Oil and Water

“You know, you gave up a lot when…” she paused for a moment.

Great, I moaned inwardly. She knows I’m studying Islam now and not accounting; she cannot be happy about that. How am I going to explain myself?

“…you stopped believing in Jesus Christ as your savior.”

I could not help but roll my eyes. She is still stuck on that? It has been two years…give it up already!

This episode occurred between my grandma and me as we were returning from the local high school in mid-December, 2010. I had just finished taking the final exam for my online microeconomics course, and we were about to pull into my parents’ driveway.

Part of me was relieved she had not yet figured out that I had changed my education plans. I did not want to try to explain that one to her as I am sure she would never understand. She does not understand much when it comes to Islam and my conversion. My grandma and my faith are like oil and water: they do not mix in the least.

My grandma was not happy to hear that I had converted to Islam. When I first converted, I had no intentions of telling her about my new-found faith. She was raised Christian (Lutheran to be exact), attends church services every Sunday, reads the Bible every morning before starting her day, and always talks about Jesus; religion is very important to her.

However, I did not want to tell her simply because she is Christian, but because she is stuck in her ways. Like most elderly people, she is against change and anything that does not necessarily match her ideals. Reasoning does not seem to work very well either. And like some other conservative, right-wing Americans, she believes what the media says about Muslims, how we are all, every single one of us, violent, infidel-slaughtering people.

Unfortunately, my mother, the second of only two family members to even know about my conversion at first, took it upon herself to tell her mother about her ‘rogue’ daughter. When my grandma got wind of what had happened, she immediately set to work trying to persuade me to give up Islam. She would show up in the evening some days, Bible in hand, to preach to me how wrong Islam was. I remember one day as she was leaving my room, she turned to me and said, ‘I love you, but if you choose to continue with this nonsense, you will go straight to Hell, and there’s nothing I can do about it.’

Then there was one morning less than a year after my conversion, we were sitting in her living room. Rocking away in her chair, a crossword puzzle book in her hands, she asked me, ‘Why do you hate Christians?’ When had I ever said I hated Christians?! Never! At that moment I wanted to ask her why she hated Muslims.

However, when I left home and spent a year away at college, it seemed she had finally accepted the fact that I was Muslim, or at least had accepted the fact I was not going to change my mind. I knew in the back of my mind she was still unhappy about me being Muslim, so I was wary when I first wore a hijab around her. Thankfully she did not say anything, but I believe the hijab might have enticed her to speak up finally that cold winter morning, the third time she had seen me wearing a scarf.

As she slowed down to turn into the driveway, she continued to lecture me about how wrong I was. I do not remember the full conversation, but I do remember the last thing she said: ‘But you’re smart, and I know you know what the truth is.’

‘Yes, I do know what the truth is, and I happen to believe in the truth,’ I wanted to retort, but I kept my lips sealed despite the overwhelming desire to give her a taste of her own medicine. Arguing with her, no matter how calmly and rationally, was not going to work.

She seems to think I simply jumped into Islam one day, that I was brainwashed by a couple of Muslim friends online. I did not just wake up one day and say to myself, ‘Hmm, I think this is a good morning to convert to Islam!’ No, I spent almost a year studying and researching Islam before I finally converted. Granted, close to half of that time was spent studying out of shear curiosity and not because I was interested in converting, but the point is I knew plenty about Islam before I chose to do what I did.

As I shut the truck door and trudged to the house, I began to feel highly irritated; the rest of that day, the rest of that week, I found myself to be greatly annoyed by her words. I do not know why as I had thought I had become immune to what people thought of me being a Muslim; but I guess I was wrong. I wished at that moment that my grandma would simply accept me for who I am, accept me as a Muslim. I wished she would stop bothering me about my faith, about choosing what I wanted to believe in.

My conversion took place over two years ago and I have yet to change my mind. When is she going to give it up?