better illuminate the contents.

Inside, crumpled papers and faded drawings were stacked. He found a math quiz, the answers scrawled out in a shaky hand. A single, solitary red "F" glared back at him. He let out a low whistle, a slight raising of the eyebrow. The years of "You should be more diligent in school" echoed in his ears.

He unfolded a poorly-drawn self-portrait and a crayon-scrawled poem. The latter spoke of rainbows and ponies. *Quite the visionary,* he thought, twisting his lips up. The sun seemed brighter now. His father had always said his mother was a smart cookie. David could have sworn that his father was wrong.