“Mama, help me fix my hid-ab.”
Our youngest daughter came downstairs with a nightgown framing her face, covering her hair, and hanging down her back. It was her pink jaguar print nightgown; she was trying to wear it as a ‘hijab.’ There were a lot of Muslim girls in her kindergarten class, and their head scarves were beautiful.
I paused. “Honey,” I began, “Umm, you can’t wear a nightgown on your head to school.”
“Why not?”
“Well…”
Okay, let’s have a time out for a moment. I need one. Did anybody else learn the answer to this one in parenting school?
At her innocent inquiry, my head began to spin. I didn’t want to make too big of a deal out of this–she just wanted something pretty on her head like her friends. But wouldn’t it be insulting to somebody (not to mention out of uniform) to wear a pink jaguar nightgown hijab to school? Did I really want to have the Muslim and Christian discussion at 8 o’clock in the morning when we were trying to get out the door? What would I even say? What did I even think?
It was too much for that moment. I went with my first instincts.
“No, sorry,” I could see the disappointment register on her nightgown-framed face. “We can figure this out later. But not today. In the car please.”
She surprised me by pulling it off her head without protest. “Okay, Mama” she responded, brightly, “Tomorrow we’ll find a beautiful scarf for my hid-ab.”
We just needed to get out the door. “Sure. Whatever. Let’s go.”
* * * * *
Twenty minutes later we arrived at the door of the school. She had moved on, but my brain was still somersaulting. What was the right decision? There was so much to consider.
We are attempting to raise our children as followers of Jesus–thoughtful, compassionate, joyful people whose lives are defined by loving God and neighbors. We pray for God’s spirit to fill them, to make impossible things happen.
But this morning, I was the one who needed help. As a Christian parent, would I be denying my faith by letting her wear a hijab? Or would making a big deal out of it, emphasizing ‘we are not like them’ be the very opposite of Jesus-like love?
The door buzzed and we walked inside. I barely registered the pressure of my daughter’s hand as she led me down the echoing hallway, toward the gym. Inside, three hundred children were standing in the same direction, hands over their hearts. A first grader with tight braids and a neat navy jumper had the microphone. We snuck in the side door as she began: “I pledge allegiance to the flag…”
As we recited, I looked around. My daughter squeezed in by one of her many ‘best’ friends. They were trying not to giggle as they elbowed one another and sing-songed, “and to the republic, for which it stands…”
I sighed as I watched her squirm. How did she get that much yogurt all over her uniform? And goodness, she looks so blonde. I marveled at how my husband’s Scandinavian ancestors seemed to be taking over our gene pool. Her friend, child of Somali refugees, had a dull khaki scarf on today, and I hoped that this would help my daughter forget her hi-dab envy. I watched their eyes twinkle at each other as their lips mouthed the words,
“With liberty and justice for all, please be seated.”
Three hundred small bodies shuffled for their seats, and I made my exit. In the car, I exhaled a prayer, as if I had been holding my breath the whole time,
Jesus, I still don’t know what to do about the hijab, but thanks. Thanks for this moment in my daughter’s life when wearing a beautiful scarf on your head doesn’t mean division, when saying the pledge with a sampling of the world isn’t a strange thing, when she doesn’t know who is who and what it all means. Help us, because it gets so hard later on. Help us, because I know my allegiance is with you.
Before I drove away, I turned on the radio. News from far away filled the car, and I bowed my head.
Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.
I rolled down the hill, away from the school, and into the rest of my day.
* * * * *
Photo by Christine Olson, shared on Creative Commons