Do Muslims Eat Christians?

“Do Muslims eat Christians?” The little boy grasping the edges of the gate asked me. He had a face full of innocence and pure curiosity. I couldn’t believe my ears. “No.” I managed, starting to shake with laughter and disbelief at the same time. He shrugged and ran off with his friend tagging along behind him. We continued to play basketball.
I was 12 years old that year, and a student at Arizona Cultural Academy. Quite honestly I had never realized just how little many Americans knew about Muslims at all. If anything, I thought they were remarkably knowledgeable on the subject. After all, having grown around homeschoolers, most of the kids and parents knew just about every possible religion in the world and were also able to quote more facts on my religion than I could within the same time limit. The day my beautiful assumptions shattered into a million pieces happened about two years after I began attending ACA.
During the middle of the year, most of us teacher-kids ended up hanging around the field after school because there was absolutely nothing else to do (we didn’t exactly think doing homework during that time was particularly fascinating). Even though I have always been basketball-y-challenged, I decided to play with the other kids anyway. That day, as I missed the hoop by a meter from 4 feet away, the little boys from the neighboring house outside the school were clinging to the fence next to the basketball court. This was one of my first encounters of that kind during the 5 years I was at ACA. He stared at me with wide eyes and then asked, in a very matter-of-fact tone, a question that devastated me, “Do Muslims eat Christians?”
He was probably 7 years old at the time, but I had never heard a more ignorant question. How could a kid that age even THINK of a question like that? Ever since that day, my standards and hopes for Americans knowing anything about my religion have fallen lower and lower. These days, if they even realize that I’m a “Muslim” and not an “Islam” or an “Arabic” I praise them. “Wow! You sure know an awful lot about my religion!” It makes them beam bashfully at me. In fact tonight, I visited Starbucks at ASU West to pick up a coffee after a long day. One of the male cashiers was smiling nonstop, taking my order before picking up the courage to make that all-too-well-known gesture around his head. He looked like he was going insane with that finger twirling around his head before he asked, “So what is that thing on your head? I’ve seen, like, three people here today with that on their heads!” He seemed excited. So I told him. “Oh, I see,” he remarked, apparently proud of himself, “so what religion is this based on?” Caught off guard, having assumed he would at least have associated the scarf with terrorists or Middle Eastern people, I was slow to respond and was cut off by the African-American female cashier who said, “It’s a part of Islam, and wearing a hijab sort of represents your level of religiosity…right?” She looked at me knowingly. I was so pleased my face probably looked like it was all teeth. Later I found out that she had family members who were Muslim. I could have died from being so proud of her knowledge.
From these experiences, as much as I have been shocked and pleased in each encounter, I’ve realized one thing: Muslims need to a little more positive PR, starting from the youth. We need to get our act together. I know I’ve said this once, but I mean it. It’s probably not likely to tell the whole world what we’re about, but it’s easy to tell our closest friends. I’m not asking you to proselytize and convert people left and right, in fact, please don’t. However, just by explaining about WHY you wear your scarf or WHY we do certain things, we promote a little more understanding about what kind of people we are. In the end, I just don’t want myself or another Muslim kid to ever have to encounter another curious George who comes up with something awkward and alien, like, “Do Muslims eat Christians?” Please.