One day, though, my daughter came home from second grade talking about a lady she had seen in a hijab, a traditional Muslim women’s head covering. I love my daughter so much, but in that moment, I began to rant — and then I saw it in her eyes: She was looking at me like I had lost my mind.
That broke through to me. I decided I had to at least talk to the people at the Islamic center before acting. I walked in the door and was immediately welcomed. The first person who saw me smiled and asked a simple question: “Can I help you?” My answer was also simple: “I want you to teach me about Islam.”
That day I was sent home with a copy of the Quran and told to come back with any questions I had. I began to read. Occasionally, I’d find something I thought would bring down the whole Islamic belief system. I’d hurry back to demand an explanation, and they’d give it to me. After eight weeks of study, my heart had been changed. That’s when I became a Muslim.
