I’LL never do to my children what my parents did to me,” Salman fumed, kicking the ball against the wall next to his friend in the
istiraaha. “They were only trying to look out for you, man.” Abdullah’s voice was low, partly because he didn’t want their other friends to overhear and partly because he didn’t believe in what he was saying. He had always felt Salman’s parents were raising him wrong, but what place did he have to say that?
“That’s easy for you to say,” Salman shot back. “Your parents
made you pray with them.” Salman huffed in anger. “But mine wanted me to come to it
on my own.” He sang out the last words sarcastically a moment before retrieving the ball and kicking it fiercely against the wall again.
“And you know what?” Salman said, turning to face his friend. “Yesterday, I went out to the desert with some friends and they asked me to
lead the prayer.”
Abdullah kept quiet, already knowing the end of the story.
“I told them I didn’t want to,” Salman said. “But they insisted because they’d overheard me reciting some Qur’an and liked my recitation.” He grunted. “I felt so stupid refusing, so I finally told them why I wouldn’t lead.”
“But, Sal—“
"Because I didn't know how to!" Salman cut off his friend, thrusting the ball against the wall again.
“Now tell me,” Salman said, his angry eyes on his friend, as if daring him to refute his words, “what kind of parent is going to
force their son go to the best schools and learn
perfect English—whether he liked it or not. And by the way, I
hated it. They even chose my freakin’ college major, for God’s sake—But when it comes to Islam they’re going to say,
Let him come to it on his own.”
There was a marked silence as Salman’s friend looked away, embarrassed to hear his own thoughts on the tongue of his friend.
“
Wallaahi,” Salman swore by Allah, raising his voice. “If there’s anything they should have
forced me to do, it should have been to
follow my religion.”