Mariam and Rashid in Texas

If I hear one more person call me Mexican, I swear I'm going to smack the shit out of them. I don't care if get booked in for assault, enough is enough. My name is Mariam Hassan, and I approve this message. Sorry, just always wanted to say that. I hear politicians and businessmen say it so many times on Texan television that it's stuck in my head. What can I say? My new home, Texas, is growing on me.

Not a day goes by that I'm not reminded of the fact that I'm a stranger in this strange and wonderful place, even though I've been here a while. My Ontario accent is quite thick, and Texans don't know what to make of it. If they only knew. I'm forever the stranger, the odd woman out, wherever I go. I'm five-foot-nine, with light bronze skin, curly black hair and light brown eyes. I'm not fat, but I'm not skinny either. I have curves and a big butt, and my thighs are thick in spite of my efforts on the Stair Master at the gym. I am only me, I guess. I'm outspoken and opinionated, and I like to take challenges head-on. It's not a recipe for popularity or happiness, let me tell you.

I was born in the region of Baalbek, Lebanon, and raised in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I hold a bachelor's degree in criminology from the University of Ottawa, where I rocked for four years as co-captain of the Women's Wrestling Club, and these days I'm taking on life in the U.S. of A. You see, I recently moved to the City of Houston, Texas, to be closer to my estranged father, Joseph Hassan. Being a Canadian in a place like Texas is definitely an interesting experience. Working two jobs and hoping against hope that somehow, I'll be able to save enough for Law School. It's an uphill climb, to say the least, but it's what I want to do. I always wanted to be a lawyer. It's not the cheapest academic or professional pursuit out there, that's for sure.

Fortunately for me, after nineteen months in the realm of Americana, the U.S. government granted me permanent resident status so. I can't thank my Pops enough for filing for me. As a new citizen of the U.S. it's his right. I love Canada but I must admit, there are more opportunities stateside. I won't have to pay international student fees if and when I get into an American law school. That ought to simplify things when I apply to the prestigious University of Houston Law Center. It's a nationally ranked law school and one of the best. I'm academically confident. I did graduate with honors from the University of Ottawa, I'm just saying.

For the most part, I'm just reconnecting with my father. It's not easy. You see, my parents, Joseph and Samira Hassan left the Republic of Lebanon for Canada in the summer of 1989, part of a wave of Lebanese Christian immigrants moving to places like America, Canada and the United Kingdom as a result of the Lebanese Civil War and its socio-economic aftermath. When there's trouble at home, you see a lot of emigration. I was only a few months old, so I don't remember Lebanon at all but I was born there and it's in my blood.

My siblings, the triplets Ada, Victoria and Elisabeth were born in Ottawa, Ontario, in 1992, so they're more Canadian than Lebanese. I've always been interested in our family's origins, and the nation and culture we left behind. I was raised in the Maronite faith, and consider myself a good Catholic to this day. I remember going to a Lebanese church in Ottawa's east end with my folks back in the day. Good times, when we were united as a family. This was a long time ago, before the dark times.

All marriages experience a bump or two once in a while, that's normal. In 2008, our world came crashing down. My mother, Samira Hassan, had an affair with a Yemeni guy named Suleiman Yassin. It got so serious that she left my father and converted to Islam to be with him. I'll always hate her for betraying my father and her Christian faith. To this day, my mother and I are estranged. As you can imagine, the Lebanese Christian community of Ottawa was incensed over my mother, a devout Catholic, converting to Islam and abandoning her family to be with this ruffian from Yemen, a cab driver, if you can believe that.

There's no love lost between Christians and Muslims in Lebanon, even though we try to get along these days. Christian families are weary of Muslim guys trying to seduce their daughters into joining Islam, it's a common tactic known as Romeo Jihad. The seduction into conversion scheme. I cannot believe someone as intelligent as my estranged mother fell for it. When I lived in Ottawa, a town with a significant Arab Christian population, I dated guys from the Christian communities of Syria, Lebanon and Egypt. You'd never catch me even being friendly with a Muslim dude. Ultimately, they want to convert you. They're taught to spread their faith from the moment they're born. It's in their programming, and they can't help it, no matter how 'free-spirited and liberal' they claim to be. A leopard can't change its spots.

