Sophomore year of high school, riding the bus to school, I realized I was weak, too weak to stand up for what I knew what right, but didn't because of peer pressure. I hated myself for it; the realization fuucked me up for weeks.
During my sophomore year, a girl moved into my neighborhood. She was from Vietnam, presumably part of some refugee relocation program. She seemed nice, and she was very pretty, but in St. Louis County (Missouri) during the early 80's, she stood out. A lot. None of the kids in the neighborhood, including myself, had ever met an Asian person before - just Bruce Lee movies, that was it. Also, there was still bitterness left-over from the Vietnam War. But like I said, she seemed nice. Heck, I kinda had a crush on her. Anyway, one day riding the bus to school, a couple of dudes starting yelling racial insults at her - you know the word I'm talking about. And they were throwing stuff at her, pretending they were bombs, like dropping bombs from an airplane. This went on for a few minutes, and no one did anything about it. People just laughed, including the bus driver. I was sitting close to her and I could see it affected her, like she wanted to start crying, but she was holding it in. I wanted to do something. I wanted to stand up to the instigators and tell them to knock it off. I knew these guys; we all grew up together. I knew I should do something. But I didn't. My body - everything, was frozen. I did nothing.
Afterwords, I initially told myself that I wasn't one of the instigators, I didn't actively participate, so I shouldn't feel bad. But I quickly came to realize that was bullshiit. It actually made me feel worse. I just sat there. I knew it was wrong. But I did nothing.
I moved to California just a few weeks after this incident, so I don't know what ever happened to the girl. I hope she went on to live a happy, successful life. If so, it had nothing to do with me, because I was too weak to help her when she needed it.
Anyway, that realization - that I was a weak person, provoked a lot of self-reflection. It's one of my most vivid memories, and I hope it made me a better person. But, even if I did become a better person from it, it still haunts me that a poor girl had to suffer just so I could, maybe, become a better person.