We console each other that we have butterflies in the making. When they were young, they were caterpillars. Very hungry caterpillars. But right now, they’re in their pupa stage, transformed into a chrysalis, set apart. The hope is that one day, they will re-emerge as beautiful butterflies, graceful in flight and full of delight. One …
This is the era we find we have to be far more open and direct than our parents ever were, no holds barred. Everything is on the table, despite our own inherent shyness. We have no choice but to speak about the dangers of drugs, sharing vapes, or transmitting nasties. If they’re lucky, they might …
“I don’t need you!” he growls at his parents, while sitting at the computer they bought him, and using the internet they pay for, having just eaten the meal they prepared, after receiving a delivery of clothes he asked for. No, he doesn’t need them at all.
Blame the parents, they say. Why? If we’re too restrictive, we’re to blame. If we’re too permissive, we’re to blame. If we’re protective, it’s our fault they rebelled. If we’re hands-off, it’s no wonder they went off the rails. Blame the parents, they say.
Whatever others may think, I was an obedient young man. You might say, “How can that be? You were raised in a practising Christian home, and you became a Muslim!” Or you might point to my struggles at school and say, “You were given the best opportunities and you squandered them!” All true. But I …
My paternal grandmother was my greatest ally in the early days of my journey along this path. Perhaps she thought I was also hers, for she was a strict Methodist who saw similarities in my way of life to hers. In any case, she was my advocate and defender then, while my relationship with the …
I’m not really into great eulogies, describing the Queen as the only constant in the lives of our generation through turbulent times. That’s the role of grannies generally. Perhaps, in that respect, she was the nation’s grannie. Yes, but a very privileged grannie, whose moderately small family received hundreds of millions of pounds of state …
My father’s brother — an amateur historian — has traced our family tree on that side of the family back generations. Hundreds of years, in fact, discovering fascinating tales of our predecessors. One branch of the family emigrated to Canada in 1865, while the remainder appear to have been established in East Yorkshire for generations.
My paternal grandfather kept on his dining room windowsill a bronze cast. If my memory serves, it depicted Shiva as the Nataraja, Lord of the Dance. It always fascinated me, for it was the first thing a visitor would see when visiting their home, passing it to reach their front door.
Oh how I love my wife. What a shame such sentiments hit with such force when she is so far away, when I am ill like this. In a moment of delirium wrought by the altercation between those biting shivers and the piercing sweaty heat late at night, I dispatched a message: ‘Come home early, if you …
In Loving Memory
My mind is crowded with memories of Grannie Bowes. Of those warm days in summer when she would host my sister and I, treating us to elevensies, to a mug of Ribena and half a Kit Kat each. Of those moments passing through the fly screen door at TreeTops with bowls with which to harvest gooseberries from the bottom of the garden. Of super-ripened bananas powdered with glucose for pudding at lunchtime. Of mountains of sunflower seeds munched before Coronation Street whilst babysitting for us at night. Childhood with Grannie was always a joy.
My mind is crowded with memories of Grannie Bowes. Of those warm days in summer when she would host my sister and I, treating us to elevensies, to a mug of Ribena and half a Kit Kat each. Of those moments passing through the fly screen door at TreeTops with bowls with which to harvest gooseberries from the bottom of the garden. Of super-ripened bananas powdered with glucose for pudding at lunchtime. Of mountains of sunflower seeds munched before Coronation Street whilst babysitting for us at night. Childhood with Grannie was always a joy.
In 2003 my mother wrote an essay entitled “Help, there’s a Muslim in my family!” for the interfaith module of her Masters degree in Theology. After reading the copy she sent me, I wrote the following essay, and sent it back in May of the same year. It was a useful exercise for us both, …
Mainstream contemporary discourse represents a relativist worldview, wherein there is no truth, only ideas and arguments; all beliefs are generally valid, although some are more valid than others. Yet it is doubtful that this worldview is widely held within faith communities.