After the divorce, my father decided to leave the City of Ottawa, Ontario, and indeed Canada itself. Armed with his Master's degree in sociology from Carleton University, Joseph Hassan, my Pops, and the patriarch of our defunct-by-divorce clan, moved to the City of Houston, Texas. There, he set up shop as a social science teacher at Saint Antonius Academy, one of Houston's top private schools. I was busy with my studies at the University of Ottawa at the time, but I desperately missed my Dad. I've always been a Daddy's gal, and a die-hard tomboy at that. Seriously, the only times I've worn dresses were at my First Communion and my Confirmation. I'm the type of gal who shows up at a wedding in a tux. Yes, I'm staunchly heterosexual. C'mon, you know you were thinking about it.

Anyhow, when I didn't get into McGill University Law School as planned, I decided to try my luck outside Canada. That's what brought me, in part, to Houston. Reconnecting with my Dad was just the icing on the cake. When Dad greeted me at the George Bush Intercontinental Airport, I had tears in my eyes. I hadn't seen my Dad in years. He was still tall and skinny, but with a lot more gray in his hair. Also standing with him was a black lady I didn't know. I assumed she was a friend or colleague or something but Dad promptly introduced me to Shanice Jackson, his fiancée. I looked at the tall, skinny, light-skinned and short-haired black woman and forced a smile. My Dad was engaged to her? This is a surprise. We so need to talk about this.

I'm not sure I'll ever be friends with Shanice, and it's not her fault, really, I just don't think any woman is good enough for my Daddy. I am polite to the lady when we run into each other, though. Shanice is a graduate of the University of Houston's MBA program and she works for Texas Capital Bank. She has a son from a previous marriage. Good for her, I guess. I came to Texas to connect with my Pops and I didn't want this broad to get between us. That's it, that's all. Sorry if I sound like a bitch. Perhaps I'm not being fair to Shanice but my Dad has been through a helluva lot and I'm protective of him. If I could pick out one word to describe myself, it would be loyal. I'm loyal to those I love. I stopped speaking to my mother after she abandoned our family, left my father and embraced a man from the same religion that nearly destroyed our ancestral homeland of Lebanon. I'll never forgive my mother for her disloyalty, and that's that.

My other siblings have actually gone to Mom's wedding to the Yemeni cab driver. Ada, Victoria and Elisabeth actually put on their Sunday best and went to a damn mosque in Ottawa's north end and cheered Mom on as she made a colossal mistake. I did no such thing. I refused to be part of any such travesty. I also removed the triplets from my Facebook friends list. Yes, they're family and I'll love them until the day I die but, dammit, if we weren't related, I wouldn't have anything to do with them. Especially when they started posting pictures of themselves at Mom and Mr. Yemeni Cab Driver's travesty of a wedding on Facebook. I had to block them, for the sake of my sanity. Sorry, but that's just the kind of woman I am.

I got myself a job as a substitute teacher in the Houston Public School System. Dad's tips helped me a great deal. I like the job. I'm the filler, I guess. This means that whenever some geezer has the sniffles at one of the local high schools, I pick up the slack. It's not a bad gig, and one time, I had to fill in for an entire month as a certain old math teacher named Matthews battled lung disease. His loss turned out to be my gain. At my other job I'm a weekend manager at a MacDonald's restaurant, nothing to write home about. I live frugally in a one-bedroom apartment, and I save every penny. Law School is within my sights, I'm just not there yet.

I like teaching, but wouldn't want to do it full-time. Especially after I got stuck teaching fifth graders at San Giacomo Elementary. One little angel named Yasmin Montague turned out to be quite the brat. Light-skinned and green-eyed, this little cutie liked to bully her classmates, and when I told her to stop or gave her time-out, she would cuss me out. I had never seen such conduct in someone so young, and scheduled a parent/teacher chat. Yasmin's father, Rashid Montague, showed up.

When I saw him, I must admit I was surprised. Usually it's the moms who show up for such meetings, except in the case for gay male couples and their adopted brats. Mr. Rashid Montague was one fine-looking man. Six feet two inches tall, athletically built, with deep brown skin, wavy black hair and soulful light brown eyes. Clad in a blue silk shirt, black silk pants and shiny black shoes, he looked like an NFL player ready for a press conference. He reminds me of one of my favorite actors, Morris Chestnut.

Good afternoon ma'am, Rashid Montague said in a deep, southern-accented voice, snapping me out of my reverie. I smiled politely and introduced myself as Mariam Hassan, substitute teacher extraordinaire. We sat in an office near the classrooms, and discussed Yasmin's classroom behavior. Is there something going on at home that's perhaps behind all this? I ventured carefully, studying Rashid's dark, handsome face. He eyed me coolly, stroked his goateed chin and then licked his lips.

