The First Grown-Ups and Their First Children – A Wisdom Tale

Once upon a time, in a distant corner of the universe, there existed a planet unlike any other — a place I had lovingly crafted when I was in an exceptionally joyful mood. This planet was destined to be my masterpiece, a canvas of colors and life, painted in lush greens, brilliant blues, shimmering purples, and soft pinks. It was a landscape bursting with beauty and harmony, a true paradise.

To care for this wondrous creation, I sent my most cherished angels — my happiest and most innocent children. I knew they would nurture the land with love and laughter, so they happily descended onto this vibrant world, naming it Happy Land.

Happy Land was nothing short of magical. Verdant gardens stretched as far as the eye could see, forests hummed with the songs of birds, and crystal-clear waters sparkled in countless hues. Majestic mountains stood like ancient guardians, while lakes and rivers meandered gently across the terrain. Everywhere, lilies and roses bloomed along the paths, filling the air with fragrance. The skies above were a clear, radiant blue by day and a canvas of twinkling stars by night. To my little angels, Happy Land was a reflection of Heaven itself.

They embraced their new home with glee, playing in the fields, climbing mountains, and swimming in the lakes. Every night, under the silver moonlight, they gathered to count the stars and sing melodies of pure joy. They knew nothing of anger, pride, or greed — I had taught them only love, kindness, and happiness.

Their favorite time of all was when it rained. The cool showers brought immense excitement, as they danced freely under the droplets, their laughter echoing across the land. After every rain, they would craft paper boats and float them in puddles, cheering as the little vessels sailed away. I loved watching them, and whenever I saw their happiness, I would send more rain their way.

But one day, their innocent world changed.

As they played in the gardens, they noticed a strange disc hovering in the sky, spinning gently before descending to the ground. Cautiously, the children approached. From the disc emerged three tall, elegant beings with warm smiles. One of them spoke kindly, “Hello, children! My name is Rhea, and these are my friends Jack and Rita. We come from a distant planet and seek to explore your beautiful land.”

The children, led by a boy named Theo, welcomed the visitors warmly. “Welcome to Happy Land! I’m Theo, and these are my brothers and sisters — Ali, Saira, Ram, Krishna, Rahim, Meera, Nico, Paula, and Zoe. We’ve never had visitors before, but we’d love to show you around.”

The visitors, however, were puzzled. “Where are your parents or the grown-ups here?” Rhea asked.

Theo laughed, “There are no grown-ups here! We are all children — and we never grow up.”

The visitors were astonished but intrigued. They explored the land with the children as guides, marveling at the beauty and innocence surrounding them. The children shared their finest fruits, fresh milk, and delightful green soups. Yet, the visitors found the children’s endless games and dances under the moonlight peculiar. They declined invitations to play, saying, “We have work to do. We must report our findings back to our planet.”

The children whispered among themselves, “What is this work they speak of? Why don’t they play under the moonlight? Why don’t they enjoy the rain?”

Curiosity was stirred in their hearts, and with it, an unfamiliar sense of unease.

The next morning, I sent another shower of rain, expecting laughter and dancing. The children, in their usual courtesy, invited the visitors to join them. But the visitors declined again, preferring to stay dry under a shelter. To the children, this was baffling — why refuse the joy of rain?

Later, when asked about work, Rhea explained, “We are adults. We work to build, to create, and to earn something called money. We exchange money for things we need or desire. See this golden bird we gifted you? It’s made from what we call gold, something valuable in our world.”

She showed them pictures on her phone — tall buildings, offices, people working on machines. “On our planet, people work hard to create and earn, to build more and more.”

The children stared silently, trying to comprehend this strange world of adults. That night, for the first time, there was no star-counting or moonlit play. The seed of curiosity had been planted, and with it came a subtle shift.

When the visitors left, some children couldn’t shake off the thoughts of building and creating like the adults. Ram said, “I want to build something new, like those visitors did!”

But Theo resisted, “Happy Land is perfect. Why change it?”

Arguments ensued — their first arguments ever. Some wanted to stay children forever, others wanted to grow, to build, to work. In their division, something profound happened — they grew up a little. The innocence was starting to slip away.

Days turned into years. The arguments became conflicts. Groups formed, some building, others resisting, and fights broke out. Pride, anger, and ego — emotions I had shielded them from — now took root. The land changed, towering structures emerged, while the pure harmony of Happy Land faded.

I watched with sorrow. I sent more rain, hoping to awaken their old joys. But no one danced. Until one day, I saw Theo, now old, gazing at the rain with tears. “Father, what have we done? I don’t want these riches or tall offices. I want my paper boats. I want to be a child again.”

Others felt the same — longing not for gold, but for innocence lost. They called out to me, begging to be children once more.

But I couldn’t grant that wish. “Once grown, my dear ones, you cannot return to childhood. But I offer you this — you shall have children of your own. In them, you will see your past joy. Through them, you will play, teach, and hope once again.”

Years passed, and now whenever it rains, the children of those first grown-ups sail their paper boats. Theo Jr. asks his father, “Will you teach me to make a paper boat, Father?”

And across Happy Land, little Theo, Ali, Rahim, Ram, Krishna, Paula, Meera, Saira, Zoe, and others hold hands again — in their children, innocence lives on.

Moral of the Story

Childhood innocence is a fleeting treasure, but its spirit can live on through the next generation. Though adulthood brings complexities and burdens, the joy of simple pleasures — like playing in the rain or sailing paper boats — can always be rediscovered through the eyes of a child.