The Legacy of Tolerance

It was quiet, empty, and lifeless. The irony of this place flooded my mind. This was a children's playground, not a war zone. In a place where joy should flourish, smoldering cigarette butts, thrown haphazardly, were the only things shining brightly. But as I walked through this silent park, I felt a shiver go down my spine as I realized how familiar this spot was.

I was walking slowly along the fence when suddenly I heard a shriek. Bewildered, I ran toward the noise and saw a group of boys swarming like bees around a small boy. To my horror, they pushed him down and called him a terrorist. As I watched him fall, the bullies saw me and raced off.

The little boy lay motionless there as I ran over as fast as I could. I pulled him up. He looked up at me, and through the reflection of his hazel eyes I saw myself six years before.

My memories fluttered back to a day as cool and crisp as this one. My grandpa and I were the only ones here in the park. I wanted to show him how I had mastered the monkey bars. Enthusiastically, I jumped up, but my focus was broken by a group of white teenagers wearing baggy T-shirts. I turned my gaze to the next bar, trying to avoid their brooding stares. Even though my arms were aching, I was almost at the last bar and I didn't want to give up. As I reached to catch it, I heard someone yell, “Get out of this country!”

Turning toward the noise, I was distracted by a dirty glass bottle flying toward me. The shattering glass frightened me, and I let go of the bar, anticipating a fall to the ground.

But instead I fell into the comforting arms of my grandfather. I heard another noise, except this time it was my grandfather saying my name. I slowly opened my eyes to see my grandfather's soft blue eyes and the outline of his turban.

Hatred for those kids bubbled in me. What did I do wrong that made them want us to leave this country? The teens were no-where to be seen, but the effect of their cruelty remained.

I told my grandfather how much I loathed those boys. He wiped my tears and simply said, “Your hate won't change anything; you must encounter hate with love, and forget their ignorance. Forgive those who cannot understand who you are inside, because your tolerance is worth more than their intolerance.”

Now, as I looked into the tear-drenched eyes of this young boy, I saw myself. His beautiful eyes were drowning with the hatred of those boys. As I wiped his tears, I saw how much I had changed. I had the courage and strength to fight this prevalent disease by a simple act of forgiveness. As I retold my grandfather's words to this child, I hoped he would continue the journey to tell the world that the only cure for ignorance is forgiveness and tolerance.

My words, in unison with my grandfather's, have the power to change the world, and these words of tolerance are my legacy.