In Christian Parenting Today (Mar/Apr 98), Dan Schaeffer recalls:

As an 8-year-old, I thought it was comical. Our victim didn't know what was happening and his startled reactions to our rock throwing were entertaining--the kind of entertainment young boys don't think about much.

He was sitting on a bicycle about 40 feet from us. That alone amazed me: I hadn't believed a blind boy would be able to ride a bike. While he didn't ride far, there he was--our target, our victim--astride his old Stingray.

The boy who introduced me to this adventure was a little older than I but clearly a veteran of past "campaigns" against the one on the bike. At first I hadn't wanted to join in, but only because I wasn't sure he really was blind. However, because no adult was in sight, and it was clear the boy couldn't see us, I soon joined in, sailing my rocks all around him, confusing and scaring him.

Our giggling gave our position away, because he turned to us and pleaded: "Stop it! Please don't do that. You aren't very nice to do this to a blind person."

That "please" had little effect on my partner. I, on the other hand, didn't like it when the victim turned and talked to me. I would have been happy to slink away into oblivion, but for some reason I didn't. In short, I didn't stop.

Soon our victim began to cry; he was helpless and he knew it.

I now wonder how it would have turned out had I been allowed to continue. But I was fortunate. Suddenly I felt an iron clamp of a grip on my shoulder and found myself being whirled about to face my babysitter's incensed husband.

I don't remember everything he said, but I remember feeling thoroughly ashamed. Once exposed, my deed was far uglier than it had seemed while I was doing it.

I ceased dangerous, cruel, and harmful activity not because of my underdeveloped conscience, but because someone stopped me.