The child's story is not mine to share, but I can share a few of my own. I find having experienced these makes me want to hesitate before being so quick to jump to conclusions.
Every year Dad would get a huge pile of firewood from Grandpa's sawmill. We would unload it at home and then allow it to season for a year before moving it into our woodshed the following fall.
One fall we had moved most of the previous year's firewood into the woodshed, but there were still quite a bit of pieces half way buried in dirt and fragments of decomposing bark.
Dad had asked me to dig out those pieces yet and move them inside. My two youngest brothers followed me everywhere and naturally they accompanied me outside to help. I squatted down and dug out the pieces and they would stack them on the wagon and once it was filled we would take it to the woodshed to unload it.
Dad had some errands to run and had called a driver to take him where he needed to go. The driver arrived and had to wait a few minutes until Dad was ready to leave. I kept on digging out stray pieces of firewood and Ivan and Raymond were still happily stacking any piece I unearthed onto the wagon.
Dad left to take care of his errands, and when he came home he unloaded everything while the driver waited. I was still working on the firewood project. When the driver was ready to leave he stopped next to where I was digging out another piece of wood, and gave me a piece of his mind about how disgusted he was that I was so lazy that I would just sit there and have my little brothers do all the work.
I simply gaped at him and before I could find words again he had driven off.
With Mom busy with customers most of the time, I was the main caretaker of my youngest siblings. I was sixteen when Raymond was born and he was by my side constantly.
One day I was working in the garden with Raymond toddling around near me trying to help or picking up little rocks to play with when an older "English" pastor stopped in.
He saw me in the garden and came over to talk a little before heading to the woodworking shop where Dad was busy making chairs.
Raymond wasn't too fond of strangers and clung to the skirt of my dress. I scooped him up and stood there holding him as we talked.
The pastor proceeded to tell me how disappointed he was to see even the Amish have unwed mothers, but assured me God could forgive my sins and still use the little guy for His glory. He then marched off to find my Dad and then it dawned on me he thought my brother was my son.
These two examples serve as a good reminder why I think it's important to understand situations before being so fast to think the worst of someone.