By Mara Sapon-Shevin

The children of Jowonio know—not because they have been told—but because they have lived it.

That there is always room for everyone—in the circle and at snack time and on the playground—and even if they have to wiggle a little to get another body in and even if they have to find a new way to do it, they can figure it out—and so it might be reasonable to assume that there’s enough room for everyone in the world.

The children of Jowonio know—not because they have been told—but because they have lived it.

That children come in a dazzling assortment of sizes, colors and shapes, big and little and all shades of brown and beige and pink, and some walk and some use wheelchairs but everyone gets around and that same is boring—and so it might be reasonable to assume that everyone in the world could be accepted for who they are.

The children of Jowonio know—not because they have been told—but because they have lived it.

That there are people who talk with their mouths and people who talk with their hands and people who talk by pointing and people who tell us all we need to know with their bodies if we only listen well—and so it might be reasonable to assume that all the people of the world could learn to talk to and listen to each other.

The children of Jowonio know—not because they have been told—but because they have lived it.

That we don’t send people away because they’re different or even because they’re difficult and that all people need support and that if people are hurting we take the time to notice and that words can build bridges and hugs can heal—and so it might be reasonable to assume that all the people on the planet could reach out to each other and heal the wounds and make a world fit for us all.