An (Islamic) Affair to Remember

France: First let me express my immense disappointment in you. I, as probably the rest of the educated masses, thought you were a progressive, intelligent, tolerant country. After all, America and her Constitution were designed with your help. We would have lost the Revolution had you not showed up in the eleventh hour. But your recent decision to make it illegal for women of the Islamic faith to wear the veil in public, is hardly forward-thinking at all. In fact, you have just taken your country a huge step backward. Shocking, because I never would have expected this from a country that was once the hot spot for so many philosophers ahead of their own time.

In any case, one tiny positive thing came out of this horrible decision of yours. I was reminded of a friend I had once…eleven years ago, before being a Muslim automatically meant you were an “evil doer” and before I had ever heard of the term “The Great Infidel”.

Her name was Amna. We worked together as counselors in a residential facility for abused and neglected children. I remember when she joined our staff. She was tiny. Whenever a tiny woman joined our group, (such as myself) we all took bets on how long she would last. These kids were big and most of them were angry. And they had every right to be. Amna surprised us. She was strong…physically and mentally. She didn’t take any back talk, either. But there was one thing she was better at than the rest of us. Amna had a way of being eerily calm in the face of danger. She could talk anyone down off a cliff. We all agreed: Amna could stay.

Our friendship began in the break room. Amna was extremely outgoing and could not tolerate silence from a person sitting across the table from her. She wanted to know everything about me and in return she told me everything about herself. She answered every awkward question I had for her like we had known each other for years instead of just a few months. I wanted to know where she was from. Amna laughed and said “America, of course.” Her parents moved here from Pakistan before she was born. One day, I got up the nerve to ask her why, if she considered herself “American”, she still wore the veil covering her hair. She surprised the hell out of me when she rose from her seat in the break room and locked the door. Since there were no men present, she took off her veil and revealed long, thick black hair that fell to her hips. I asked her why on earth she would want to cover up something as beautiful as that. Amna was physically beautiful to begin with, but she turned into a Middle Eastern supermodel in front of me in that room when she revealed her hair. She tidied up her hair into her veil again, and told me that it was her own decision to wear it. Both her older sisters and mother had long given up the veil. Amna believed in showing her faith to the outside world. She said it served as a reminder to herself for what she believed in.

I envied her. What did I have to show for myself and my beliefs? Nothing, except too many books collecting dust on shelves and a “Save Tibet” bumper sticker. There was nothing about me that showed everyone I was a Buddhist or an Activist. I did have my ACLU card, but short of taping that to my forehead, I looked just like everyone else. Amna was special. She was brave in her decision to stand apart from everyone else. It is safer to hide and blend in with the masses. Just admit it, you do it too.

Amna was set to get married within the next year. Her fiancée lived in Australia. No, her parents did not pick him out of a line up for her. She chose him herself, even though they had never met. Amna didn’t buy into the idea of marrying just for love. There was so much more to making a marriage work besides just love. She was looking at the bigger picture. He was a doctor, she was working on her Masters degree in Social Work. They were compatible. I asked her if her fiancée had any idea how opinionated and tough she was. We all joked that this poor guy had no idea what he was getting himself into by asking her to marry him.

Amna was going to make a stop in Pakistan, to visit extended family before meeting up with her fiancée in Australia, where they would live permanently. We kept in touch while she was gone through letters and phone calls. She was staying with an uncle of hers on 9/11. In the days following that disaster, I walked around in a haze, as did most of the world. After a week or so, Amna’s face leapt into my mind out of nowhere. I made several unsuccessful phone calls to her uncle’s home trying to reach her. The line always seemed to fail. No one would answer. Finally, one day, there was a voice on the other end of the phone. I asked for her. To my relief, she was there. But it wasn’t the calm, brave voice I was so used to from all of our conversations. She was afraid. It was too obvious. She didn’t know if she was ever going to make it to Australia, now. She painted a picture of chaos. Everyone was now suspicious of any person who “looked” Muslim…making travel almost impossible. At the time I phoned her, she had been sowing her and her mother’s jewelry into her clothes. I couldn’t believe Amna had been reduced to this….a stereotype. All I could tell her was to be careful and that everything was going to be fine. She told me that in a few days, she was going to try once again to leave the country. That was the last time I heard from her. No more letters. No more phone calls.

In Arabic, Amna means “safety”.  I’ve spent many years with her name in the back of my mind….hoping that it lives up to its meaning for her sake.

President Sarkozy, you have reduced  brave, intelligent, steadfast Islamic women, secure and happy in their beliefs, into a stereotype. No one could talk Amna out of giving up her veil. In my opinion, small and insignificant as it is, you are a disgrace to the idea of democracy and everything your country once stood for.

