Gemotions

The email arrived, a digital slap in the face. "Mrs. Periwinkle, 6th Grade, Welcome!" David felt a wave of nausea. Mrs. Periwinkle. He remembered the withering looks, the carefully worded criticism about his "lack of potential." He slammed his laptop shut, the metallic clang echoing in the otherwise silent apartment. The screen’s black void reflected his own defeated expression.

He found himself avoiding the back-to-school night. His wife, noticing his reluctance, asked what was wrong, and he muttered something about a work conflict, but the words felt hollow and thin. The prospect of facing her again filled him with a quiet dread. He felt as if he could not be a good parent.

David kept finding himself looking at his reflection. A middle-aged man with a receding hairline and lines etched around his eyes. He felt a profound sense of failing; the walls were closing. His daughter had the world at her feet, yet he felt that he could not teach her anything.