The children wore clothes soiled with mucus, urine and feces.

None of the children had access to soap or toothpaste, reported lawyers visiting the border detention facilities in Texas. Some had not showered in weeks.

It’s hard to think about the hundreds of children -- scared, cold, sick, dirty, hungry -- held by our government in these conditions, funded by our tax dollars.

Angie O’Gorman, a 71-year-old retired worker for Legal Services in St. Louis, could not look away. Back in February, she called Annunciation House, which operates shelters in El Paso, and said: “I’m available. I speak some Spanish. Let me know when you need a volunteer.”

She headed to the border by herself in late March and stayed for two weeks at the shelter. Families arrived there after being released from the detention facilities run by Customs and Border Protection. They would get food, a clean set of clothes and help with travel arrangements to stay with someone they knew until their asylum hearing. She heard horror stories of the freezing “ice boxes,” where lights were kept on 24/7; of border patrol agents who threw away anything the refugees brought with them, including money and identification cards; of being called “animals” by the guards.

“I know from experience the reasons why people are fleeing Central America,” she said. “I’ve been there.” She’s seen the damage that American policies have done in the countries overrun by drug and gang violence.

The latest news of deplorable conditions in an overcrowded facility in Clint, Texas, didn’t surprise her.

“This situation has been going on for months,” she said. “What I find more intolerable than the suffering is the attitude that allows it to go on.”

People have a legal right to flee their country and apply for asylum. The crisis at the southern border is fueled by the problems happening in the migrants’ home countries.

“I have no answers on how to fix it,” she said. “Nor would I force them back home until we have repaired the damage we have done.”

She couldn’t sit back and simply read reports about what has been happening. After she came back to St. Louis, she asked a few friends if they would donate money toward sending monthly boxes of snacks that the shelter could give to families as they traveled to their friends and family members. Migrant families often spent hours or even days on buses with just a peanut butter sandwich per family member.

She didn’t have to try to convince people.

“People know enough of what’s going on down there to know it’s wrong,” she said. About 20 donors pitch in to send nine boxes of small snacks to the shelter each month. She knows it’s not the healthiest food, but it’s better than nothing.

It’s difficult for some people to understand why some parents are sending their young children alone on such a dangerous journey to the United States.

“It’s so the kids don’t get killed,” she said. “I don’t know if we can get our heads around that.”

For some, it’s easier to blame the parents. The vilification of the migrants and the justifications for the conditions in which they are being held is “a way of saying we can’t accept the responsibility for what we’ve done,” she said.

Providing basic sanitary conditions for migrant children is hardly a matter of resources.

American taxpayers have spent $102 million just on President Donald Trump’s golfing trips. Border facilities have so far rejected offers from Americans wanting to donate the needed supplies.

O’Gorman worked in a clothing storage room at the shelter, where she gave migrants something clean to wear when they arrived. She was surprised to see older clothes turn up in the same room later.

Many of the refugees would hand-wash the dirty clothes they had arrived in. These desperate mothers and fathers would return to the clothing room and donate their only other set of clothing for the next group of people who needed them.

A person’s humanity isn’t measured by what they own.

Rather, by what they are willing to give.

Getting into the world’s most elite colleges is a bit like playing the lottery.

Harvard University accepted a record low of 4.5 percent of applicants this year, so most of the brightest and best students from around the country can expect rejection if they decide to play that game.

Four years of hard work, perfect grades, outstanding test scores and stellar extracurricular achievements earn you consideration, but no guarantee of admission. You’ll find plenty of valedictorians with perfect SATs who get denied every year.

There’s more to getting in than accomplishments.

So when a young person snags that rare and coveted spot, only to have it taken away, it can feel like a life-altering gut-punch.

The case of Parkland shooting survivor Kyle Kashuv exposed, yet again, how racism and denial operate in America. Kashuv, a senior at Marjory Stoneman-Douglas High School, shared on Twitter on Monday that Harvard had rescinded his acceptance after learning about racist and anti-Semitic messages he wrote and shared with peers when he was 16 years old.

Kashuv apologized for his use of the n-word and “n-jocks,” arguing that he had matured since this juvenile mistake, and that he deserved redemption and forgiveness. He described his words as “offensive,” “idiotic,” “callous” and “inflammatory.”

Tellingly, he never described his repeated use of these slurs as “racist.”

A young white man who had written and shared the “n-word” more than a dozen times could not bring himself to call that action racist -- even in an apology. If a white person doesn’t consider himself to be a racist, should nothing he does ever be judged as such? Can even the most objectively racist slurs be whitewashed as simply “idiotic”?

An idiotic action is different from a racist one. Kashuv knows that, which is why his apology never approaches the substance of what he said.

I was a silly, immature kid, the defense goes. The chorus of conservative pundits echoed that refrain and took it even further. Conservative Ben Shapiro said Harvard’s actions had set an “insane, cruel standard” that “no one can possibly meet.”

Arguably, there are millions of teenagers who meet that standard. “Don’t use racist language” isn’t that high a bar.

The defenders of Kashuv are the same crowd who lecture about “personal responsibility” when unarmed black teenagers are shot dead by the police. Were there similar anguished cries for empathy when 16-year-old Kalief Browder spent more than 1,000 days in Rikers Island for allegedly stealing a backpack? He maintained his innocence and was eventually released without charges. He described the beatings, starvation and torture he suffered in jail, and eventually died of suicide.

He lost his freedom and his life.

But God help us if a white teenager who dabbled in racial slurs loses his golden ticket to Harvard. That is the real injustice demanding national attention.

As the parent of a 16-year-old child, I worry about outsized consequences for immature online behavior. It’s a grim reality of life that anyone can screenshot something terrible you’ve said and sabotage your life choices. Let this be a wake-up call to parents who have never explicitly talked to their children about why racist, bigoted slurs are vile and should never be used.

Kashuv could take away something valuable from this experience: Freedom of speech does not mean freedom from consequences. An apology doesn’t erase consequences for poor choices. Being able to admit that using the n-word is a racist and damaging act shows real growth and understanding.

If he chooses to, he can thrive at a state school or community college. He can demonstrate through his actions that he’s not the same person who thought it was funny to write “n-jock” to his peers. He can transfer and reapply to whatever college he wants the following year.

Because the truth is: No one is entitled to go to Harvard.

Jeffery Waller, 36, will be back in court next week fighting for time with his son.

It’s a familiar scene after a bitter, two-year custody battle. He says he’s probably been to 40 hearings since he and his ex-wife split up after five years of marriage.

It’s drained him financially and emotionally.

He remembers hitting a low point in an unemployment office nearly two years ago. He was in between jobs. His family lives five hours away in Tennessee. There were times when he wouldn’t be able to see his son for months at a stretch. He noticed a flyer for the St. Louis Crisis Nursery, and out of sheer desperation, he called the hotline.

“Hey, I’m a dad,” he said to the woman who answered the phone. “I’m not being allowed to see my child. I don’t know where to turn. I don’t know where to go. I need some help. Can you help me out in some way?”

The social worker on the line listened to his story. She offered to help him and suggested he also contact the Fathers’ Support Center in St. Louis. Waller had never heard of the group, but decided he needed to take whatever help he could get.

He called at 4:30 p.m. on a Friday. The center was closing in half an hour, the staff told him, but they had a parenting course starting on Monday. Waller jumped in his car and drove 30 minutes to the FSC office, where the staff stayed late to enroll him in the six-week program.

Waller was initially skeptical. He imagined a group of discouraged men sitting around in a circle telling their sad stories. He wanted no part of anything like that, and didn’t see any value in a support group. Talking about his troubles wouldn’t actually fix anything, he thought.

The program turned out to be nothing like what he had expected.

The faculty and staff had one question for all the participants: Are you here to be the best parent you can be, regardless of what the other parent is going to do? If so, the FSC would help them get there. Waller spent six weeks taking classes on effective parenting skills and child nutrition, and receiving credit counseling, legal counseling and employment counseling to help place him in a solid job. The center provides lunch several times a week, plus bus passes or gas money for transportation. And there’s always a counselor on hand to talk to when life gets too stressful.

“They make sure you have no excuse not to be there,” he said. He was amazed by the support, education and attention he received.

“I’ve never seen in my life so many people focused on creating a cohesive family,” he said.

Once he completed the six-week course in December of 2017, they helped provide some legal resources. The course made him a better father, and it gave him hope.

He learned never to disparage his ex-wife or refer to her as a “baby mama.” He appreciated that most of the faculty had been through the program themselves and had lived through many of the struggles he was experiencing.

“They brought a realism and honesty to the subject that is completely ignored,” he said, referring to the societal lack of support for fathers. He’s started speaking on behalf of the group to raise awareness of the resources available and to share his story. He gets a little emotional when he talks about his hopes and dreams for his 5-year-old son.

“The thing I wish the most for him, even after all the terrible things he’s experienced, is that he gets to see his mother and I in a positive light. ... I want him to see, even though things are not ideal, they can still work,” he said.

It’s a dream he refuses to give up on -- regardless of how many times he ends up in court.