It was my pleasure to sub for sophomore English this week. The girls are reading To Kill a Mockingbird, and the story is as poignant today as it was in the sixties. Before doling out parts for the dialogue we hunt for the common paragraph, which with five different versions of the book means being on the same page does not work.  The discussion has been animated, although unlike the characters, we are in agreement. Tom Robinson was wrongly accused. 

One of the notions tossed around is that everyone is the same. Certain unalienable rights are our heritage as human beings. Yet while the Alabama court is charged to dispense those privileges, men of color often met with a special dispensation. Their rights were negotiable. 

With the distance afforded the reader, albeit only fourteen inches from my eyes to the print, I can observe the plot line more objectively than if I were in it. Like the attorney's children Scout and Jem, who sit in the balcony of the courtroom, my perspective improves with the span separating me from the arguments. 

One of my knee jerk responses on the road is that I am entitled. My schedule precludes that of the driver in front of me, which is presumptuous considering I don't even know their name or where they are going. I am more deserving of the time saved by squeezing through a yellow light than the person waiting for the green. Especially when I throw in certain details like their bumper stickers, and what state their license is issued from. 

I wonder what might change if I were suspended thirty feet above the pavement, able to actually peer into the lives of the passengers. How might my urgency wane? Then I might understand that it is not only our sameness that gives us worth, but our uniqueness.