A Muslim During Christmas

The holidays are here and I feel the excitement building within me as good cheer and spirit begins to fill my being.  Whoa…that was one cheesy line but nonetheless true and inevitably this happens every year, regardless of how I try to tell myself to calm the hell down.  It happens without fail as soon as the leaves start to turn colors.  First, it’s all about Halloween.  Then of course Thanksgiving, although the Indian Music and Dance Competition that my family has been hosting for the last 34 years competes against it (pun intended), so I can never totally enjoy it to the extent I would like but then…my utmost favorite holiday, Christmas. 

Right at this moment, particularly if you’re a new blog reader of mine, you’re cocking your head to one side, scrunching up your brows and even possibly scratching your head as you think, “wait, but isn’t she Muslim?!”  I’ll spare you the scrolling and confirm that indeed I am very much a Muslim.   So how is it that not only do I get hyped about Christmas but that I also actually put up a tree in my home (which is presently standing all twinkly and beautiful in my formal living room as we speak)?  I shall explain why and the philosophy behind the decision.  Consider this a twofer.

In honor of my big bro, his fav cartoon character.

It probably wasn’t until I was 10 that the first tree went up in our home.  Before that, regardless of how I pestered (which I did a lot) my parents to let me decorate a tree, they steadfast refused without much explanation beyond they were parents and didn’t have to tell me reasons.  I grudgingly accepted while muttering under my breath and stomping away.  That memorable day though, as we came home from our last day of school before winter break, it had started to snow and I was busy catching flakes on my tongue, leaping and twirling while my older bro rolled his eyes and slugged along, his face set into a scowl.  I was positive that my brother actually didn’t know how to smile unless he was with his friends but witnessing at home when they weren’t around?  It just didn’t happen.  Let’s just say that my brother was and still to some extent is an introvert. 

When we came abreast to the house, a smallish white rancher with a big yard and long driveway, the curtains of the windows were open wide and there it was, clear as day.  Emitting a shriek, I took off at a dead run as my brother gave chase.  We burst through the door and screeched to a stop as we beheld it: scrawny, plastic, but oh so glorious…our first Christmas tree ever.  There were boxes of ornaments spread around the base and coffee table, begging to be hung.  And my parents were also there, although I had wondered if someone hadn’t come in to knock them out, take their places and do this for us.  Or Santa clearly had felt I had been a very good girl, was what I had settled on as the most obvious explanation.

After the first gasp of delight, I jumped up and down, as children are want to do, clapping my hands and screaming excitedly in total delight.  My brother even was gaping at the thing with a smile on his face although he was acting super cool about the whole thing.  And before I could leap at the ornaments, my parents first wanted ‘to talk’.  That was never a good thing, even at that age I knew this. 

So we sat so that the parentals could explained that what we were looking at wasn’t a Christmas tree.  Never being the kind known to bite her tongue, and always having a bit of a smart mouth, I quickly pointed out that it sure looked like one.  My mom gave me side eyes without really having to give it to me that promptly shut me up completely.  She’s still able to do that, just FYI. 

To summarize that conversation:  They hadn’t allowed us to have a tree all those years simply because they wanted for us to understand that we were Muslim’s, first and foremost.  They didn’t want to start to confuse us and while they had spent most of their time helping us assimilate to the USA (as well as themselves) when we immigrated, they had not wanted for us to think for a second that it would ever be okay to lose ourselves, our cultures, our traditions and definitely not our religion (oh, wait that’s what R.E.M. meant!).  So while outside of the home we were every bit American as any kid who had been born here, inside the home we were every bit Bangladeshi, eating, drinking, talking, living it all.  I remember wondering what any of that had to do with the undecorated tree standing a few feet from us and at that point I assure you those words did not resonate as strongly as they do now, when I think back on them. 

My parents were brilliant.

They had gotten us to a point in our own evolution where they knew we could intellectually handle understanding what the tree meant, the symbolism, which to us was something pretty and festive, as opposed to the religious significance and ties (even though I don’t believe to this day they even know that it’s actually a pagan tradition, not Christian).  They never wanted us to feel left out, to grow up missing these things and say we had not really culturally experienced life in the states or rather wasn’t allowed to participate even though we were dragged here without being asked.     I feel as if they hadn’t want to begrudge those things that every kid who lived anywhere had the right to participate in if they were a part of the community.

I wonder how tough that decision had been for them in reality and what sort of risk they had calculated giving into what seemed like such a small concession.  The enormity of it now settles around me and I truly do admire them for having had those difficult discussions with us and compromising despite it probably being unnatural to them.

Now, as an adult with a house of my own, I continue to put up a tree.  It stands in a place where if one was to be driving past, the twinkling lights were visible.  It is also next to where I have a scripture from the Quran, a tapestry that my mother had brought back for me when she had completed the Hajj (pilgrimage to Mecca).  I make sure that in the pictures I take of the tree, the wall hanging is also visible.  I do this for a purpose.  A few years ago, when Ramadan was falling around the time of Christmas, I demurred from putting up the tree in respect, my decision, no one else’s.

And when on occasion a fellow Muslim begins to criticize my questionable choice in participating in the tradition, I simply smile, nod and go about my business.  I understand why they think the way they do, I can’t quite blame them for they are speaking from a religious standpoint, but for me, justifying myself to everyone has been something I’ve given up doing a long time ago.  The joy of putting up a tree, decorating it, gazing at the lights brings me pure childish happiness and peace.  Pulling out the ornaments from the last 20-some-years inevitably brings a rush of memories that I’m glad to have had and even though the space under the tree remains empty (we do not exchange gifts), I have no regrets. 

If for this reason, because of a 7-foot tall tree decorated in my home labels me as a bad Muslim to others, then so be it for I believe Allah knows my intentions best and only He can judge me anyway.  I will never tell someone they should do what I do, I will never tell them not to either.  I believe that everyone has reasons behind their actions and it is not my place to judge them for it, as long as it’s not hurting anyone else.  Kinda simple, eh?

Now you know the meaning behind my tree.  I hope you enjoyed this blog and have a great holiday!

Peace!