Recently I picked up a set of “Double 12” dominoes at our local Goodwill store. Ninety-one dice packaged in an ancient faux leather case with a snap on the side to keep them compactly packed for storage. Far more conservative looking than a set I purchased new several years ago in a faux aluminum plastic case marketed as the game “Mexican Train.”

In addition to the dice, it included a battery-operated train whistle of the most annoying frequency that the winner of the game got to use in celebration.

When I first opened the Goodwill set, I was somewhat surprised to see pasted inside the cover an old-fashioned stick-on address label with the previous owner’s name and her address from a small community in Florida. This led me to believe perhaps that the owner had died and her children had sent some of her belongings to Goodwill.

Years ago, that would have been about the extent of my knowledge of the previous owner. Curiously, she shared the first name of my granddaughter, Claire. Wanting to know more about her, I did a brief internet search that revealed that she had in fact died at age 89, and had been a lifelong resident of Maine. But she had died in Florida, most likely where she went to winter in her retirement years. Her obituary picture was a beaming woman, full of life and with a mischievous  smile.

I first learned how to play the game Mexican Train with friends at a summer cottage on the Gulf Shore of Nova Scotia. They had learned it from other friends in their retirement community out west. We all agreed that the name of the game seemed slightly racist, but probably no more so than, say, Chinese Checkers.

Again, another internet search turns up no definitive answer as to why this game is called “Mexican” Train. Turns out it is also known as “Dominó Cubano” in Mexico, which probably came from a similar game “Longana,” in Cuba, which is thought to have come from a game called “Pai Gow” in China.

Such is the genealogy of games, passed down through generations of families and cultures. Much like the history of immigration to our country, people from all over the world coming here to enrich our country in myriad ways.

Like many Americans, I have been extremely alarmed by the policies of the Trump administration on the deportation of both legal and asylum-seeking citizens from our country. The border wall, the militarization of police and ICE personnel and the use of U.S. military troops against U.S. citizens engaged in legal protest have created an atmosphere of fear and intimidation throughout our country.

I’m not a lifelong resident of Maine, like Claire. But in my 50 years of living in Maine I have met many natives and folks like me who are “from away” who share in the joy of sitting around a camp table on a summer night playing games. Games that are similar to their own families who arrived here from all over the world. Our nearby neighbors from Canada. Folks from farther away. All of us sons and daughters of immigrants to a great nation of many peoples who share one love for freedom and democracy.

We can’t afford to gamble that away by choosing leaders like Donald Trump, who is tearing away at the very heart of our country in multiple ways. It’s not fun and games, it is  a deadly serious attempt at the destruction of democracy for personal gain. Write a letter to the editor. Attend a protest. Send a check to organizations fighting for our rights. This Trump train must be stopped before it is too late.