Guest Commentary written by
Tilly Griffiths
Tilly Griffiths is a junior account executive in social good and issue advocacy public relations in New York City and a community impact writer for Magical Bridge Foundation. She has a master’s degree in communication from Stanford.
Growing up, playtime was my least favorite part of the school day.
While my classmates ran free, unbound by the structure of the classroom, my isolation became glaringly apparent. They hopped, skipped and chased one another across the playground, while I watched from the sidelines. The kingdom they built atop the plastic jungle gym was one I could never enter in my powered wheelchair.
Playgrounds were not designed for me — or for anyone who couldn’t climb stairs, swing from monkey bars or interact with equipment in a “typical” way. What should have been a joyful space only reinforced my exclusion.
My story isn’t unique. During the 2022–23 school year, 7.5 million students aged 3–21 received special education services under the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act. In California, roughly 837,000 children are enrolled in special education. For too many young people, the playground is a symbol of exclusion rather than belonging.
Playtime is far more than a break from academics. It fosters physical fitness, creativity and essential social skills. For children with disabilities, the stakes are even higher: play improves coordination, balance and strength, while easing anxiety and boosting focus.
Furthermore, playgrounds are a microcosm of society. As parent Lina Godfrey observed, “Who is seen and who isn’t, who is welcome and who isn’t — these things matter for the disability community’s future more than we can possibly know.”
By excluding children with disabilities, we reinforce a culture of separation and squander opportunities for connection, empathy and growth. Inclusive playgrounds benefit everyone by fostering diverse friendships and encouraging understanding from an early age.
And yet, inclusion is still treated as a “theme” or “special request” rather than a non-negotiable standard in playground design. ADA compliance — the bare minimum standard — fails to guarantee true accessibility. Many so-called “accessible” playgrounds neglect the needs of children with disabilities, offering token gestures rather than meaningful solutions.
This must change.
On a visit to the Magical Bridge playground in Palo Alto, I experienced for the first time what it felt like to fully participate. The equipment accommodated a range of abilities, enabling everyone — regardless of physical or cognitive challenges — to play together. These playgrounds prove that inclusion is transformative when done right.
Last month, Magical Bridge opened its 10th playground at Rengstorff Park in Mountain View, representing a milestone that sets a standard for communities everywhere.
True inclusion requires boldness. Californians must demand designs that welcome us in the bodies we have now and the ones we will age into. A playground designed for everyone isn’t just nice to have — it’s essential.
When we prioritize inclusivity, the entire community benefits. Children grow up learning fairness and empathy; adults and seniors find joy and connection; and these spaces show us the world as it could and should be: welcoming to all.
This journey begins with our schools. Playgrounds like what Magical Bridge creates reflect the kind of world we want to inhabit, and every child deserves to experience that vision. Every child deserves a place to play, and every community has the power to make that a reality.