Of Faiths and other matter

Once a week, I make the hour's drive North to spend time with my 78 year old mother.  For the past two years, I have made it a tradition to do this as she adamantly refuse to leave the home she had shared with my Dad for the past 30 years or so.  He died two years ago of cancer.  Every week, after a day's end of work, it is always a struggle for me -- to pull away from what seems like an endless litany of "to-do's" at home -- meetings, children and husband on and on...

I tell myself that my one visit every week is the only outlet my Mom has to connect with the outside world; her decision to isolate herself and "retire" is purely of her own choosing, and no matter how much my siblings and I encourage, cajole and bully her into visiting and staying with one of us -- even for a day or two -- the answer is always an emphatic "NO, I am happy where I am at...where your Dad left me, that is where I want to be and this is where I will depart from."  Sigh...

Yesterday, my daughter and I decided to take Mom to a "new" restaurant -- outside of her city.  Despite already driving the hour in deep commuter traffic, I thought a change of venue is in order and that, just maybe -- Mom would actually eat the food, instead of picking at it.  So I drove farther North, my Mom sitting happily looking out the car window and reminiscing about the times when she drove to work on the same highway.

As it was the middle of the week, the restaurant was not crowded at all -- save for a few booths and tables occupied by what seemed like a retirement community's convention; the sea of faces seeming to be a clone of one another, quite different from the diversity of the Bay Area.  As we were walking in, I quickly noticed the stares and forks frozen in mid-air...my antennae picking up on the curiousity that we must have inspired...three generation of women.  An bespectacled aging matriach armed with black cane, my daughter wearing a black scarf (her signature piece) and myself sporting a brown and white scarf over a conservative business jacket and skirt.

We sat and looked at the menu and ordered.  I was pleased to see that my Mom actually ATE her food, murmuring that it was good -- particularly the sweet potato fries. (Yikes, for her blood sugar!)  Mid-way through our meal, an elderly gentleman approached our table and said, "Excuse, I just want to know.  Are you guys nuns?"  I watched my Mom's expression as this was a first for her, whereas I am a veteran recipient of ALL types of questions.  Pause.  I calmly looked up at the gentleman and smiled sweetly and replied, "No, I am actually a MUSLIM."  He didn't know how to respond to that -- but I knew he was sincerely curious.  My Mom on the other hand, quickly looked up to him by way of explanation added, "Me, I am Catholic -- raised a Catholic..."  The man, as if in sympathy with her just gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder. 

I am glad this incidents happened...more for my Mom's sake.  Not to put her in discomfort, but to show her that I, her daughter is no different than anybody else because of my beliefs and that actually, I have grown more as a person because of it.  I have no fear in approaching people -- strangers, young, old -- even making it a point to engage everyone I meet in conversation or at the least, a heartfelt smile and connection with the eyes.

I had brought along a copy of HALAL CONSUMER to the restaurant.  My Mom had picked it up earlier in the evening and was cursorily leafing through its pages.  She was surprised to see that "there (were) so many ways to cover your head" -- this while looking at photos of women in hijab.  Later on she asked me if there were halal restaurants in town, anywhere...I found only one. A butcher who possibly offered sandwiches or such things at the same city where she actually lived.

Driving back home, she passed her hands over the white prayer beads hanging on my rear view mirror.  "So how many beads are here?"  I explained and we talked about the difference between Islamic prayer beads and the Catholic ones.  She went back to the subject of head covering -- after a silence, she commented, "You know, women back home used to cover their head just like you."  "How do you mean, Mom?"  "Well, I remember Aunty Iling's (her eldest sister) mother-in-law...she's from Batangas.  The old ladies from the country-side used to wear it like you..."  This lead to more stories and more memories of days past and almost forgotten..."Do you remember?..."

Back at her house, Mom repeatedly thanked me for a wonderful dinner...she was grateful for the time -- and me -- I was equally thankful to have a shared moment...breaking down barriers and connecting through true understanding and tolerance.

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MORSEL for thought or taste:  "O mankind, We have created you from a single (pair) of male and female, and made you into Nations and tribes, that Ye may know each other ..." Ch.49:13
                            "The Holy Qur'an" English translation by Yusuf Ali