A Herd of Black Sheep

Growing up, every child watches their parents grow and evolve. We watch them figure out ways to trick us into eating our veggies, toil to help us with our homework and make attempts to be the “cool” parents at our birthday parties. We see them laugh and smile as they enjoy the curiosity and innocence we bring to their lives. However, not all the moments we witness of our parents’ lives are elated and cheerful. As children, we also watch our parents fight for a better life, struggle with the judgement society weighs down upon them, and over exert themselves trying to protect their kids from the evils of the world. Naturally, when our parents are in agony, us kids feel the runoff of emotions that overflow uncontrollably. These feelings affect every member of the family and become issues that must be dealt with by the family as a whole. When it comes to my family, the greatest struggle I watched my parents and our family endure was our search to find where we fit in; not only in society but within our own extended family.

Before we embark on this journey back in time, it is important that I introduce you to my parents. My mother is Jamaican, born and raised in Kingston, Jamaica. She immigrated to the United States on March 31st, 1991. Her name was Audrey Lorraine Johnson, which became Audrey Lorraine Osmani a few years later. My mom, Audrey, is a Christian who comes from a devoted religious family. Despite Audrey’s open-minded and laid-back personality, she is unable to share her views of the world with her family. On the other hand, my father is a

Bangladeshi man who was raised in the capital of Bangladesh; Dhaka. He emigrated from Bangladesh to the United States in November 1992. Upon arriving to the U.S., he changed his name from Sadat Osmani to Anowar Sadat Osmani, in order to fit into his new surroundings. He felt that his Arabic name would conjure hate and judgement because it showed that he was different. My father is also a Muslim which at the time – and still to this day – is a misunderstood religious group that is subjected to unfair stereotypes. Similarly, to my mom, he too had a more accepting view of the world that was hard to translate to his family. Upon my parents’ arrival to the United States, they were faced with culture shock that quickly subdued when they met each other. However, their union brought about more intense scrutiny due to their differences.

It all started on August 29th, 1993; the day my parents started dating. During this time, it was hard for people to conceptualize racial equality, let alone interracial couples. In spite of this, my parents believed in love. They got married six years later on February 14th, 1999 and one year after that, on April 13th, 2000, they had me! Inside our home, it was the happiest place I could ever imagine growing up. However, from the age of five, I started to notice that the outside world wasn’t so kind. When my parents and I went out, people would pull me aside and ask me if I was okay or if I knew the people I was with. I would be really confused but answer honestly, “Yes, that’s my mommy and daddy!” With this response people would scoff, look at me with shock, and walk away. I quickly started to realize that people didn’t think my parents were…mine. No matter the location, I constantly felt as if all eyes were on us. I always felt subconscious and the need to protect my parents from the vultures around us waiting to attack with their opinions; however, my parents never seemed to be bothered by the unforgiving stares. Until one day I overheard one of my parents’ conversations. “They think I’m her babysitter Anowar!” my mom yelled, “They think that we’re not good parents because look at us. We’re so different. We don’t belong together here, we don’t belong together in their culture.” Every word sent vibrations throughout my body as they were released from the Pandora’s box that had been ripped open from the claws of strangers that didn’t even know us. My mom felt like… an outsider. Just because my mom was in love, she felt as if she didn’t belong. That day I ran back to my room as I couldn’t do anything but cry. Over time it just became worse. My mom didn’t want to leave the house as a whole. She would only take me or my grandmother to go out. My dad became more irritable. Any little thing said to him could possibly set off his ticking time bomb of anger. Sometimes, I would go on for weeks without talking to him, because I didn’t want to be another source of frustration. As for me, I became a little doll; I never asked for anything, I only spoke when I was spoken to, I made sure to be a good girl in school making sure to always achieve the highest marks that I could, and I joined almost all the afterschool activities that my school offered but none of these accomplishments made me feel good. It was all just a distraction from the war zone of emotions in my house. As time went on, it felt like no one was ever home, no one felt comfortable as our one safe haven became a living hell.

