I apologize for the length of this post.  It’s just that there were a lot of comments yesterday and I kept my mouth shut for so long and anyone who knows me knows what a huge deal that is.  Apparently, I’m going to make up for it today.

So, let’s talk about yesterday.

I think the problem here is that everyone relies on hatred and intolerance too much as our first defense against what we discern to be oppression.

For most people, hate is a symptom.  It’s just at the surface.

Hate… is a sneeze.

Have you ever been to the doctor because of a cold that has you sneezing incessantly and then had the doctor tell you that you have an acute case of “the sneezes”?  I really, really hope not.

Because the sneezes are not the problem.  It’s the virus or bacteria that’s the problem.

When you’re in the position that I’ve stumbled into at this time in America, it’s not useful to diagnose yourself with the sneezes.  Or being sneezed upon, as this increasingly awkward analogy suggests.

You have to shut up for a minute (or over a hundred comments) and listen for the real problem.

You have too look for the virus.

I’m going to channel my friend Britt, whose therapy speak has for the last year or so been annoying, but, for the first time, is actually going to prove useful to me.

I heard you.

What I heard you say is that you think that Muslims in that area are doing this simply to assert their right to build a mosque wherever they please and that they are, in the exact words of one commenter, “thumbing their noses at us.”

I also hear you saying that you don’t think it’s in good taste to build a mosque so close to the WTC because you feel it offends the memories of those who died there.

This is what I heard.

Or read.  You know what I mean.

I am of the opinion that neither of these sentiments are borne of hatred.  They are the products of mistrust, fear, grief, pain and despair.  You should know, even those of you who beautifully defended not just me yesterday but all American Muslims and maybe as you saw it America itself, that these emotions cannot be subdued with force.

You cannot make someone’s mistrust, fear or grief disappear by using shame or guilt.  And, don’t delude yourself, implying or outright calling someone ignorant or intolerant is an attempt to shame them.  Branding someone as ignorant or intolerant when engaging in a discussion is not only rude, but it’s counterproductive.  It’s not as though you’re going to get a sudden turnaround.

Oh, I’m ignorant?! Really? Well, then I change my mind, please help me be less ignorant.

That?  Is not going to happen.

I think those of us who are actually committed to harmony instead of sticking it to the other guy should dispense with these words entirely.  At least, when we’re speaking to the people with whom we disagree.

Back to grief, pain, mistrust and despair, though… or our “viruses,” if you will.

These are real emotions and the people who are feeling them deserve careful consideration and acknowledgment.  Maybe we should stop trying so hard to get our point across and try to deal with them in a sensitive way?

So, please.  Let me lead the way.

I also hear you saying that you don’t think it’s in good taste to build a mosque so close to the WTC because you feel it offends the memories of those who died there.

I read these particular comments several times in order to get to what I believe is the heart of the matter.

As I see it, this is a choice.

I am unsure of whether it’s conscious or not, so right here and right now, let’s make it clear and conscious.  A person reading this can continue to believe that the presence of a mosque near the WTC is offensive if they choose, but today my aim is that they will walk away being absolutely clear on the choice that they’re making.

Connecting the Americans who want to build this mosque with the terrorists who flew their planes into the Towers based on the virtue of their shared religion is a choice.

It asserts that how long those Americans have lived here, whether they are Democrats or Republicans, whether they are black, white, Hispanic, Asian, or whatever does not matter at all.  It further assumes that they have more in common with the people who brandish radical Islam and murder people  in its name than they do with “real” Americans.

This is a choice to rely on stereotyping and generalities in order to avoid having your heart broken or your body blown up by someone you thought was your friend.  It is a tough choice.  But it is a choice.

You can choose to believe that a stereotype or a generality is a reference point or that it is an unabashed truth.

Either way, you must own it.

You must acknowledge that being offended by a mosque built by Americans is saying that those Americans are more like terrorists who murder Americans than they are like you.  It does not matter to you that they, like you, pay their taxes, vote or put their pants on one leg at a time.  All that matters is that they are Muslim and the people who caused our national tragedy called themselves Muslim.  Everything else is extraneous.