I'm raising her on my own since her mama died and I'm also busy with school, Rashid said, his shoulders sagging slightly. Yasmin's mother, Jasmine Rodriguez, was a Mexican-American woman Rashid met a while ago. She died giving birth to Yasmin. He spoke softly, and that spooked me a bit. Typically, tall, brawny men like Rashid Montague don't speak with such softness and candor. Alpha male-types rarely do. I nodded empathetically, and asked him what school he attended. Rashid Montague raised his head proudly. I'm at the Thurgood Marshall School of Law, he said proudly. Wow, was all I could say. To be honest, I was impressed.

Rashid Montague smiled, and told me he did his undergrad at Morehouse College in his hometown of Atlanta, Georgia. Then he asked me about my accent. I'm originally from Ottawa in Canada, I said proudly. I will always be proud of my Canadian heritage no matter how long I live in the American heartland. My eastern Ontario accent is ever-present, and I dread the day when I start sounding like the rednecks that surround me. Rashid and I shared a chuckle when he pointed out that we were both outsiders in this place. He told me he was born to Haitian immigrant parents, Louis and Marie Montague, who still lived in Atlanta.

Good for them, I remarked. I've been to Atlanta twice and it's a lovely place. Rashid surprised me when he noted that Mariam was the Arabic form of Mary, the name of Jesus mother. I asked him how he knew that and Rashid told me he was a devout Catholic. I thought you were Muslim, I said, quite surprised at what he'd just told me. Rashid laughed and told me that lots of black folks in the U.S. liked to give names like Omar, Khadija and Rashid to their offspring, not because of any Islamic connection but because they wanted to stop giving them white-sounding names. Fight the power, I smiled. Rashid grinned and nodded.

I looked at the clock, and chastised myself for getting carried away. Rashid and I had been talking for a while, and we had discussed everything except his daughter Yasmin. He explained to me that his cousin Shirley lived in town and she helped a lot with Yasmin, but basically, he and his daughter were on their own. I told him not to hesitate to call me if I could help out. I scribbled my name and number on a piece of paper, and a smiling Rashid pocketed. I'll be in touch Miss Hassan, he said, then got up. We shook hands, then he left my ( temporary ) office. I tried resisting the urge to check out his cute ass as he exited my office...but I failed miserably. Now I know what those girls in that song "What A Man" had in mind when they were singing in their heyday. Wow.

That night, I went to my father's place and had dinner with him and Shanice. Apparently I was glowing, for Shanice picked up on it. I met a guy at work, I said with a grin. Shanice leaned closer and looked at me, a smile on her ageless face. I see, she grinned. Dad looked at me. Does this young man have a name? he said, amused. I nodded. Rashid Montague, I said, sighing happily. Dad cocked an eyebrow. He's not Muslim he's Catholic, I said hastily. Dad nodded, and exhaled in relief. Shanice noticed that, but wisely kept her mouth shut.

We ate in silence for a few moments, then Dad shared some news with us. The head of the social sciences department is taking a leave of absence and has asked me to fill in, Dad said. Shanice smiled at him beatifically. I am so happy for you Joe, she said, laying her hand on his. I looked at Shanice's hand on my Dad, and noted the fact that she called him Joe. Ooookay. I congratulated my father and raised my glass. Cheers Pops, I said cheerfully. Shanice and I exchanged a look. I flashed her a fake smile. Wonderful, I said, then gulped down my wine.

The next day, I got a call from one Rashid Montague, and we ended up talking for two hours. I shared with him my aspirations of getting into Law School, and he told me that he'd help me with LSAT prep if I wanted. I'd already done LSAT prep in Canada when I tried to get into McGill University's Law School right after getting my bachelor's degree in criminology from the University of Ottawa. I know Canada and the U.S. have different laws but how different can the damn LSAT be across the border?

You need to bone up on American laws and culture Miss Hassan, Rashid laughed. Typically I get irate when people laugh at me, but I couldn't stay mad at him. Call me Mariam, I told him. We chatted for a few more minutes, then he invited to grab a bite with him at Caribbean Jerk Cuisine. That's a restaurant's name? I asked, incredulous. Rashid's deep, resonant laughter once again filled the phone. Yes ma'am it's an authentic Caribbean restaurant, he laughed. I smiled at that. Sounds good to me. I said goodbye, then hung up.

