I remember this one time when I was in middle school and barely a kid myself, I was walking back home from where the school bus dropped us off, and right before I got to my apartment, I saw this kid crying profusely outside another apartment complex. He was screaming for his mom. He was about 7, maybe. I was 11 or 12. I could have easily just past him and kept walking. Or maybe I did. And then I had a change of heart. I asked him what was wrong. He was locked out of his apartment. I had probably done that once or twice myself, and knew the feeling, although I probably would have just been antsy instead of gushy. This was before the days of cell phones. I figured out the buzzer system, and told the woman on the other line that her son was outside. She buzzed him in. As he opened the gate, the kid said a brief "Thank you" without looking back and went inside. He had ceased crying, at least audibly. Materially speaking, I didn't gain anything from the experience, but it felt nice knowing I was a help to a complete stranger.
When I was 5, my parents lived with some family friends who didn't have
kids, but had a cat. I think it was fairly docile, but I did what
normal 5-year-olds did and riled it up. I did everything purposefully,
though. It was cruel curiosity that drove me. Once I pulled it out
from its bed against its will, and resisting me, the cat scratched up
its bed. When its owners came home, they chastised the cat for being
so naughty. It was my fault, but I didn't say anything and let the cat
take the blame.
One time I went to Tijuana with friends on either a taco expedition or a college clubbing night and I saw a woman sleeping on the ground with about 8 kids. Maybe they weren't hers. Either way, I felt bad, so I dug a $5 dollar bill out of my wallet and handed it to her. She had a huge smile on her face. I totally forgot I had done that until recently when my best friend Jenny had to convince me that I was a kind person.
When I can remember more stories, I'll make my judgment then.
