🌱ʜᴇᴀʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ'ꜱ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ|ᴍᴀʀᴀʙᴜᴢᴀʟ'ꜱ ʀᴇꜰʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ

This morning, some children skipped school and arrived at my yard. Their shoes were covered in dirt, their backpacks were unzipped, and their smiles were so big they seemed to want to runaway from their faces. They asked me for some guavas with a boldness that surprised me, but it was the tenderness in their gestures that really touched me. They approached as if they already knew that here, in this corner, there are no scoldings; there is only sweet fruit and welcoming shade.

As I gave them the guavas, I couldn't help but wonder what was going through their heads that made them decide to skip school. Was it boredom? Simple curiosity? Or perhaps something deeper, some kind of pain they can't yet name? Looking into their eyes, I realized this wasn't just mischief. There was a real hunger in them, a hunger for freedom, to play without a schedule, to feel seen.

And then I understood, with a clarity that shook me: protecting childhood isn't just about preventing something bad from happening to them. It's about, above all, making them feel heard. About someone paying attention to them, but truly, without rushing or judging.

Childhood is that moment —so short and so intense— when the world is revealed for the first time. It's when questions are asked unfiltered, dreams have no limits, and we still believe anything is possible. But it's also a fragile time. We adults, sometimes without realizing it, squeeze too hard. We demand that they fit into systems that weren't made for them, that they dress in uniforms that don't let their hearts beat strongly.

Protecting them goes much further. It means ensuring they have an education that sparks curiosity, a family that embraces them tightly, a community that looks at them with respect. Allowing them to play, to make mistakes, to invent impossible worlds on any given afternoon. Because every child is a seed. All it takes is soft soil, clean water, and a little sunshine for them to flourish.

Those children who came today weren't explorers. They were seekers of affection disguised as adventurers. They told me that at school they get punish for talking, for moving, for not sitting still in a chair. And I couldn't help but think: how many times have we asked them to act like adults when all they need is permission to be children?

Society owes a lot to the little ones. Every time we don't hear their cries, we label them without understanding, we rush them to grow up, we lose something that never comes back. A child who doesn't feel loved will find it hard to love. A child who isn't respected will never learn to respect.

When they left, with guava-stained hands and pockets full of laughter, I was left thinking about the lesson they had taught me. Childhood doesn't ask for grand things. It asks for simple gestures: a shared piece of fruit, a friendly look, a place where you can be yourself without fear.

Caring for children is caring for the future. It's about sowing humanity in the small things. Building a world where children don't have to escape to feel free. Because when we protect them, we protect what's most sacred.

🌱 _{© Copyright 2025 Argenis Osorio [@marabuzal]. All rights reserved}

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