Written by Bill Conley
There was a little town nestled
between two hills, with winding sidewalks, friendly neighbors, and one very
special playground. It sat at the top of Maple Hill, just past the bakery and
across from the library. Every day after school, the children of Maple Hill
would race up the slope, laughing, skipping, and dragging scooters and jump
ropes behind them.
They came from all over town. Some
had straight hair, some had curly hair. Some wore braids with beads that
clicked when they ran. Some had skin as dark as rich soil, others as light as
snow. Some had freckles, dimples, or glasses that slipped down their noses.
But none of that mattered at the
playground.
To the children, there were only
names—Tyler, Amara, Sofia, Mateo, Lily, and Isaiah. There were tag teams and
swing partners, buddies for the teeter-totter and builders for the sandbox.
There were big laughs and scraped knees and someone always willing to help you
up.
Nobody said, “You’re too different.”
Nobody said, “You don’t belong.”
At the top of Maple Hill, everyone belonged.
One day, a new girl came to town.
Her name was Amina. She had big brown eyes, a bright yellow dress, and a shy
smile. She held her mother’s hand tightly as they stood near the playground
fence.
Amina watched the children laugh and
climb and run. She didn’t look like all of them. Her skin was a warm, rich
brown, and her hair was pulled into two long braids with bright ribbons at the
ends. She felt nervous—wondering if she would fit in.
Just then, a boy with sandy hair and
grass-stained jeans noticed her.
“Hi!” he said cheerfully, running
over. “I’m Tyler. Do you want to play pirates with us?”
Amina’s eyes widened. “Me?”
“Of course you!” he said, grinning.
“You can be the captain if you want. We need someone to steer the ship.”
Amina let go of her mom’s hand and
nodded.
From that moment on, she was part of
the crew.
The children played for hours. They
climbed the jungle gym and pretended it was a ship. They took turns being
captain and lookout, and when they dug in the sandbox, they called it treasure
hunting. Amina had never laughed so much in her life.
The next day, she came back with a
kite she had made herself. It was decorated with bold colors and swirly
patterns that looked like her grandmother’s dresses. The children all gathered
around.
“Whoa!” said Sofia. “That’s the
coolest kite I’ve ever seen!”
“Can you show us how to make one?”
asked Mateo.
And so Amina did.
She didn’t notice that her skin was
a different color. And neither did the others.
They only noticed her laughter, her
kindness, and the way she helped Isaiah up when he fell from the monkey bars.
They noticed how fast she could run, how big her ideas were, and how she made
everyone feel welcome.
One afternoon, while the kids were
building a pretend castle out of sticks and leaves, two grown-ups sat nearby
watching.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” said one
mother, sipping her coffee.
“What is?” asked the other.
“They don’t see color,” she said
softly. “They just see friends.”
And it was true. At the playground
on Maple Hill, the children didn’t care about where someone came from or what
they looked like. They only cared about who could build the tallest block
tower, who could swing the highest, and who brought the best snacks.
One cloudy day, the sky threatened
rain, and the parents called out, “Five more minutes!”
The kids groaned but quickly
gathered under the big oak tree to finish their last game of hide-and-seek.
Sofia, who had long black hair and
bright eyes, whispered to Amina, “You’re the best hider.”
Amina smiled. “You’re the best
seeker.”
They giggled and high-fived.
As the rain began to fall in soft
sprinkles, the children scattered, waving goodbye and promising to meet again
tomorrow.
Amina ran back to her mom, her
braids bouncing with every step.
“How was your day?” her mom asked.
“Perfect,” Amina said.
“Did you make friends?”
Amina nodded. “Lots of them. We
built a spaceship, climbed the moon, and found pirate treasure.”
Her mom smiled. “That sounds like
quite an adventure.”
Amina took her mother’s hand and
looked back at the playground, now glistening in the rain.
“They don’t care what I look like,
Mama,” she said. “They just like me.”
Her mother bent down and kissed her forehead.
“That’s the way it should be,
sweetheart. That’s exactly the way it should be.”
The
Moral to the Story: "The Playground on Maple Hill"
Children naturally see others for
who they are, not for the color of their skin.
Their hearts are open, innocent, and full of love, offering friendship freely
to all.
If adults watched children more closely, they’d remember how to love without
judgment. The world becomes a better place when we see each other the way
children do—with kindness, not color.
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