“So whatchu you gonna do?” my Ummi asked with an arched eyebrow after I finished talking as she swept the floor.

 

I stood in place nervously shuffling one foot back and forth. What type of question was that? I didn’t know what to do, I thought. I lowered my head in shame. I wasn’t ready to connect my eyes with hers. I hated that those silly tears had started to fill at the brim of eyes. Those tears were clear signs of failure. I was fed up of always failing. Quickly, I wiped my face with the bottom of my dirt stained t-shirt, but there really wasn’t any use to it. I knew ummi had already seen the wetness on my face.

 

Without notice she stopped sweeping the hardwood floor and turned towards me, giving me her full attention. Ummi was tall like a giraffe, so I had to look way up for our eyes to meet. Normally, she smiled a lot and her chocolaty-brown skin was always glowing bright. But at that moment, I couldn’t find a smile or a glow on her face. She sucked her tongue against her teeth and a high pitched noise came out of full mouth as she plopped down on to the blue upholstered sofa the sat in the middle of our living room. Then she raised her bare feet on to the coffee table and reclined back. For a moment I thought she was getting ready to relax. Relaxing always put Ummi in a good mood. But just as I unclenched my teeth a little, she breathed in hard and sighed long and hard. That was bad, bad sign.

 

“I asked you a question, Muhammad Nourrideen,” she said and reached down and picked up a glass of lemonade off of the floor. She sipped and swallowed and sipped and swallowed, never taking her dark eyes off of me.

 

“…ah, um, well, I don’t know Ummi. What can I do?” I finally asked, but it came out sounding more like whining. I couldn’t help it. I was standing in front of her with ripped pants and dirt all over me and without my kufi. If I knew what to do I wouldn’t have came back home from the park. I’d handled it myself like a big boy was suppose to do.

 

“Well, think then, Muhammad. Think long and hard. Was it your kufi that was taken from you - again for the third time this week?”

 

I did think like she told me to, but everything I thought to say in reply, I knew not to. Ummi didn’t play that back talking stuff like some other parent’s did. So instead I just stood there looking as sorry as I was. I didn’t want to disappoint Ummi anymore. As I waited, I stuffed my hands into my pockets and looked around the medium-sized living room. I glanced out the window and watched the birds’ flying, the ice cream truck driving by, and the paper boy, our neighbor Jimmy from across the street, making his rounds. I watched as Ummi slowly downed the last of her lemonade. Suddenly she stood back up and grabbed her broom.

 

“Get on out this house, Muhammad. Go back to the park and get your kufi,” she said as she started sweeping the floor in the very same spot she swept in before.

 

“But, but Ummi!” I gasped, stunned by her command. “Darrel, isn’t gonna give it back to me. I know he’s not. Can’t you just go down to the park and get it for me this one last time, please. All you got to do is tell him you’re gonna tell his Momma on ‘em.”

 

“I’ve done that for you already, haven’t I, Muhammad?” she said still sweeping the floor with her back towards me.

 

“But, but -”

 

“But, nothing, Muhammad,” this time Ummi stopped sweeping, turned around to face me and put one hand on her narrow hip. “You’re ten years old, it’s about time you started standing up for yourself. You got a lot odds against you being the only Muslim boy around this neighborhood and ain’t nobody gonna give you any breaks. So don’t be looking for your Ummie to give you them all the time either- ‘cause I can‘t,” Ummi said and I couldn’t hold it in. Tears filled up in the brim of eyes and then spilled over and raced down my cheeks on both sides til they got to my chin and then plopped down and wet my shirt. I cried out one last time for my mother’s pity, “but I need your help, Ummi. I can’t do it by myself.”

 

Ummi dropped her broom down one more time and walked over to me. I braced myself, afraid I had pushed her wrong buttons this time. But when I looked up into her face, I saw it coming down to my level. Ummi was on bended knee. She grabbed my pudgy face and I saw a faint smile. And then it was there: the glow!

 

“Muhammad,” she started in a low voice. “ Allah is your best Helper. With his aid baby you can do anything. Don‘t ever forget that.” She stood up and sighed once more. The smile and glow disappeared as quickly as it came. I looked up at her tall frame and it seemed like we were miles apart. “Now you betta go get that kufi.” she said,"Or I'll deal with you later myself."

 

The conversation was over and I couldn’t say anything else. I walked slowly towards the back door – the same door I had came in the house from. I mumbled angrily under my breath but low enough so Ummi couldn’t hear me. As soon as I kicked open the screen door, I knew I shouldn’t have.

 

“What was that, Muhammad?” she yelled from the living room.