Things My Grandmother Taught Me: Look Them In The Eye

“For God’s sake, Annie, stand up straight. Never look down at the ground.” It was Sunday and we were just leaving Mass. I was hunched over as usual…my shoulders rounded forward. (From my education in yoga I now know that people take this posture in order to protect their heart from any pain. These people live in fear and close themselves off from love.) For many reasons, I was hiding from the world….folding myself in half so no one would notice me. This was unacceptable to Anne.

Anne walked perfectly straight, shoulders back…her heart available to anyone who might need it. She did not walk in fear. After all, what was there really to be afraid of? She had looked so many situations dead in the eye. She was powerful this way…with just one look.

Anne never walked folded in half by fear. She did not bend to an abusive father…he had met his match in her. Instead, she straightened up and protected her brothers and sisters from him, hiding them in her room when he came home from the mines. She squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. I wonder what he saw there. My guess is power. Toxic people can smell weakness in others. Then they prey on them, like a hawk diving to the earth for a mouse. Anne’s father could not sense weakness in her. He could not prey on her. I suppose that’s why he never had any real use for her. And that was fine with her.

Anne knew about heart-break. She  lost a sister at a very  young age (Philomena), she would also lose two children, later. She went four years without seeing my grandfather’s face because he was in Europe fighting in the war. And though they loved each other madly until the very end,  she admitted he was never quite the same when he returned home to her. And yet, in every picture I have of her she is smiling…not  a bashful, timid smile, but a brazen “just dare me to look away” smile.

Looking someone in the eye, especially during a difficult time, might be the hardest thing to do. But it must be done. You must walk straight. You must square your shoulders and hold onto the ground beneath you like it is prime real estate and it is in your name. This is what Anne taught me: Look them in the eye and they cannot ignore you. Look someone in the eye and you are a force of nature. Look someone in the eye and most of the time, that is all you will need to do to be heard.

This is the sad truth about your life: most people you meet throughout it, will try to take advantage of you somehow…try to invade your space and breach your boundaries. Don’t bow your head and eyes to the ground. Don’t submit. Once you begin the process of giving up, it will never stop. Do what Anne did. Look into someone’s eyes and dare them to make you look away. You will always win.

In Defense of Roller Skating

One day last week, my daughter, Cate, announced to me that she was ready to begin roller skating. I said that was great! Let’s do it! Let’s hit the pavement! Woo hoo! In case you can’t tell, I was very excited. Then she proceeded to explain to me all the “gear” she was going to need before we even began to put on our skates. “Mom,” she says, “I’m gonna need a helmet, elbow pads, knee pads, and gloves for my hands in case I fall and scrape them.”

“Hold up, ” said I. “Where did you learn that you need all that ridiculous stuff in order just to roller skate?” I cringed at the notion that a favorite pastime, a rite of passage for kids, was being dumbed down because of the fear propaganda this country thrives on. For heaven’s sake let’s not let our children fall and scrape a knee, an elbow, or get a scratch on the forehead.

I explained to her that when I was a kid, we strapped on our skates and hit the concrete and that was all there was to it. “But, mom, what if you fall down and get a boo boo?”  I told her we put a band-aid on the boo boo, put our skates back on, and continued on our merry way. “But mom, can you skate with a boo boo?” At this point I’m seeing red. What are our kids learning when they’re not with us? Colored terror threat alerts, hiding under their desks in case of bomb threats, wrapping themselves in bubble wrap before they make an attempt at any kind of play?

“Cate,” I said, “I am not buying knee pads or elbow pads. Maybe I’ll get you helmet, but mommy skated without any of these things and turned out just fine. And yes, you can still skate even if you get a boo boo. It’s not the end of the world. You won’t die. You won’t even end up in the hospital. Just make sure you fall on your ass and everything will be A-Ok.”

She reluctantly agreed with me. As a parent, I see it as my job to let my kids fall…both literally and figuratively speaking. Without falling, there will be no chance for them to get back up, learn from their mistakes, or gain self-confidence through practice and trial and error. We have to let our kids fail without fear of doing so. When they fall, we will pick them up, kiss their bumps and bruises and teach them the importance of keeping at something, not to quit, even if it hurts a little.

Life is messy and painful. But it is also blissful when we learn that the mess and pain are only momentary and can be transcended.

My kid’s head is rather large. She is a little top-heavy. MAYBE, she will get a helmet out of me. But that’s where I draw the line in the sand. She is going to get used to getting hurt. And after that she will learn that a scraped knee or elbow is nothing to fear.