I stood outside one of two stalls in a cramped bathroom on campus, annoyed.  My class began in ten minutes, and after the riot act I had read my students, they knew I placed timeliness high in the pantheon of good character traits.

"Come on already."  I glanced at the student standing in line behind me to see if I'd actually said that out loud.  She seemed lost in the world pounding through her headphones.

Five minutes later, I was wringing my hands to keep them from jiggling the handle.  The door in front of me finally swung open, and a young Asian woman emerged. 

"Hmph."  I knew I'd muttered that out loud to punctuate my annoyance.

That's when I noticed the stump at the end of her wrist.  I immediately stopped wringing my two perfectly good hands.

The woman began tapping the walls with her one functional hand, and I realized that in addition to missing part of a limb, she was also blind.

And here I'd been, sending her negative vibes from the other side of the door.  What had seemed like selfish, bathroom-hogging behavior to me had probably been rather heroic on her part.  It's hard to imagine doing something as simple as making a bathroom stop without a hand or vision.  My being on time shriveled in importance before my own eyes.

I waved the student behind me into the open stall as part of my penance.  For all I knew, she had been battered by her boyfriend.  Or her father had cancer.  Or, with that music turned up so loudly, she was partially deaf.

Everyone has their own stories.  Why should mine take precedent?

Your mantra for the week is:  I respect that everyone has a story, and mine is no more important than anyone else's.