You are choosing the expedience of simplification over the arduous task of getting to know a person before you judge them.

I’m not judging.  I’m just saying you should be clear on your choice.  And clear on what that says about you and your outlook on life.

There is another explanation as to why one might be offended by the building of this mosque that has nothing to do with stereotyping, though.  It might be offensive to some that the building of this mosque is an act of political grandstanding.  That is, that the Muslims building there are doing so because they want to assert that they have a right to do so.  All my information points to the contrary, but if that is the case?

Then, I’m offended by the idea of this building.

What I heard you say is that you think that Muslims in that area are doing this simply to assert their right to build a mosque wherever they please and that they are, in the exact words of one commenter, “thumbing their noses at us.”

Muslims are commanded by God not to be arrogant, and I believe that building for the sake of asserting one’s right is an act of arrogance.

It obliterates the sanctity of a place of worship and infuses it with political rhetoric.  Educated American Muslims should be well aware of where this road leads and we should not delude ourselves by assuming that this time it will be different because, after all, we’re Americans and it’s somehow okay for us to politicize our Islam.

If Muslims in this area are doing this simply to make a point and not because there is a viable need for a place of worship and gathering, this is outside the scope of Islamic etiquette and manners.

It’s not a sin, but it’s not looked upon favorably.  The Prophet (pbuh) was reported to have said that we are measured not by our deeds, but the intention behind those deeds.  In other words, one can market interfaith understanding all they like, but if they’re intention is to politicize their identity as Muslims, then, well, God is watching.

And that might not be important to some Americans, but it should be important to Muslim Americans.

To me, building a mosque simply to assert one’s right to build a mosque is misguided and cruel.  It is even more cruel to do so when parents, children, siblings and spouses are asking you with tears in their eyes not to do it.

It doesn’t matter if they’re Muslim or not.

It doesn’t matter if we were responsible for their pain or not.

It doesn’t matter if they are misguided in their assumptions.

What matters is that this action is causing them pain.

What matters is our responsibility to show compassion and mercy.

At the same time, if it is needed and worth it, then build it.

But the Muslims in this area should give proper weight to the price that is being paid not in dollars, but in good will.

So.

If it is needed and it is worth it and the intention is pure and aimed solely to fulfill our responsibility to serve our Creator, then build it.

By all means, then, build it.

***

I received an e-mail from a good friend today who was indignant on my behalf over the idea that I had to address this in the first place.  Why, she wondered, was I put in the singular position of having to comment on this?

I think her point was a good one, especially since I don’t generally use this as a forum for post 9/11 angst.  At least, not on a regularly scheduled basis.  Rest assured, also, that I never will.

The truth is, I wasn’t placed in the position of making a commentary.  I chose to be in this position.

I didn’t have to say anything.  I could have gone along talking about my wonderful husband, my sick kids and all sorts of other topics and nobody would have said a word.

Except maybe my dad who still thinks there’s hope for me to be, at the very least, the first Muslim woman to become Secretary of Defense and wonders why I don’t write about this in every single post and why do I write like Sarah Palin speaks.

But I can’t just not talk about it or not take some measure of responsibility in terms of occasionally speaking up.

I accept this responsibility very willingly.  You betchya I do, gosh darn it, Dad.

I will struggle to put a human face, any face, on these issues,, even if I’m not representative, even if I don’t speak for everybody else who is Muslim in this nation.

I suspect, in fact, that I will most likely spend the rest of my life explaining how I and other people like me are not terrorists.

And that is okay with me because I have a very good reason.

One day, when my children or grandchildren will hear about how there was this big argument.

It was all about where a mosque could and should be built in New York City.

They’ll look at me with glazed eyes the way I looked at my dad when he told me about the British ruling India for 150 years or how trains full of dead bodies came into Pakistan during the partition.

And, like me, they’ll feel a little sad.  And they’ll wish that it had been different.

And then?  They’ll say, “Wow, that must have been rough for everyone.  So.  What’s for dinner and did you see my acceptance letter to MIT/Harvard/the Sorbonne with a full scholarship sitting on the kitchen counter yet or what?”

