Happy Pride Month!

In the middle of Maplewood Park stood an old wooden bench painted in bright rainbow colors. Weathered by sun, rain, and time, the colors had faded slightly, the wood creaked when someone sat — but the bench still stood proud. It wasn’t fancy, but it had a story.

Years ago, Jamie, a quiet teen with a loud heart and a backpack full of paint cans, arrived just after sunset on a warm June evening. They had felt invisible in the town for too long — too different, too unsure, too much and not enough all at once. But that night, with the world hushed and the stars just starting to peek out, Jamie painted.

They started with red, then orange, then each color in turn, careful and steady, even as their hands trembled a little. It wasn’t just about making something beautiful — it was about leaving something behind. A signal. A safe place. A promise.

By the time the first birds began to sing and the sky turned lavender, the bench had become something new.

The next morning, people noticed. Some smiled with surprise. Some frowned, muttering under their breath. But most just sat. A mother resting during a stroller walk. A tired teenager scrolling through their phone. A lonely grandfather feeding pigeons. The rainbow didn’t ask questions. It simply was.

In the years that followed, the bench quietly gathered stories.

It was where Sam, shaking with nerves, came out to their mother — and where she pulled them into a long, quiet hug. Where two women, giggling and teary-eyed, got engaged beneath the summer sun, surrounded by friends holding flowers and balloons. Where a trans teen named Riley, heart pounding and feeling completely alone, sat down — and found a stranger already there who simply turned and said, “Me too,” and stayed until Riley could breathe again.

Some days, the bench sat alone. Other days, it was surrounded by laughter, music, or quiet tears. It held signs during Pride Month, candles during vigils, and hands during first dates. And while the paint chipped and the wood aged, the meaning only grew stronger — like roots spreading deep into the ground.

Now, every June, people gather there. Some in celebration, waving little rainbow flags and snapping photos. Some in reflection, sitting in silence or writing in journals. Parents bring children and tell them stories. Teens leave handmade bracelets and notes tucked between the slats.

And every year, Jamie — older now, still quiet, still full of heart — walks by. They pause, run a hand across the rainbow wood, feel its warmth, its history. They don’t say much. They don’t need to.

They smile.

Not because of what they did — but because of what it became.

Because sometimes, all it takes is one small act of color in a gray world to show someone they’re not alone.

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH EVERYONE!!!