Читать книгу I Am Like You! - Ali PhD Kian - Страница 6

At the age of seven, it was time for me to begin schools. The question was where would I go? My parents weren’t sure I would be accepted in a “normal” school. We lived in a Third World country. No principal in his right mind would accept a child with my disabilities. My parents thought I would be better off in a special school. But I was a stubborn child and I was determined to be just like everyone else because...I WAS.

Some of my parents’ friends were shockingly insensitive. Since we had little money, one friend suggested my condition could be used as an additional source of family revenue. I could be “put on a street corner with a tin cup.” Later in my life, I learned from my mother that one of her friends even privately suggested to her that she smother me with a pillow. Just the kind of friend every family needs.

Unfortunately, the intolerance my family faced because of my disability was not limited to family acquaintances. I am continually amazed at the lack of empathy within many religions. I can only speak of my experience of Islam. Islam has two branches–Shies and Sunnis and each branch claims to be closest to God (or Allah). Sadly, to improve your chances to reach Paradise a Sunnis might be encouraged to kill five Shies. My disability oftentimes made me a target for the disdain of both branches of Islam.

It’s true; I have many questions and doubts about organized religions. Yet I must admit that I was fortunate that the one man who was willing to accept me (as I was) in his elementary school was a religious cleric. His name was Mr. Tabatabei and I was accepted with open arms into the Tabatabei Elementary School. It was a small school in an alley. Mr. Tabatabei was both the Koran teacher and handwriting instructor. Mr. Tabatabei was (and still is) both my hero and savior. It is because of Mr. Tabatabei that I refuse to judge people of faith. At times, I may question religious beliefs and even sound cynical, but the very existence of a cleric with Mr. Tabatabei’s compassion, understanding, and patience makes it impossible for me to dismiss faith as mere human folly.

Tabatabei Elementary School, I am in 3rd grade left one, first row.

One of my first and favorite memories of an early class with Mr. Tabatabei was the day he wrote two lines of a poem from Omar Khayyam on the chalkboard. We were all asked to copy the lines down on our paper. We wrote in black ink with a special wooden pen-like device that was made of sugar cane or a bamboo tree.

“The palace where Jamshid held his cup

The doe and the fox now rest and sup.”

Wow! The doe and fox could coexist in peace. Perhaps there was a place for me in the world. I loved this class.

Everyday my Mom would carry me in her arms or push me in a stroller to Tabatabei’s school. At the beginning of each school year, I would be placed on a bench with three other students and Mr. Tabatabei would announce to my fellow classmates: “Gentlemen, this is Mr. Kian. I want everyone to be nice to him. He is just like you.”