When the Brown & Black Ones Get to High School

I have five kids at home. They range in age from fifteen to five. I just sent the youngest off to kindergarten this year.

My teenage son takes after me, his pasty mom of European extraction. Medium-brown hair, eyes that shade from gray to green depending on the weather and his mood, totally not-Arab skin tone that is everything a WASP could dream for. He tans nicely.

He is a proud nerd / geek. He works on computers and is part of an anti-hacking cyber team. He is learning how to fly a plane. He dresses in uniform once a week for his Civil Air Patrol meetings. He is an all-American boy, a poster child for STEM education and civic engagement.

He fasts and prays as a Muslim man should. He studies his Qur’an and is working on memorization. He can read and write Arabic. He leads his brothers in prayer. Most of his religious obligations take place out of the public eye. If you were to meet him on the street you’d have no overt indication that he was Muslim. No thobe or long beard; no kufi or dhikr beads.

I don’t worry about this one. I don’t worry about him or his sister or baby brother of similar hue. They will pass. Oh, yes, they will pass.

But what am I going to do when the brown ones get to high school?

My two middle boys are gems. Funny, dangerously smart, deep intensive brown eyes, black hair, olive complexions. One is the spitting image of his father, a native of Egypt, when he was a boy. The other has my features but his dad’s coloring. Right now they live happily in that oblivious world of elementary school, with wonderful teachers who know that they opt out of the Halloween party and giving cards on Valentine’s Day. The lunch lady makes sure they don’t accidentally get pork on their plates. The counselor once said he wished all his kids were like my ten year old, mashaAllah.

My worry for them is as they get older their Arab names and Middle-Eastern looks will begin to be an issue. They love computers as much as their big brother; I’m sure the younger of the two will be constructing stuff with as much enthusiasm as he now dismantles things. They will want to participate in science fairs and STEM classes and one of them might one day bring a project to school to show a teacher.

When one of those brown boys, those brown young men, brings his reconstructed laptop or an Arduino motherboard or something bristling with wires and soldered connections, will he be met with oohs, aaahhs, and accolades, or with suspicion and handcuffs? Don’t tell me it can’t happen. It just did.

When one of my brown boys with an Arab name decides he wants to get a pilot’s license like his brother, will he be turned away?

When one of my brown boys creates an app for making Minecraft more interesting for Muslim kids, will the FBI come knocking at the door because in their mind this could lead to radicalization?

If one of my brown boys grows out his beard and wears a kufi all the time, will his classmates in high school turn away from him or look at him with fear? Will he have to pretend to be a hipster to justify the beard and wear an ironic beret to cover his head?

Before today, before Ahmed Mohamed, I thought there might be a level of stupidity beyond which people could not go. Now, I know I was living in a fantasy land. I will have to double-check backpacks – God forbid one of the kids should have a broken spoon in there from snack and be accused of carrying a shiv. I will have to have The Talk, similar to the talk parents of Black boys have to have with their sons when sending them out into the world. I will have to tell all my children, but especially the brown ones, that the world can turn upside down in an instant, so just keep calm and wait for Mom and Dad to come.

Because we’ll come. The rose-colored glasses are off our eyes and we will be ready. For whatever.

We’ll be prepared when the brown ones, my brown ones and all the other brown and black ones,  get to high school.