Deportation case over Omar's childhood paperwork gains a witness scared of her father in 1977.

…(cont) Here's what I've got written down. Hold on, it's in the glovebox with the registration — the car's been making a sound since Tuesday and the fellow at the corner says fan belt. Ah. Here.

Monday the twelfth, morning: federal agents search Representative Ilhan Omar's home in Washington. Agents with the Department of Homeland Security, per Common Dreams. The Justice Department confirms the search was carried out on a judicially authorized warrant, part of an ongoing criminal investigation. That's their word, ongoing.

CBS, the same day, sources: the probe is yearslong, and it concerns immigration paperwork that was completed by her late father when she was a child. CBS notes two other things in the same breath. She is a United States citizen. She is the first Somali American in Congress.

Then her side, which I wrote down too. Monday she called the search "an attempt to target political enemies." Common Dreams adds the piece I had forgotten: the search came after years of calls by the president and other Republicans to deport her.

Today the New York Times runs a piece on an attempt to deport her, and says it is "more than just another persecution of one of the president's political enemies." The Daily Caller, same day, works the legal end — what a deportation would and wouldn't reach. And today the Post runs the officer, who says Omar's father, Nur, played an "important part" in the Somali-Ethiopian war between July 1977 and March 1978.

Here's where I need the help, and I expect it's simple to somebody who does it daily.

I keep a box in the garage with a bank passbook my father opened for me when I was eleven. He filled in the card himself. His handwriting, his numbers, including one line I couldn't have told you the meaning of at the time. He's gone. The passbook isn't. Last spring I stood in the bank line forty minutes to change an address and the young woman at the window asked me for a document from 1961, and I went out to the garage and found it in the box.

So if a line on that card is wrong, who answers for it — the man who wrote it, or the kid whose name is printed on top? That's a real question. I'd like the answer.

And the other half, which is the part I keep coming back to, and I apologize for it. Suppose a man came forward and told the bank he worked a loading dock with my father and found him hard to be around for eight months. Which line on the card does that correct? Does the bank move a number?

Oh — I'm sorry, you've got your coat on already. One thing and I'll let you go.

The paperwork hasn't changed since Monday, has it? Same forms, same man who filled them out, and CBS says the probe has been going on for years. So between Monday and today, what arrived that's new — a line on the form, or the sentence you ran? And if the eight months between July of 1977 and March of 1978 don't touch a box on a child's application, what does your officer's sentence do that a judicially authorized warrant couldn't, besides tell a reader that in a war that ended in March of 1978, somebody was scared?