Is it wrong for a teacher to have dinner with one of her pupils Dads? Probably, but then again I'm only a substitute teacher. I never stay long in the same place. Might as well see what kind of trouble I can get into. Besides, I hadn't had a man in my life since I left Ottawa. I went on a few dates with Mexican guys and white guys here in Houston but they don't light my fire. The Arab community in Houston is very small and very secular, whether Christian or Muslim. Me? I'm an Arab-Canadian Christian woman. I am passionate about my Christian faith and I think Pope Francis is a fine man. No secular guys and no Muslim guys for me, thank you. Must be a card-carrying Catholic...with a sexy body.

Rashid and I met at the Caribbean Jerk Cuisine restaurant on Richmond Ave, and let me tell you, I was blown away. I had never tried Haitian food before, and it was absolutely delicious. Rashid looked sinfully sexy in a black silk shirt, dark gray silk pants and black timberland shoes. The guy is such a snappy dresser, and a gentleman too. He pulled my chair for me. I looked good in a black vest over a white blouse, black silk pants and a pair of comfortable flats. I'm already tall for a woman, no need to push my luck with high heels. You look ravishing Miss Hassan, Rashid said, and gently kissed my hand.

Wow, I said, blushing. I cannot remember the last time a guy kissed my hand. Rashid and I sat down, and a tall, slim young black man took our order. I ordered rice with Plantains, with bean sauce and chicken, and Rashid had the same but with goat meat. Taking a look around the classy, artfully decorated restaurant, I noticed that the clientele was mostly black, with a few whites and Mexicans here and there. Cool. Rashid asked me about Yasmin's classroom behavior and I assured him that she was doing better. Indeed, his daughter always had good marks, she was just disruptive. Now her behavior has improved. No, I'm not cutting her any slack just because I think her Daddy is a cutie. A pleasure to have in class that's Yasmin in a nutshell, I said, smiling pleasantly.

Rashid nodded. What a relief, he said, visibly relieved. I smiled and gently touched his hand. Thanks for bringing me here, I said, meaning it. Rashid nodded, and then smiled bashfully. I swear the brother was blushing, but I didn't dare point it out. I mean well but I'm not the most sensitive person out there, culturally speaking. I like Rashid and enjoy his company, and the last thing I wanted was to ruin this...whatever it is. In the past, guys I've dated have accused me of being cold and selfish, and more than one called me insensitive.

Am I selfish for prioritizing my goals, my life and my dreams? I want to be a lawyer. I want to represent disenfranchised minorities. I also want to protect North America's Christian heritage from Islamic encroachment. I've seen what bending over backwards for Muslim immigrants in the name of reasonable accommodations has done to us Canadians. I want to prevent such a thing from happening in America. That's why I intend to support conservative Christian politicians when I'm able to vote. Americans, Canadians and westerners in general think they're invincible. They don't think a day may come when a Muslim horde may take over these lands. That's what people in the UK thought too, before London, England, got taken over by Somalis, Pakistanis, Yemenis and Bangladeshis.

I'm watching the spread of Islam in Michigan and it worries me. I think Americans need to rally against it and uphold Judeo-Christianity by enshrining it as the official state religion of the U.S.A. If Egypt, Syria and Kuwait can enshrine Islam as the official state religion of their respective nations, why can't predominantly Christian ( for now ) countries do the same with Christianity? Sounds like it's something they should strongly consider, while they still can.

My father told me about those dark days in Lebanon when the Christian population found itself under attack not only from the Sunni and Shiite Muslim groups but also Syrian jihadists. When Syria invaded Lebanon, the Lebanese Muslims sided with the predominantly Muslim forces from Syria against we Lebanese Christians. They sided with a foreign element against their blood brothers and sisters. Never trust a Muslim, my father taught me. I heeded that lesson, but apparently my mother and siblings did not.

My sister Elisabeth, probably influenced by our mother and her Yemeni Cab Driver of a husband, has decided to embrace Islam. She calls herself Hamidah on Facebook now. What a dumb cunt. I unblocked her long enough to write her a lengthy message wishing her all the horrors of hell, then re-blocked her. I saw a picture of her standing next to an Arab guy wearing Palestinian flag colors. That's probably the culprit behind her conversion. I fear that if Elisabeth/Hamidah converted, then Ada and Victoria can't be far behind. Infiltrating a people through their women is a clever tactic for an insidious enemy.