Experiencing 9/11 with Muslims

9/11 is my generation's JFK assassination; everyone remembers where they were when the two towers came down. My husband-to-be, Clark, woke me that day by pounding on my door. I sat with him for hours, tears pouring down my face, watching the images over and over with him. Around noon, we picked my sons up from school; it didn't seem right to have them there.

My clearest memory that day is of a brilliant blue sky filled with fluffy clouds, and not a single airplane despite the two nearby major airports. It was surreal.

But Clark's experience was very different. At that time, he worked in a restaurant where the young man running the kitchen was Moroccan. He was a wonderful guy and a great manager, and over the years had staffed almost the entire kitchen with friends and relatives from Morocco and Tunisia. The place was filled with handsome, smiling young men who spoke French and Arabic much better than English, who always greeted customers with wide, friendly smiles and somehow met their every need despite the language barrier.

They were Americans, citizens or not. Most were working toward the day they could swear allegiance to their adopted country. They were also Muslims, every single one.

The kitchen manager told Clark about the airplane flying into the first and second tower. The atmosphere in the kitchen was subdued, shocked that anyone would so attack their homeland.

The next day, everyone knew it was Muslims who had overcome flight crews to fly planes into the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, the ground in Pennsylvania. The handsome young men of the kitchen were stunned. Over and over, with varying levels of English fluency, they expressed their shock, their sorrow, and their sympathy to Clark.

Like most Muslims who have come to America or Americans with long roots here who have converted to Islam they saw the attacks as insane. The actions of those few did not reflect the feelings of the majority about their country. Like all other immigrants over the last two hundred years, they wanted to be here, to work hard, to raise families in the atmosphere of freedom our country provides.

I ate dinner there shortly afterward, knowing all this. They were the same young men I remembered, and yet there was a filter there. I saw Muslims, and dreamers. I had only ever seen them before as charming people who spoke broken English but who always took care of my needs regardless.

I'm so grateful that people like that are drawn to America. I hope that some day soon, our Muslim immigrants once again feel as at home here as people of any other faith. With the exception of a radical minority, they are all wonderful people.

Postscript to the story: almost a year later, Clark joined the Navy to protect our country from this madness. Among his favorite fellow recruits: another Muslim immigant, a young man with a great sense of humor, a heavy accent, and a charming family.

We really are all Americans.