Driving along a treelined street, a boy, maybe twelve, stood by a tree with a hammer. I watched as he struck the tree again and again. I rolled down my window and asked, “What are you doing?” He shrugged and stood still. The tree had a large wound on the trunk, the bark gone. “Why did you do that? That’ll hurt the tree.” He shrugged again, said, “I’m bored,” and walked away. I expect the tree will be OK, but I felt low driving away. I thought about that boy and wondered what I might have better said or done.