Just over a week ago, my mother and I sat on the floor in my rec room in front of a closet full of books and games and toys. The closet isn’t opened much these days as the children who used to play with its contents are long past bingo and model cars. We were gathering things for the refugee families at the center where my parents are volunteering. They’re going a couple of times a week to teach English to a group of recent immigrants from all corners of the globe. My mother discovered, on a recent visit, great success with children’s picture books.