After we read a story together, the little girl edged closer to me, looking up with soulful brown eyes. She is only 5 years old. Her tiny brown fingers were fidgety as she said “My daddy got arrested. He’s in Guatemala.”

My heart may have stopped for a second, before I asked if she had siblings. “I have a brother. A baby. He cries and mommy gives him the milk,” she said, raising her little arms in a rocking motion — arms almost too small to hold a baby, yet strong enough to hold a daddy’s deportation.

I wanted to hug her tightly, but I’m just a volunteer in her kindergarten class. That she trusted me – a white woman -- with her story must be enough for this day. But the image of her and the depth of her words will stay with me for a very long time. I will hold her and her family in my heart.

On the drive home, they were out there – a sheriff’s department patrol car, just idling in the median. And watching. Watching for old cars with brown-skinned drivers. For trucks carrying equipment and workers. For people who mow our lawns, clean our homes and offices, install roofs. Public servants are waiting to detain people simply trying to build safe lives for their families. Deputies waiting to arrest the people who support our agricultural and construction economy with their backs, sweat, and loyalty.

I am appalled. This isn’t just happening in some faraway town. It’s happening in my community, with my tax dollars. I hate this. Hardworking families already in this country need a path forward, not deportation. Humanity is not political.

Explain what’s going on to a 5-year-old.