Dear World, can we please agree to stop interrogating my children about their origins?
My son, Amir, is a delightful mix of cultures. He may not speak Arabic fluently, but he was born right here in Australia (unlike me, of course!). He can recite passages from the Quran while also busting a move to “Watch Me (Whip/Nae Nae).” He’s beautifully complex, and I cherish that about him. I don’t want to box my kids into categories, nor do I want the world to do that either.
Far too often, well-meaning strangers approach my son and ask, “Where are you from?” I label them “well-meaning” in an effort to stay optimistic, but sometimes I feel like banging my head against the nearest wall.
What’s wrong with such a straightforward question, you might ask? The issue is that no matter how he answers, it’s never good enough. If Amir responds with “Australia,” he’s met with raised eyebrows because, let’s face it, I wear a hijab and he has olive skin and dark hair. If he says “Lebanon” (a country we’ve never even visited, by the way), the follow-up is, “So when did you come to Australia?” His response is usually, “I was born here,” and thus begins the cycle of awkward queries.
Just stop, please.
Last week, I had a particularly bizarre encounter. I was at my daughter’s Sports Day when a woman I had never met approached me. The conversation went something like this:
Her: “Are you Mia’s mum?”
Me: “Yes, I’m Layla! Nice to meet you.”
Her: “But you wear a hijab! And Mia is so bright and speaks English so well.”
(And that’s when I nearly dropped my jaw to the ground.)
Me: “Yep, she’s got talent! Clearly, she hasn’t caught ‘hijabitis.’”
I walked away after that. Why should my daughter’s abilities be judged based on my choice of attire? It’s baffling that, even in 2023, people still judge based on appearances. We all have unique stories—some more intricate than others—but every narrative deserves respect. My kids’ story may be a bit complicated, but I don’t want Amir to have to explain:
“I’m from Australia. I was born here, as was my dad. My mum wasn’t born here, but she came with her family when she was three, so it’s practically the same. Want to see our citizenship papers? Oh, and thanks for the compliment on my English skills! Being Muslim doesn’t mean I can’t speak well.”
The unfairness of it all is glaring. Take Amir’s friend, Leo, for instance. He was born in Ireland and has been living in Australia for eight years. No one asks him where he’s from. I suspect it’s because his name and looks fit the “norm” in Australia. This disparity will eventually dawn on Amir, and I won’t have any clear answers.
For now, I’ll continue to teach my kids about the complexity of every human experience. I want them to see life as a rich tapestry of stories. I’ll remind them they are valued for their actions, not their backgrounds. Most importantly, I’ll instill in them that they belong to Team Humanity, here on planet Earth.
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Summary:
It’s important to recognize that children’s identities are multifaceted and shouldn’t be reduced to simple labels or assumptions. Instead of asking kids where they come from based on appearances, let’s celebrate their unique stories and the richness of their experiences.