World Playground - The Only Handicap is Hate

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In a village where the sun spilled like liquid gold over the rooftops, there stood a kindergarten everyone called "The Rainbow Kindergarten." Every morning, children from all corners of the world gathered there—tiny hands that spoke more languages than they could count, carrying more stories than any book could hold.

There was Amina, whose family came from Somalia, always wearing a dress embroidered with stars, teaching the others how to braid ribbons into hair like her grandmother had shown her. Luca, who zoomed across the yard in his wheelchair, laughing as he led the "space race" with a colander helmet on his head. Mei, from Taiwan, giggled as she painted dragons in the air with her fingers, while Javier, whose legs bore scars from a childhood illness, sat cross-legged in the grass, handing out "magic leaves" that could cure any pretend ailment.

At snack time, they traded koeksisters from South Africa for mochi wrapped in cherry blossom leaves, and no one questioned why Eli’s skin was darker than the soil or why Lena’s ears needed little devices to hear the birds. The only rule was etched into the wooden gate by a teacher long ago:

"Here, ‘different’ just means ‘another color to love.’"

One afternoon, as they built a sandcastle taller than their knees, a visitor asked, "Why do you all play so easily together?"

Six-year-old Amina blinked, her fingers sticky with glue and glitter. "Because nobody told us not to."

And just like that, the world outside the gate felt a little quieter, a little smaller.