"Mija, don't miss a day of your life. Find ways to make each day matter-- to you, to another, to the world. Remember that we are all part of something bigger than life" my grandma on my dad's side wrote to me in a letter that she gave me before I went away to college. Today, on a day soaked in exams, stress, and a bitter cold reminding me of winter's existence, I find myself re-reading it and remembering a lifetime of memories with a full heart. How could it be that eighteen years could pass by in such a blink of an eye?
My dad converted to Islam when he was in his early 20s. And when he converted, he made it a point to not let his observance of a different faith and its traditions get in the way of the close relationship he had always maintained with his family. My parents made sure that my Christian side of the family felt as included in our lives as our Muslim relatives were. At my parents' wedding my mother walked down the aisle to Pachelbel's Canon in D, my father wore a shervani (an Indian version of a suit), and my parents released butterflies at the end of their ceremony. Their wedding was a symbol of what the rest of our lives would be: a completely distinct hybrid of east and west, new and old, and just pure wonderful.
I grew up having cookie baking parties with my grandmother the weeks before Christmas, playing with her three dogs (and feeding them food I didn't want when my mother wasn't looking), having wrestling matches with my uncles, and having family sleepovers the night before Christmas at my grandparents' house. But never once during any of this was I confused about my own identity. My parents would explain to me on the way to Christmas celebrations "Samar remember that we don't celebrate Christmas, but we believe in Islam that you maintain connections with your family no matter what, so that is what we're doing. This is how you show family that you support them and that you appreciate them". So they would give us Christmas presents and we would give them Eid presents in return. They would make us marshmallow free sweet potatoes on Thanksgiving and make a few batches of turkey bacon and turkey sausage for us on Mother's Day breakfasts too. It was the most compromising and dynamic union I had ever witnessed and not a day goes by that I'm not grateful for it.
My parents also balanced that by raising me in a circle of the most knowledgable and innovative western Muslim scholars. From the age of seven I sat in circles with people like Dr. Umar, Shaikh Hamza, Dr. Ingrid Mattson, Dr. Sherman Jackson, and Dr. Abdul Hakim Winters. Not only did my ambitious 28 year old parents make me sit in on these circles at 7, I also got quizzed on what was said during these lectures on the way home. In addition to learning about Islamic ethics and values, I also learned about Christian and Jewish ones as well. I sat in on synagogues, went to various different church services ranging from monastaries to evangelical congregations. My parents thought it was imperative that I learned about other faiths than my own so that I could have the knowledge to choose my faith on my own accord because when you choose something for yourself, you are much more likely to hold fast to it and value and appreciate it. It also provided me with the tools to combat the post 9/11 misconceptions with my own unique perspective and insight that were the result of my unique upbringing.
Recently, at a Muslim Student Association gathering on campus, I found myself frustrated that many of the members stuck to one another like the grains of sticky rice. As I overheard many bits and pieces of conversation, it saddened me that there were repeated fragments like "yeah, I have this friend but she's nonmuslim..." as if it discounted the friendship. Growing up, I quickly realized that my Christian family members were some of the best people I had ever come across. They were moral, and ethical, caring, and open-minded. They were people that were fearless when it came to standing up for what was right. It was my grandmother who taught me how to truly care about a person, and my grandfather taught me how to be dedicated and do the absolute best in whatever I did, regardless of what that was. My uncles taught me how to find the humor in the mundane and how to always make appreciation and love known. And my aunts taught me how to be patient but fierce and resilient. When push came to shove in my silly suburban teen life, it was often these people that I went to for advice and comfort over anyone else, even my Muslim relatives. And in my mind, that says a lot.
What I'm trying to say is that this divide where we try to shelter our children from other faiths, where we take them from one Muslim place to another, and then send them to commuter colleges with more Muslims, and then get them married and have them live inside of this Muslim community and then still complain about how "no one understands Muslims" or that people are being "ignorant" or that systems are "stilted" towards certain people. Because the reality is that we live in a predominantly Christian society, and shutting our youth up in little bubbles isn't the answer. Teaching them how to coexist, how to not think of people outside of the Muslim faith as the "other". If we want people to start understanding Muslims, writing books and making documentaries is not the way to go about it. It's by having human ambassadors of what an American-Muslim looks like, and acts like, and what they stand for, and the absolute best ambassadors are your children. Raise them to be that way. This means that many of the previous stigmas of the first generation Muslims like talking to the opposite gender and having friends outside of the Muslim faith need to be re-thought because we are living in a place where Islam needs to be fitted to its new vernacular finally. We need to be bold enough, and forward thinking enough to see that. There I plant my foot.
