Traveling alone with my baby Ethan, I was exhausted; my husband David had died months before.

On a crowded flight Ethan cried. A nearby man grew impatient and loudly told me to take the baby

to the restroom and stay there. Humiliated, I gathered our things and began toward the back of the plane, holding Ethan.

Before I reached the lavatory, a tall man in a dark suit stopped me and led me to an empty business-class

seat so I could comfort Ethan in peace. Within minutes Ethan slept and I felt relief. The kind stranger

then returned to my old seat, which put him beside the rude passenger. The man boasted about getting peace, unaware who sat next to him.

The stranger addressed him as Mr. Cooper: he was Mr. Coleman, Cooper’s boss. Calmly, Mr. Coleman told Cooper

he was disappointed by his lack of compassion and that upon landing Cooper would return company property and

no longer work there. Cooper’s smugness vanished. Throughout the flight I held Ethan, grateful and shaken. Before we left,

Mr. Coleman stopped by and said, “You’re doing a good job.” His quiet kindness moved me to tears and reminded me compassion still exists.