Holding Hands

Chapter 13

We quickly made our way into the prayer room and settled down onto the carpet. As we got comfortable in the prayer room, Hakeem took the Benadryl my mom offered and his allergic fit quickly calmed. My dad apologized again before our parents began to talk about the merits of their children to each other. All of my homeschool education and Islamic school accolades made their way into the conversation as our parents played a game of "show off my kid."

Hakeem was published in his college paper as well as the president of the Muslim Student Association at his former college. He had spent a year studying the Holy Quran and Islamic law in Fez, Morocco. He was the oldest of three sons and apparently very responsible.

By the end of the conversation, Hakeem hadn't said much. Neither had I.

"Well, this went well." Hakeem's father stated. All the parents nodded their heads in agreement and Hakeem raised his hand.

"The floor is yours." Abu smiled at Hakeem then turned to look at Umi. "Such a respectful young man."

"I wrote something. A poem." Hakeem reached into his pant's pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

I worked hard not to show my feelings on my face. Did Hakeem just raise his hand? We weren't in school. And a poem?! Was this not the 21st century? Did no one else understand how awkward this situation was? Sure he was gaining points with my parents, but they wouldn't be the ones marrying him. With the petite pants, the matching miswak, and the death over daisies, Hakeem's antics were beginning to make him lose cool points with me. And now a poem? Things couldn't get any worse. Wait til I fill Laila in on this, I thought.

Hakeem pulled a pair of eyeglasses out of his pocket and put them on. He began by clearing his throat as he unfolded the paper then took a deep breath and began to read: