Fast forward to 2015. My brown-skinned Muslim baby, who eats tandoori chicken, graham crackers and mashed potatoes, and is infatuated with Elmo, is seen as a “problem” by some American voters because of his religious identity.

In Texas, a 14-year-old teenager who made a digital clock to impress his teacher was humiliated and handcuffed. If his name wasn’t Ahmed Mohamed, what would have happened instead? He’d probably be hailed as the Texan Jimmy Neutron or teenage Tony Stark.

Like most parents, I could never forgive myself for causing my child undue pain.

But if a Wajahat can survive and thrive in America, then why should we be afraid? Why not throw down and give the boy a symbolic, honorable “Muslim-y” name?

So, we named our son “Ibrahim.”