There he is: my little champ on his first day of middle school, eagerly waiting for the bus at the end of our picturesque Vermont street on a beautiful morning. He’s not just smiling; he’s radiating confidence. Not a hint of anxiety crosses his face as he prepares to step into an unfamiliar school without a single friend in sight. In fact, the only flutter in his stomach comes from a butterfly that briefly landed on his head!
So, what’s the secret to my son’s calm demeanor? The answer lies in our year spent in the Middle East.
Flash back to 2014, when my son, Ethan, and I were racing to his first day at the American International School of Dubai (AISD) in the back of a cab. The outside temperature soared to a scorching 120 degrees as we twisted through traffic on a bustling street. Ethan sat quietly, deep in thought, about to enter a massive private school with a diverse student body representing over 80 countries—and a classmate who happened to be a Sheikh’s nephew.
As I slathered sunscreen on Ethan’s arms, I realized I could protect him from the sun but not from everything else. Inside those gates, he would be on his own. Would the atmosphere be one of unity, like a mini United Nations, or would it mirror the region’s conflicts?
It turned out to be a mix of both. By the second day, Ethan discovered that not everyone was fond of Americans, even in an American school. One classmate from Egypt threatened to beat him up simply for being from the U.S. This incident taught Ethan that he needed to be likable and perhaps even go the extra mile to counteract any preconceived notions. He even asked the vice principal not to punish his aggressor.
By late September, we settled into our new apartment on Al Reem Island, and I started a new job in communications at Khalifa University. Ethan’s bus arrived at 6:25 a.m. for a lengthy commute, and we often waited outside the glitzy Boutik Mall, surrounded by high-rises. Each day, I watched as other kids boarded their yellow buses headed for schools with names like GEMS Academy and the British International School. Then one day, it struck me: Ethan’s bus didn’t say “American International School.” Shortly after, I received an email from the Embassy alerting us to a threat against American schools in the region.
My husband, a director at Abu Dhabi’s New York Film Academy, and I weighed our options. While it would be safer to head back home, we felt we would miss out on meaningful connections in this part of the world. We decided to stay.
Then came the shocking news on December 1: an American teacher was tragically killed at the very mall where Ethan and I waited for his bus. The entire community, regardless of background, was shaken. Authorities acted swiftly, promising to enhance safety for everyone in the city. Yet, I continued to put my son on that bus, trusting in the resilience we had gained.
When Ethan turned 11 in the spring of 2015, we celebrated with a small party, inviting friends from Kenya, Russia, and even a boy named Samir from Syria. I often wondered about what his family had endured to find safety in our new home.
We made it through the school year, aided by Sharif, our reliable driver who picked up Ethan after school events. I was grateful to my friend Lisa for introducing us, as it brought me tremendous peace of mind.
On June 12, as we left Abu Dhabi for good, Ethan read street signs in Arabic aloud from Sharif’s van. It wasn’t until he bounded up the steps onto bus No. 21 for his new middle school in Vermont that I knew our year in the Middle East had prepared him well.
In conclusion, our journey taught Ethan invaluable lessons about resilience, empathy, and cultural diversity that will serve him well in the years to come.