Gemotions

I stood in the doorway, watching my son, David, enter Ms. Thornton's classroom. The very Ms. Thornton who had once told me I'd never amount to anything. The anger churned within me, a familiar, bitter brew.

I decided to create a scholarship in Ms. Thornton’s name. A scholarship for students who, like David, might struggle in her class. It was a subtle weapon, a constant reminder of her past.

I made sure to be involved in the scholarship committee, the one overseeing the recipient. I would highlight her shortcomings, the areas where she could improve.

I watched her, a knot of satisfaction tightening in my chest. Each time she failed to reach a student, it validated my own past struggles. It was a perverse, yet satisfying form of justice.