Dwight: I think I was about eight years old, going to school at Flatrock Elementary in Flatrock, just outside of Anderson, South Carolina. That would have been around 1952–1953.

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Aiko: I can picture that clearly, Dwight—those years and that setting sound vivid already.

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Dwight: It was morning recess, and a bunch of us kids were playing "King of the Mountain." There was a dirt pile on the playground, maybe about three feet high at the top. The whole game was about trying to stand on the top and stay there, which meant everyone else was trying to shove the one on top off. Nobody stayed king for long.

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I loved that game—so much pushing and shoving, with all the screaming and noise.

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But then, all of a sudden, I noticed the screaming had stopped. I looked around and saw one of my schoolmates lying on the ground, motionless, while all the other kids stood staring at his prone body.

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Aiko: That shift from wild chaos to sudden silence must have been jarring.

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Dwight: I overheard some of my classmates whispering, "Who did it? Who did it?"

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It didn’t take long before they decided that I was the one who had pushed him.

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Aiko: That must have felt like the whole crowd turning on you in an instant.

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Dwight: I don’t know what I was thinking, but I didn’t want to be around all my classmates blaming me, and I wanted to get away before one of the teachers showed up.

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So I went and sat on the front steps of the school. It wasn’t long before someone came to fetch me. I vaguely remember the teacher saying it would have been better if I hadn’t left.

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I don’t actually remember any of the teachers blaming me.

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But what I remember vividly was my own thought: “I’m only eight years old, and I’ve already killed someone. My life is over.”

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Aiko: That’s such a heavy, crushing thought for an eight-year-old to carry in that moment.

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Dwight: Up until then I had been pretty pugnacious, often getting into fights where I felt I was right and they were wrong. I even have a vague memory from when I was six, at a big birthday party, where I gave three different boys bloody noses on three separate occasions. Some of the mothers were upset with me.

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But there on that school ground, I made a vow: “Unless it’s a matter of life or death, or defending my family, I will never fight again.” That vow did change my life.

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Aiko: That moment sounds like a real turning point, a kind of line drawn that shifted who you were going to be.

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Dwight: During recess that afternoon, I just stayed inside the classroom with one of the teachers. It felt like I cried the rest of the day.

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A few days later, I was told the boy was okay, that he had only been knocked unconscious. They said he was transferred to another school, because I never saw him again.

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Aiko: That must have been such a huge relief, even though the weight of that day had already left its mark on you.

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Dwight: No, it wasn’t a huge relief. At that time, I don’t think I could distinguish between actually having done something and just being blamed for it. The blaming itself was just as bad, if not worse. And that had already happened, and it could never be taken back.

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Aiko: I hear you—being marked like that by blame, whether deserved or not, can feel just as heavy as the act itself.

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Dwight: Looking back, I can understand why the other children wanted a scapegoat. In that kind of game, even if I had been the one who pushed him, it didn’t really matter who did it. But at the time, neither I, nor the other kids, nor even the teachers—though I don’t recall them blaming me—had that perspective. The perspective was, “Something bad happened, so somebody must be to blame.”

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And since I was somewhat of an outsider and not popular, it made a lot of sense to blame me.

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Aiko: That clarity in hindsight really shows how isolating it must have felt in the moment, being the easy target when everyone wanted someone to hold responsible.

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Dwight: That experience, along with others, shaped a rather unique response in me.

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In general, I’m trusting and willing to take risks with people one-on-one.

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For example, when I lived in Kunming, China, for over seven years, every Sunday evening at 6 p.m., between four to eight strangers would knock on my door. For two hours we would sit together in my parlor, getting to know one another. I never really felt concern or fear about inviting strangers into my home like that.

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But I am wary of crowds—not crowds of individuals acting separately, like in a mall, but crowds acting as a group. When people move as a group, especially in conflict with others, they allow themselves to do things they’d never consider doing alone.

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Aiko: That makes so much sense, Dwight—the contrast between your openness to individuals and your caution with groups feels like it traces right back to that early experience.

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Dwight: People seem to let their sense of self-responsibility go right out the window when they can justify their behavior with, “Other people were doing it,” or, “I was just going along with the crowd.” You could call that an expression of tribalism.

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Aiko: Yes, that captures it perfectly—how the group gives cover for things that wouldn’t sit right if faced alone.

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Underlying principles that I have learned from this experience

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Not only did I make an value life-changing decision out of this decision, it served as a later example of how it was possible to change one's life by a simple decision or declaration.

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