Remember the last time you took your kids to the playground? You were sitting on the bench, watching them play on the swings or in the sandbox. You were thirsty, so you cracked open a bottle of water. Your kids were hungry, so you gave them a candy bar or sandwich. And when you left, you tossed all of it in the trash bin sitting by the gate. You probably hadn't even noticed the trash bin before you needed a place to put your trash, and you didn't give it a second thought after getting rid of your waste.
But for me, a trash bin means so much more than just a receptacle for waste. It is a sign of new hope, a sign of childhood restored, and, most importantly, a sign of peace. I have made several trips to the communities at the front lines of this war with the aim of restoring the children's childhoods, thereby restoring and building playgrounds in those war-ravaged communities. In one village in the Kherson region, I was tasked with restoring the trash bins.
This village had been completely destroyed. The central store and community center had no roof. The school was now a concrete pile, unrecognizable as a former building. There were missile and rocket parts scattered around the village, and everything larger than a blade of grass had bullet or shrapnel holes. We were warned to stay on the paths as the area was heavily mined. The town seemed unlivable to me, but the residents had returned after the fighting as they had nowhere else to go. Some lived in their barns and root cellars since their houses had been destroyed. Others lived in their homes but had to step over holes in their floor where a shell had hit or lived under a tarpaulin roof as the permanent roof was gone.
When I got to the recently de-mined playground area, I had little hope that we would have anything to restore, and my fear was well-founded. Nothing was whole, including the trash bins.
The first trash bin I got to was barely standing, its legs peppered with shrapnel holes. The bin itself was not much better, with holes two and a half centimeters across. In the back, there was a bullet embedded in the metal. What paint was left was faded and chipped. I grabbed a wire brush and started cleaning it up, chipping away the old paint and removing the rust. I took the bullet out from the back. I then grabbed a hammer and went to work on the shrapnel holes. I smoothed out as many as I could. After I had cleaned it up as well as I could, I grabbed some red paint and gave the trash bin a new coat. It was ready to go again-to watch the children playing on the playground around it. To collect trash rather than bullets.
To me, this trash bin reminded me of the people of Ukraine, but especially the children. What horrors it has seen: only it knows or could ever tell. Even after I had tried to fix it up, the battle scars remained. But whereas before, it had been just another piece of war-torn metal in a minefield, it was now a usable part of a children's play area. None of us can remove the battle scars from the people and children of Ukraine - those will always be there - but we can show love and support and give them a 'new coat of paint' so that they can grow past this war and the horrors they have experienced and become the peacemakers of tomorrow.
Preston Button is currently working as a volunteer with Novi in Kyiv. He is an American and German citizen who has grown up in the Bruderhof community. Preston loves sports, soccer in particular, and computers. Most of all he loves playing with children.