 

“Nothing, just the door. I’m going to back to the park.” I responded. But could I really go back to the park? I shut the door behind me and slumped down onto to the wooden porch steps and pouted. Why couldn’t Ummi just get the kufi back for me again? Shoot, she’s the Ummi, not me. It wasn’t my fault that Darrel and his boys kept picking on me.

 

Going back to the park meant trouble and not just a shove or push either. It meant big trouble like rocks and sticks and punches. It just didn’t seem worth it to go through all of that for a kufi when I had lots of them in my dresser drawer. I thought about hiding out under the porch until Abu came home from work. He’d get my kufi back for me alright, I knew that for sure.

 

“What’s wrong? Why you not at the park?” my older sister, Shahadah, asked as she walked up from the other side of house. I stood up and walked down the rest of the porch’s steps and met her at the base.

 

“Bad day.” I said sadly, hoping she’d take pity. Shahadah released a long and hard sigh, sounding just like Ummi did. She looked a lot like her too. She dropped her bag down, looked me over once and then rolled her eyes upward. If looks could kill, Shahadah'll be in a whole lot of trouble, my ummi always said.

 

“Let me guess, Darrel and ‘em done took your kufi again, right?” she questioned. I rolled my eyes upward and slumped back down on the porch’s steps. Shahadah didn’t understand either, I thought to myself. She was a Muslim girl, but still a girl. Girls behaved differently than boys. Shahadah was lucky and I wasn’t. I started to sulk. She must have been reading my mind ‘cause without a notice she picked up her bag and pulled me with both of her hands up off the step.

 

“Come on, Muhammad Nourrideen,” she said still holding onto me.

 

“What? Where you taking me, Shahadah?” I asked as she dragged me down the street.

 

“We’re going back to the park, that’s where,” she said with a smile. I smiled too.

 

“You gonna get my kufi back from Darrel for me?” I asked excitedly and jumped up off the ground in place.

 

“Nope- I’m not. You are. You’re ten years old. You gotta start standing up for yourself,” Shahadah said, sounding just like Ummi had less than ten minutes ago.

 

“Ya, Allah,” I groaned.

 

“You don’t think I had trouble around here too?” She asked stopping her stride right across the street from the park.

 

“Did you?” I asked looking up to her face curiously.

 

“Of course, I did, Muhammad. Look at me, I’m different too,” Shahadah said motioning her long slim hand up and down her body like a sale’s person would to display her flower printed hijab and loose outer garment. “Just like you. But that doesn’t mean you gotta let people treat you mean or push your around or- take your things from you.”

 

“I don’t want them to do those things to me, Shahadah,” I said shaking my head angrily. I really was tired of being messed with. “how can I stop them, Shahadah?” I asked earnestly. If Shahadah could stand up for herself, so could I. I was a boy after all.

 

“Right here and right now.” She said as we crossed the street and entered the park. When we walked into the playground area, Darrel and his boys turned around to face us. Darrel was standing in the middle of the group, like always. We were both the same complexion, a dusty brown, but Darrel was shorter than me and much thinner.

 

At first I kept my head down but when I looked up and saw him boldly swinging my kufi on his pointer finger, I got maddier. He had the biggest of smiles smacked on his face exposing his two front crooked teeth. Darrel was challenging me and I was finally ready for it.

 

“I’ll stand right here and I won’t let none of those other boys get into it with you. Now go ask Darrel for your kufi back and don’t walk away til he gives it back to you.” My sister instructed.

 

I looked up at Shahadah and sighed long and hard, just like she and my Ummi always did. No more cry baby Muhammad Nourrideen. I had a job to do and I was going to get it done - with Allah’s help. I lifted my head up high, held up my chin, poked out my chest and sucked in a gush of air. I walked straight up to Darrel passing by his boys and asked him for my kufi. He didn’t give it to me - I didn’t walk away. I looked him dead in his eyes and this time said,

 

“Gimme back my kufi now, Darrel!”

 

“I said N-O! That spells -” before he could finished his sentence I had snatched my kufi out of his hands and was on my heels turning around. Before I could take a step I felt his fist or maybe his elbow come down hard on my shoulder. I turned without thinking and shoved him away from me hard but he had grabbed my kufi back out of my hands.

 

“Give it to me!” I yelled as I charged the much shorter boy. We both fell in the sand box and started rolling around in a brawl. My arms, legs, hands, and even my feet were moving and going every which a way. I heard Darrel boys all around us rooting on Darrel. I could also hear Shahadah too. She was telling them to stay back and they were obeying her.

 

That day was trouble, but not like I thought it would be. I took a couple of good hits from Darrel upside my head, but I never lowered it for him willingly. As my sister and I left the park, Darrel and his boys nodded at me. I smiled in return, my kufi was back on my head. Tomorrow I was going back to the park and I had a feeling that Darrel nor any any of his boy would ever try to take my kufi from me ever again.

 

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