Gemotions

The school parking lot felt smaller, the playground shrunken compared to how I remembered it. Ms. Peterson was now the one in charge of my son, Sam. She'd been a stickler back in the day, too. I remembered her constant criticisms of my artwork.

I made sure to have conversations with Sam about his lessons, asking leading questions to see how the teacher was doing. "Did Ms. Peterson mention the importance of perspective in your drawings, Sam?" I'd prompt, my tone laced with a delicate hint of inquiry.

Then, there were the anonymous emails to the principal. "Concerned Parent" they were signed. Never anything concrete, just vague suggestions about the classroom environment and teaching methods. I took great satisfaction in watching Ms. Peterson's face as the principal spoke to her.

I’d catch her staring at me sometimes, her eyes narrowed, trying to place me. I’d just offer a friendly smile, a silent acknowledgement of her unease.