Dear World, I kindly ask you to refrain from inquiring about my children’s origins.
My son, Zayd, has an Arabic name but doesn’t speak the language fluently. He was born in Australia (though I wasn’t). He can recite verses from the Quran while also enjoying every beat of “Watch Me (Whip/Nae Nae).” He embodies a beautiful blend of cultures, and I cherish that diversity. I don’t want to box my children into categories, nor do I want society to confine them to narrow expectations.
Too often, well-intentioned strangers approach my son with, “Where are you from?” I use the term “well-intentioned” cautiously, as my patience is wearing thin.
You may wonder what’s wrong with such a seemingly innocent question. The issue lies in the fact that no matter how he answers, it’s never enough.
If he says “Australia,” he gets skeptical looks, likely because of my hijab and his olive skin and dark hair. If he claims “Lebanon” (a country we’ve never visited—my birthplace), he’s immediately met with, “So when did you arrive in Australia?” His response is always, “I was born here,” and thus begins a cycle of uncomfortable inquiries.
Just stop it, please.
Last week, I had a particularly awkward encounter. A mother I had never met approached me during my children’s Athletics Day, and the conversation went like this:
Her: “Are you Lily’s mom?”
Me: “Yes, I’m Amina. And you are?”
Her: “But you wear a hijab! And Lily speaks English so well.”
(At this point, I was left speechless.)
Me: “Yes, she’s quite talented. Fortunately, hijab doesn’t hinder her abilities.”
And with that, I walked away.
Why should my daughter be judged based on my clothing choice? It baffles me that even in 2023, our first impressions are so often shaped by appearance. Each of us has a story, some complex and some simple, but all are valid. My children’s narrative is intricate, and I don’t want my son to have to explain:
“I’m from Australia. I was born here, and so was my dad. My mom came here with her family at three, so it’s almost like she was born here. Want to see our citizenship papers? Oh, and thanks for noticing my good command of English. Being Muslim doesn’t hinder my language skills.”
The unfairness hits harder when I consider that his friend, Noah, was born in Ireland. Noah’s family moved to Australia eight years ago, and he never faces such probing questions. His name and appearance fit the mold of what is deemed “normal” here. This creates an imbalance for my son, who will inevitably notice this disparity, and I won’t have an easy answer.
For now, I will continue to teach my children about the richness of human experience. I will emphasize that they are valued for their character and actions. I will remind them that they are citizens of Earth—part of the broader Team Humanity.
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In summary, let’s be mindful of the questions we ask, as they can shape how children perceive themselves and their identities.