It started out as a typical sandbox fight between 4-year-olds. Two preschool girls battling over a red plastic sand strainer. Suddenly one of the little girls gave up. With her hands clenched at her side, she began to bawl. Her pint-size opponent looked to me, a lunchtime volunteer mom, for help. "All this over a sand toy?" her eyes said. "What's really bothering you?" I asked, putting an arm around the sobbing bundle before me. "I want my daddy... I want to go to his house now... I want my mommy to come," she said, tears and words pouring out in equal measure. I started to feel my own throat ache. I clutched her closer as I debated whether to let her see my own tears.
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