What is shared in common is infinitely more significant than what apparently divides.
~Dave Mearns
It was the first time my mother dragged me to her work — but only because it was the first time I ran out of excuses. As a sixth grader, I was already upset that I had to spend my Saturday afternoon in the basement of a church instead of hanging out with my friends. I never really understood the nature of my mother’s work beyond the fact that she was called an “interfaith activist.” To me, it was just a label. But little did I know that it would change my outlook on life.
As I lugged posters from our car down the old church stairs, I saw my mother already eagerly placing chairs in a circle. She set up the posters containing information about various religions around the circle of chairs. Like a machine, she did all this work within seconds, while keeping a huge smile on her face. Her excitement got me curious. I wondered, Who are these chairs for? Why are there so many posters about different religions I have vaguely heard of? A few minutes later, I heard the sound of the basement stairs creak and got the answers to my questions.
The chairs were meant for teenagers and young adults of various faiths and backgrounds. I sat in awe as I observed the room full of teenage boys wearing turbans and yarmulkes, and women and men wearing traditional clothing. I was surprised to see everyone confidently take a seat within the circle, and I was even more shocked to see my mother getting ready to start a conversation among this diverse group of people.
My mother began by asking everyone to introduce themselves. It was a bit awkward, as everyone, one by one, recited their name, school, and age in a monotone pattern. I was worried that the rest of the time would be just as dull. However, my mother then proceeded to ask us to stand by the poster we identified with most closely. Everyone got up immediately, running in different directions. I stood by the poster that read “Islam” and was greeted with warm smiles from others standing there, too. I saw others standing by posters with the words “Sikh,” “Judaism,” “Hinduism,” “Catholicism,” etc. Then we were instructed to break into smaller groups, with each group having individuals from various faiths. My mother instructed us all to share the knowledge we had about our religion with the members of our groups. The room went from silent to loud, as everyone started asking questions and actively engaging. I was intrigued by the discussions of each religion, which made me eager to discuss Islam when it was my turn.
As we regrouped into the big circle of chairs, my mother asked us all to relay information that we gained about a new religion. I was proud to present what I learned about the Sikh faith and smiled when my fellow group member shared what she learned from me about Islam. My mother then asked us to share what we liked about our religion and some struggles we might face. We all realized as everyone went around the room that we shared even more commonalities than differences in our everyday struggles and experiences. In that moment, as I scanned the room and its diverse group of people, I saw what it meant to be an American.
This room not only represented people of different colors, but people of various backgrounds and religions who were able to look beyond their differences to discuss their everyday lives while sharing smiles and laughs. That Saturday afternoon, in the basement of a church, I was proud to be an American.
~Zehra Hussain