I say something so this won’t be a big deal one day.

I just don’t want these kids to grow up in a world that simply tolerates them as Muslims, but one that recognizes their contribution as human beings to society and civilization.

I guess, I just say something so they won’t have to.

Everyone needs a dream, you know.

I suppose someone out there is wondering why, given my openness about being an American Muslim, the debates surrounding the building of a mosque near ground zero haven’t been brought up in this space.

The thing is, I think most of you know where I would stand on this issue.

The other thing is, I am, frankly, exhausted at the prospect of writing yet another iteration of:

“I’m just a Muslim girl with Pakistani-American parents, standing in front of a relatively secular nation asking it to love her.”

If you’ve not seen Notting Hill, that last line was very clever.  Trust me.

It occurred to me the other day that…

Someone out there who is reading this blog is incensed by the idea of a mosque being built NEAR ground zero.

They are also incensed by the idea that there are mosques being built in Los Angeles, Tennessee, or anywhere in our country.

This anger is so real, in fact, that when the President defends the rights of all Americans to build places of worship wherever they are legally allowed to do so, the accusation of him being “out of touch” with the American people is given full credibility and attention.

They are also so incensed that they’ve imagined that every Friday, every single Muslim in the whole world gets together on some version of terrorist Skype and we formulate plans for symbolic world domination.  Like, we all sit around on Friday night, by the dim light of our burning American flags, coming up with names for a mosque that we plan to build on ground zero… I know!! Let’s call it Cordoba after the place where we got our butts kicked by the Christians back in the 13th century… that’ll teach them.

You should have been there, I tell you, it was just amazing how ALL ONE BILLION OF US agreed on this in just a matter of minutes!!

Look.  Today, instead of my proselytizing about freedom, humanistic ideals and interfaith understanding, I’d like to offer an invitation.

I invite this incensed someone to state their opinion in a respectful and concise manner.

I would like you to tell me why, as your fellow American, I am not allowed to build a place a worship wherever I am legally able to do so.

I also ask readers to treat this commenter with respect if you choose to engage in a discussion, and to keep in mind that no person is defined by a single opinion.  In other words, please don’t use words like “stupid” or “dumb.”

I also invite you to twitter or Facebook this post, so that the entire Internet can come here and respectfully explain to me exactly why a Muslim American should have less rights than a non-Muslim American.

I offer this invitation because I sincerely would like to know the rationale.

And I would like them to tell me to my virtual face.

I won’t even try to change their minds.  Because, honestly, I don’t think it’s possible.

I’d just like to know what I’m up against.

As I mentioned yesterday, our four year old is pretty sick. She’s contracted some super virus that’s causing a very high temperature and, according to her pediatrician, this virus is running rampant through the child population in our area.

We will ignore the fact that among my numerous friends with children between the ages of 2-8, my child is the only one that’s sick.

We will do this in favor of the idea that my co-pay is being well spent on a subject matter expert who relies on science and not being spent on the idea that there is perceived solace in numbers.

Anyway.  This morning, I attended N.’s preschool orientation alone, and left her and baby brother at home with my husband.  Because I don’t want to be known as the mom who doesn’t care about her kid’s orientation, nor do I want to be known as the mother of the child who got the entire class sick before school even started.

As an important side bar, I don’t know how it is in your home, but in my home, mommy is the food maker, nose/butt wiper, and bedtime monitor.

Daddy, on the other hand, is Mr. Funtime (!!).

Obviously, we cross over to the other side quite often, but for the most part that’s how it is.

Given how sick our daughter is, it’s been difficult for Tariq, i.e. Mr. Funtime (!!), to convey to N. that right now what she needs is rest.  Playing will come after rest which she needs to to do in order to get well.  It seems so simple.  And, yet, up until today, this concept has been beyond even her well honed four year old analytical skills.

Today, however, when I came home from the orientation, as Tariq was frantically getting ready for work (it was 11 a.m.), I noticed N. was lying peacefully on the couch.

Resting.

Impressive, dear husband, impressive, I thought.  But, how in the world did you finally get through to her?

