I’m not much of a shopper. Last time I’ve been inside of a mall was maybe two years ago. I can’t remember. I do, however, regularly frequent Walmarts. And, Lowes. Love ‘em both.
I also go grocery shopping. Solo. No tag team shopping for me.
Last week, as I was negotiating my way through the produce section, I could not help but notice a fellow shopper. She was covered head to toe in black cloth with only a slit for her to see through. Yup, a burkha. With her was a boy of four or five years.
I was intrigued, but not very comfortable with the situation. Afterward, I talked about it with a few people. They confided that they wouldn’t feel all that comfortable being in a store with a burkha wearer either.
I’m fine with people who dress differently. Hasidic Jewish men stand out because of their traditional hair and clothing styles. Indian women wear colorful print shawls and often have a red spot on their foreheads. Amish not only dress differently, they travel by horse and buggy and live without electricity. Some men, for religious reasons, wear turbans. I don’t know about you, but people like this don’t blend in with others in my neighborhood.
These folks believe strongly enough in something to be different. I may not share their values, but they have a right to look and live and they wish. Some – the Amish, for example – impress me. I admire their courage, commitment, and resolve. So, good for them. Good for diversity.
If you are waiting for me to make a connection to wastewater treatment, I’m not going to. There is no connection. Not to wastewater. Not this time.
Nope, it is the DISconnection that concerns me. Not “concerns,” more than that. The burkha represents the enemy: a group of people who wish you and me dead. Far from all of them want me dead, I realize. But, more than a few do. Me, I don’t wish harm to anyone – well, not anyone that prevents me and mine from living our lives. But, I don’t want to be naïve either.
When you come across someone in your neighborhood wearing a burkha, it is hard to tell yourself that everything is hunky dory.
Here are some of the thoughts that went through my head when I pushed my grocery cart around the woman in her burkha.
Cool, I’m looking at my first burkha. I wonder why she is wearing that thing here? My, what a cute boy. Maybe I should chat her up. No, Grant, she is wearing the black wrap because she wants me to know that she does NOT want to talk to me. It may be against her religion for an unaccompanied man to talk to her. Doing so could, in her mind, be a sin. Fact is, Grant, she’d prefer you to be further away from her, not closer. So, move on.
The thinking then went something like this.
Hey, this Stop & Shop is what, one mile from a nuclear submarine base? Who is her man? Where is he? Is he friend or foe? Not likely a friend. Likely, best is neutral to my existence. At worst, yipes! I wonder what would happen if she walked into a bank with that thing on?
Aye-yi-yi.
More later.
Thanks for reading.
Grant