My Wife Is Muslim, My Parents Are Islamophobic

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A little over a month ago, I finally tied the knot with the love of my life. Our wedding was the happiest day – days ­- of my life, and if you saw me you’d know I was over the moon, I still am. But that isn’t the only reason I’ll never forget it.

My Islamophobic parents refused to come because I fell in love with a Muslim.

I grew up in a Christian household, raised by two very faithful Christians. My parents made it a point to attend Church every Sunday and I did, at least for the most part. Needless to say, there was a lot of crazy in the house, my parents were very stringent about faith and everyone knew it. That isn’t to say I wasn’t loved, I was.

Somewhere in high school, I began struggling with my relationship with god and religion in general. As much as I tried to hide it, my parents found out. Naturally, for two people who had devoted their entire life to Jesus, this news was disappointing. In spite of it all, they never made me feel rejected, I was always cared for. It just meant there was a lot more preaching at home than there was at Church, which could be frustrating sometimes but I managed.

At nineteen, I changed states to move to college. Coming from a small town in Ohio, New York felt fierce, blazing and daunting. I loved it for everything that made it different, it allowed me to meet so many different people and had it not been for them, I might have never gotten a chance to truly know myself. Unlike New York, my hometown is largely homogenous, the community is fairly tight-knit much like the small towns you see in movies. The cosmopolitan, on the other hand, boasts of its diversity, it offers the kind of culture shock everyone should experience. There’s a ton of brilliant people from different ethnicities and they’re the reason you fall in love with New York City.

Fortunately for me, college is not only the place where I made amazing friends but where I met my wife.

The first time I met Mehrab, I botched her name so bad, it drilled us both into an hour long conversation. We had a lot of mutual friends which meant we hung out a lot, and even though I didn’t really know her, she felt familiar. There were times I got homesick and she was the only one who knew how to make it better. She was – is – my best friend. At one point, she was even helping me date another girl, and for a long time, our relationship was platonic. Fast forward, sophomore year, we fell in love. Fast forward four more years, we’re married.

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Everyone who knows my wife knows she’s unapologetically herself. She’s extremely vocal about equal rights, she’s honest and she’s upfront. Her confidence means that she’s also very comfortable with her religious identity, something I constantly struggle with. Knowing her and learning about her community has been cathartic.

Over the years, Mehrab has opened up to me about what it’s like to grow up Muslim in America; to be bullied and targeted. Maybe the most shocking instance is of her mother being told to find another hospital by a healthcare assistant. Really goes to show how unfounded prejudice has no bounds.

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Islamophobia IS a big problem in America.

It acts as an impediment to a person’s quality of life and often means that a lot of Muslims have to tolerate unprovoked targeting just to protect their American identity. And nobody deserves to be hated for their faith. My wife is a Muslim and she’s one of the kindest people I know. She’s respectful of others regardless of their identity. She was born here, she’s not a jihadist, she’s just as American as I am, yet she has been made to feel otherwise. And to know that my parents are Islamophobic towards her absolutely shatters me.

My relationship with Mehrab has been far from easy. There has seen resistance and disapproval from both sides. Her parents never wanted their daughter to marry an outsider and mine never wanted me to marry a terrorist. Only difference is, my wife’s parents looked past the differences because they love her, whereas, mine practically disowned me.

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I had always known my parents weren’t big on Islam. So I decided to tell them about Mehrab when I was sure she was the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. God knows how many times I rehearsed telling them about her, but none of it prepared me for what came. Long story short, there was a lot of cursing, a lot of screaming and a lot of toxic feelings to go around. And nothing got through to them. Even when I begged them, I was attacked for falling for ‘the wrong breed’ of humans.

Now that I think about it, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

All my life, I wistfully blinded myself to their prejudice just because they continued to love me even when my faith was wavering. They’re borderline evangelical and I chose to ignore it.

We don’t talk anymore. Since the last time I tried to reach out, they’ve gone radio silent. It hurts sometimes. Makes me envy my wife’s relationship with her parents. Makes me hate my parents and everyone like them. Out of everything life has thrown at me, my wife has been the one thing I’ve always been sure about. She has kept me going even when all I’ve wanted to do is give up.

She has never been a threat to the American dream, if anything, she is part of it. However, anyone who allows themselves to hate a good human being for their religious belief is.

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