I, then, casually glanced at the counter and found this:

Apparently, this was my husband’s response to my daughter when she begged him to play hide and seek with her.

Frustrated with trying to explain to her for the thousandth time to no measurable amount of success that her fever and illness required rest, he explained the best way he knew how.  With a graph.

I’ve been staring at this graph for twenty minutes and am still trying to figure out what it means.

But it worked because, as I’ve mentioned, she was on the couch. 

Resting.

This?  Is why she’s probably a genius and  he gets paid the big bucks, I assume.

But, in defense of all right brained folks like myself out there, is that, like, the WORST drawing of a heart and stars you’ve ever seen, or what??

(And if you’re reading through my Facebook feed and can’t see an image here, you really need to click through to the original post this time).

A weekend, as I recall, is supposed to be filled with laziness and fun with light sprinkles of productivity.

They are supposed to start off with a fabulous lunch with someone who flew all the way down from Iowa, followed by a tiny little birthday party at your parent’s house for your husband and son.

A weekend is also supposed to be spent possibly going to the beach or at the very least lounging around in a huge salt water pool at said parents house.  Once you get home from your parent’s house, said weekend is then supposed to be spent cleaning and reorganizing your office so you can get some writing done up in here.

Then, it’s supposed to be spent casually revising your knowledge of the French language for an exam that has to be taken next Friday.  It is also supposed to be spent revising the first and last chapters of your thesis which you really should have been doing aaaalll summer, but slacked on in order to expand your cultural horizons and gallivant on the other side of the world.

Do you know what weekends are NOT supposed to be spent doing?

They are NOT supposed to be spent fretting over how both of your children should be wearing a T-Shirt that says, “My mom ditched me to go to NYC and all she brought back was this lousy VIRUS.”

How was your weekend?  Did everything go as planned?  If so, exactly how much does your voodoo woman charge for her services and does she take American Express?

P.S. The baby is fine and barely has a temperature, and I can tell he’s fighting it off.  Go nursing!  N., on the other hand, is super duper sick.

It’s an odd thing for a woman to navigate and attempt to understand the concept of “manhood.”

For most, at least for me, the journey began when I knew I was having a boy.  “How, as a woman, does one teach a boy to be a man?”

This was the first thought that entered my head when I saw that sonogram.

The second was, “I have no idea how to do that.”

Which is funny, because I have a father, I have a brother and I’d been married to a man for almost eight years before I asked myself that question.

Tasked with the job of teaching something I know little about, I looked around for examples.  I did not have to search far.  He happened to live in the same house.  My husband has taught me so much in the past year about what a man is and is not.

A man is not someone who thinks washing dishes is women’s work.

A man is someone who comes home and asks what needs to be done in order to achieve the common goal of running a household.

A man is not someone who refers to watching his own children as “babysitting.”

A man is someone whose eyes reflect that playing, tending to and being affectionate with his own children is his absolute pleasure and honor.

A man is not someone who assumes his superiority resides upon the number of people he can control or manipulate.

A man is someone who offers himself up as a rock, a pillar upon which each person in his family can stand.

A man is not someone who keeps to himself and shuts himself off from the people who love him in a misconstrued plan to be “strong for them.”

A man is someone who expresses his appreciation and displeasure over situations in an open and positive way.  Or even less than positive.  He, at the very least, says something.

A man is not someone who compares you to others or believes that you are lucky to have him.

A man is someone who knows that because you are strong, kind, beautiful and talented, that you deserve to have him.

A man is not someone who thinks you need protecting because you are weak and less able.

A man is someone who defends you because he knows that his integrity demands that he stand up for what is right.

I no longer worry about teaching my son what it is to be “a man.”  He can play with dolls or trucks, it doesn’t matter.  He can play sports or read books.  He can wear pink or black or whatever.

It doesn’t matter, I’ll love him no matter what.

All I really want for him to do, though?  Is be a lot like his dad.  Because his dad is a “man” in every single way that counts.

Happy birthday to the two the beautiful men in my life.

( Photo courtesy of www.twitter.com/jamietamm )