Samar
I grew up having cookie baking parties with my grandmother the weeks before Christmas, playing with her three dogs (and feeding them food I didn't want when my mother wasn't looking), having wrestling matches with my uncles, and having family sleepovers the night before Christmas at my grandparents' house. But never once during any of this was I confused about my own identity. My parents would explain to me on the way to Christmas celebrations "Samar remember that we don't celebrate Christmas, but we believe in Islam that you maintain connections with your family no matter what, so that is what we're doing. This is how you show family that you support them and that you appreciate them". So they would give us Christmas presents and we would give them Eid presents in return. They would make us marshmallow free sweet potatoes on Thanksgiving and make a few batches of turkey bacon and turkey sausage for us on Mother's Day breakfasts too. It was the most compromising and dynamic union I had ever witnessed and not a day goes by that I'm not grateful for it.
My parents also balanced that by raising me in a circle of the most knowledgable and innovative western Muslim scholars. From the age of seven I sat in circles with people like Dr. Umar, Shaikh Hamza, Dr. Ingrid Mattson, Dr. Sherman Jackson, and Dr. Abdul Hakim Winters. Not only did my ambitious 28 year old parents make me sit in on these circles at 7, I also got quizzed on what was said during these lectures on the way home. In addition to learning about Islamic ethics and values, I also learned about Christian and Jewish ones as well. I sat in on synagogues, went to various different church services ranging from monastaries to evangelical congregations. My parents thought it was imperative that I learned about other faiths than my own so that I could have the knowledge to choose my faith on my own accord because when you choose something for yourself, you are much more likely to hold fast to it and value and appreciate it. It also provided me with the tools to combat the post 9/11 misconceptions with my own unique perspective and insight that were the result of my unique upbringing.
Recently, at a Muslim Student Association gathering on campus, I found myself frustrated that many of the members stuck to one another like the grains of sticky rice. As I overheard many bits and pieces of conversation, it saddened me that there were repeated fragments like "yeah, I have this friend but she's nonmuslim..." as if it discounted the friendship. Growing up, I quickly realized that my Christian family members were some of the best people I had ever come across. They were moral, and ethical, caring, and open-minded. They were people that were fearless when it came to standing up for what was right. It was my grandmother who taught me how to truly care about a person, and my grandfather taught me how to be dedicated and do the absolute best in whatever I did, regardless of what that was. My uncles taught me how to find the humor in the mundane and how to always make appreciation and love known. And my aunts taught me how to be patient but fierce and resilient. When push came to shove in my silly suburban teen life, it was often these people that I went to for advice and comfort over anyone else, even my Muslim relatives. And in my mind, that says a lot.
What I'm trying to say is that this divide where we try to shelter our children from other faiths, where we take them from one Muslim place to another, and then send them to commuter colleges with more Muslims, and then get them married and have them live inside of this Muslim community and then still complain about how "no one understands Muslims" or that people are being "ignorant" or that systems are "stilted" towards certain people. Because the reality is that we live in a predominantly Christian society, and shutting our youth up in little bubbles isn't the answer. Teaching them how to coexist, how to not think of people outside of the Muslim faith as the "other". If we want people to start understanding Muslims, writing books and making documentaries is not the way to go about it. It's by having human ambassadors of what an American-Muslim looks like, and acts like, and what they stand for, and the absolute best ambassadors are your children. Raise them to be that way. This means that many of the previous stigmas of the first generation Muslims like talking to the opposite gender and having friends outside of the Muslim faith need to be re-thought because we are living in a place where Islam needs to be fitted to its new vernacular finally. We need to be bold enough, and forward thinking enough to see that. There I plant my foot.
Samar
