At the end of the day, my mom came to pick me up from preschool. Before leaving, I dug around in the lost and found box, pulling out a small, fluffy, black bear from it. Although it wasn’t mine, I took it home with me. This bear serves as a memory of my childhood, and from my preschool which taught me so much regarding not only education, but humanity.
My preschool was a Spanish immersion school, chock-full of immigrants. My mom says that one day, she came to pick me and my siblings up from school, only to be faced with crying and rooms full of toddlers without their teachers. Immigration had come to my school during the day and taken the teachers, leaving us behind unsupervised. The remaining workers had to take care of us–we were traumatized from watching our teachers get taken away, just because of the color of their skin and the language they spoke–just because they didn’t fit into the narrow box that others decided they didn’t suit.
“Say it loud, say it clear! Immigrants are welcome here!” Just a few days ago, I was surrounded by these words, shouting it along with my classmates. We walked out of school, holding a protest against what is happening to us now. The story of what happened at my preschool isn’t something left behind in the past–it’s happening every day, and it won’t stop until we make it.

– M.R

Relationship:  Great-grandchild of im/migrant or more Great-grandchild of im/migrant or more