THE RIGHT THING: A BOY, A MOUNTAIN AND A SIMPLE ACT OF KINDNESS

[You can read an update on Evan, his climbing, and his efforts to use his avocation to raise money for his school at Summits for Evan's School.]

My oldest grandson, Evan, started a new family tradition last year by asking everyone around the Thanksgiving dinner table to tell a story about themselves or to sing a song. When his father's turn came this year, he told the story of a hike to the peak of Mt. Katahdin that he recently had taken with my daughter and their two sons.

Mt. Katahdin is the highest mountain in Maine, with its tallest peak reaching more than 5,200 feet. Getting to the top presents a challenging hike, particularly for an 8-year-old and his 6-year-old brother. Somewhere along the trail Evan's resolve began to waiver. He sat down and told his parents and brother that he would wait while they continued up to the summit.

Before they could convince him that this was not an option, however, a small group of young hikers from Quebec came upon them.

A young woman in the group noticed that Evan was distraught. She walked up to him and told him that she had had similar bouts of hesitancy on many hikes in the past. The thing that helped her, she said, was a special plaster she wore. She took out two seemingly ordinary bandages from her backpack and handed them to Evan.

"I have an extra one you can have," she said. "And here's another in case you need it on the way down."

Evan put on the plaster and headed on up Katahdin. Along the way they would occasionally spot the same group of hikers, who always greeted Evan with a thumbs-up signal.

The boy exuberantly completed the climb. When he and his family had descended the mountain and re-entered their campsite, the young women burst into applause when they saw Evan, his brother Luke and their parents.

The story of the young woman's small act of kindness brought into stark relief how great an impact it can have if we choose to reach out to another person in apparent duress. It begs the question of whether we're ethically obligated to help others when it's within our power to do so.

Fourteen years ago, as I was standing outside the entryway to a Manhattan hotel and looking for a taxi, a somewhat-unkempt man approached me.

"Do you ... ," he began.

Before he could even finish, I responded with a curt "I don't have any."

He paused, looked at me and said, "Of course you don't."

He walked on.

I had assumed that the man was approaching me for money. In my haste to hail a cab without having to deal with anything else, I was quick to brush him off. For all I know, he may have been trying to ask me for directions. I'll never know. I've regretted my knee-jerk response ever since.

We are not ethically obligated to help every stranger who crosses our path. But if helping others is something that we hold to be a core personal value, then the right thing to do is not to dismiss those who approach us for assistance -- certainly not the way I did, without even giving the man a chance to ask.

My experience 14 years ago changed how I have responded to similar situations ever since. But it paled in comparison with how a young woman's decision to be kind when she didn't have to gave an 8-year-old boy the confidence he needed to complete his climb.

c.2007 The New York Times Syndicate (Distributed by The New York Times Syndicate)