My dad is like, ya know, he's the leader of the household. So when 9/11 happened I was a sophomore in high school. My dad sits everybody down at the dinner table. He's like, "Alright, Hasan, whatever you do, do not tell people you're Muslim. Do not talk about politics." "Alright, Dad, I'll just hide it. Cool. This just rubs off." We're sitting there. Phone rings. I run to the phone, but my dad, he had a good first step, so he beats me to the phone. "Hello?" I grab the second phone. "Hello?" And I hear a voice. "Hey, you sand n-----, where's Osama?" He looks at me. "You can hear me, right? You fucking dune coon. Where's Osama?" "Hey, you can hear me, right? 2631 Regatta Lane, that's where you live, right? I'm going to fucking kill you." Click. And my dad's looking at me. Do you ever see your parents, and you see the mortality in them? I'm looking at my dad and I see all five-seven of him. And that's when I realize I'm a darapok. I'm a scaredy-cat. You know the way it is. We can speak two languages. We can speak at home and outside. I should have said something. I didn't. We sit down. I hear "thud, thud, thud" outside. Me and Dad run outside and all the windows on the Camry are smashed in. And I look in the back, and my backpack's open. "Fuck, they stole my stuff." I reach and I pull out my backpack. Pieces of glass get caught in my arm. And now all this blood is like gushing down the side of my arm, and I'm pissed, I'm just like fucking mad. Man, fuck this, man! These kids, they know where we live, they're calling us, they're timing this in realtime, so they're watching us. So I'm running, up and down the cul-de-sac, I'm looking in the trees, the bushes... I look back in the middle of the street, my dad is in the middle of the road sweeping glass out of the road like he works at like a hate crime barbershop. "We've got customers. Log kya kahenge? We've got to clean this up." Zen! Brown Mr. Miyagi, just, like, not saying a word. I run up to him, I'm like, "Dad! Why aren't you saying something? I'm not asking you, say something!" He looks at me and he goes, "Hasan..." "These things happen, and these things will continue to happen. That's the price we pay for being here." And that's when I was like, "We really are from two different generations." BMX bikes aside. My dad's from that generation like a lot of immigrants, where he feels like if you come to this country, you pay this thing like the American dream tax. Right, like you're gonna endure some racism, and if it doesn't cost you your life, well hey you lucked out, pay it. There you go, Uncle Sam. But for me, like a lot of us, I was born here. So I actually have the audacity of equality. I'm like, "Naw, I'm in Honors Gov, I have it right here. Life, liberty, pursuit of happiness. All men are created equal." It says it right here, I'm equal. I'm equal. I don't deserve this. But as soon as I say that... He looks at me like I believe in Santa. "Hasan, you'll never understand." "I'll never understand? Dad, you're the guy that will argue with the cashier at Costco when he doesn't let you return used underwear. And now you want to be the bigger man? Now you're like, 'No, no, let's be reasonable with the bigots.' What?" And then he just walks back into the house with glass in his feet. And I honestly don't know who's more right. Like maybe he's right. Put your head down. Go be a doctor, get a house in the burbs, laugh later, let them call you whatever they want. But then I'm like, wait, isn't it our job to like, push the needle forward little by little? Isn't that how all this stuff happens? SCOTUS decision, then this, then this. I don't know. The pendulum swings back and forth for me. And I know 9/11 is a super touchy subject. I understand. Because when it happened, everyone in America felt like their country was under attack. But on that night, September 12th, it was the first night of so many nights where my family's love and loyalty to this country was under attack. And it always sucks. As immigrants we always have to put on these press releases to prove our patriotism. We're always auditioning. "We love this country, please believe me." Nobody loves this country more than immigrants. I love this country, man. I fell in love in this country. Six years old, Janice Malo. I saw her in the sandbox. I run up to her. First grade. I was like, "Janice! I love you!" She's like, "You're the color of poop." That's memory number one. Remember the first time you experience racism? You don't know what it is. I was like, "What? Oh, no! It's not rubbing off!" I was fucking terrified. It was like racist Inception. There were so many levels to it. I just wanted to wake up in a bathtub Like Joseph Gordon-Levitt and be like, "Oh, it was all a dream. I'm JGL. It was all a dream." But it's not a dream, it's the universe telling you, "It's a Fair & Lovely world. You gotta navigate accordingly." In the third grade, there was this assignment where Miss Anderson was like, "Hey, write what you want to be when you grow up." Some kids were like, "I wanna be an astronaut," or "I wanna be a firefighter." And I was like, "I want to be white." And she was like, "Honey, what do you mean?" I was like, "I want this part of my skin to be all of my skin." And it wasn't one of those weird things like, "I hate melanin." It's not that, I love melanin. I've never gotten a sunburn. I'm #blessed. But when you're white and you're playing the video game of life, and your avatar comes out white, you just get asked less questions along the way, at each level. Right? Like you pop out. Boom. "I want to be Batman." "Well, of course. Batman is white. Duh!" Boom. "I want to be president." "Well, duh! Forty-four-and-a-half presidents are white. We've had a great track record." And I know the privilege debate is very heavy for white people. I know you guys have problems. I've seen Girls on HBO. I get it. My dad did not give a shit about any of this identity stuff. Cause he's an immigrant father. His rules with me growing up were very simple. "No fun, no friends, no girlfriends. You can have fun in med school." Which is a huge lie. It never gets popping in med school. I've never been to a club and seen like, nine dudes losing their mind, like, "Fellas, what's going on?" "What's going on? Residency, fam!" No, never happens. "I got a career I hate from my parents." It's a lie. We buy into it. I don't know why, right.