My memory is that I was not unusual, my friend said. My memory is that most of my classmates liked school too. But I remember also bad moments, children getting upset, children in pain. I remember being baffled by one girl in particular. Winnie. “Winnie the Poop.” Everyone disliked her, even the teacher didn’t hide his dislike for this girl, but it wasn’t clear to me what was so bad about her. Her mother really did dress her funny, though, like an orphan in an illustration in a Victorian novel, dark, solid-colored shapeless dresses way down past her knees—now I think they must have been homemade and all cut from the same pattern—and these clunky, orthopedic-looking oxfords. But she never bothered anyone, she kept to herself, she sat slumped down low in her seat, clearly trying to be invisible. But every now and then, for no reason that we could tell, in the middle of class, while the teacher was talking or writing something on the board, this hideous sound, this animal yowl, would go up and we’d all turn to see her sitting there, her head thrown back and her mouth wide open, clenching and unclenching her fists, sobbing. A terrible sight, but at the same time so weird, so comical, it must be said, that some kids would laugh.

I was shocked but also mesmerized, my friend said. I was such a protected child—what did I know about suffering? And I remember how bad I felt for her. In fact, I’ve always thought of this as my first real experience of pity. I remember how strange it was, the way it seemed to be both a bad feeling and a good feeling at the same time—how was that? And it was more than just feeling sorry for someone—that was something I’d felt often enough before. This was something bigger, and it demanded some kind of action.

A chance to act nobly! I could not have been more delighted. I would befriend this pathetic, unhappy little outcast. And so high was my opinion of myself that I believed the honor and blessing of my attention was all that was needed to change her life. Oh, I remember how thrilled I was to feel these chivalrous impulses tickling my spine.