To make matters even worse, criticism from the outside world wasn’t the only form of judgement my family and I received. Members of our own family ridiculed us for being different. On my mom’s side of the family, my grandma would emphasize that my dad’s culture and religion were not the correct way of life. She would say, “Jesus Christ is our only savior my love, don’t be confused by whatever your father teaches you. You want to go to heaven, right? Just listen to me my child.”  Time with them transformed into lectures persuading me to act against who I was and still am. My dad never felt comfortable when my mom’s family was around, which, in turn, prohibited anyone from enjoying their company. My mom’s family never really spoke to my dad. They would serve him food and scowl at him for inquiring about what it was, they would always talk about my mom’s ex boyfriends and hint at the fact that life was much better for her back then, and they were always so quick to kick him out, making up excuses like, “Oh we need to say our prayers now, but we don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Come back another day, I think we’ve had our fun for today.” Every visit slowly broke down my dad’s ego and I could see he was trying so hard for just an ounce of approval. He wanted to be loved as a son-in-law and cherished for what he was able to provide for my mother. On the other hand, the same applied to my father’s side of the family. Although they never openly said anything about my mom’s side of the family, they would try to keep my mom out of their inner circle. The isolation ranged from only speaking in their native tongue to participating in activities that my mom couldn’t relate to or partake in. My mom wasn’t even able to partake in any conversation because she never understood what they were saying, and I could only translate so much. She began to feel paranoid that their conversations were about her and her differences. My dad’s relatives would also completely ignore her, only stopping to address me. My mom tried so hard to fit in by wearing their traditional dress and attempting to make Bengali sweets so that our family could participate in the potlucks, but it never seemed to draw any recognition.  Like my father, she despised spending time with her spouse’s family. How are we supposed to bond and spend time with our extended family if there’s always an atmosphere of tension and agony? We, the Osmani’s, were the black sheeps of our family. We just didn’t seem to fit in. We stopped going to family functions and stopped spending time with our extended family. It’s one thing to feel detached from the outside world but it’s a more hurtful situation to be an outsider of your own family. It was something that was neither discussed nor talked about in my household, but everyone knew what was happening, and everyone knew how one another felt about it.

So where do we stand now? My parents decided that these feelings of discomfort and solitude arose from the fact that they were always so worried about fitting in but never realized that it’s okay to be different. They didn’t see that people will only accept you and feel comfortable around you if you’re comfortable with yourself and are confident enough to put yourself out there. They wanted for their family and for themselves to build up the confidence to accept their differences and to embrace them as who they are. They wanted to raise their kids to know that it’s okay to be different and that just because you are unique compared to others that you don’t have to be an outsider. How did my parents do this you ask? Well it took a little bit of luck and a lot of charm but eventually they were able to be comfortable enough with themselves that instead of waiting for others to come and approach them first, that they would be the ones to initiate the conversation. They learned that the only way for people to get past outer appearance, is for people to get to know you for who you are. My parents started off by taking dance classes together. From salsa to formal ballroom dancing, my parents spent at least two nights a week together out in public. When they came home I would always see warm smiles on their face and conjoined hands that seemed impossible to break apart. After a couple of classes, they began to invite friends they made from these classes over for dinner and game nights. If the couples had kids, they would always bring them over and I would have someone to play with. The people my parents brought over were so different from everyone else. They would run right up to me and shower me with compliments. They would tell me things like, “You have such a cute nose, just like your father!” and “Oh wow, aren’t you a beautiful mix, I can definitely see both of your parents by just looking at you. How lucky you are to have such handsome parents.” At first, I didn’t know how to respond to such kindness, but I soon realized that these people weren’t just being kind to me, they genuinely wanted to talk and interact with me. Eventually, I started coming to the dance classes. Those were nights I patiently waited for every week. I couldn’t wait to see how beautiful my parents looked embraced in each other’s arms and placing myself perfectly in the middle. We began to go everywhere together, and I started to invite them to family-oriented events that my school hosted. I was now able to witness how social my parents had become. We would just be standing on line, maybe at the grocery store, and if someone was staring, my mother or father would invite them into our world. My mother would say something like,” Wow I love your shirt, honey doesn’t that remind you of our vacation to Jamaica?” The person would be caught off guard but would eventually get reeled into the conversation. My parents would end up explaining their backgrounds and how they met. In awe, people would be enticed by the conversation and sometime would invite them to talk elsewhere another day. It was amazing how during these conversations, so many similarities would arise. Moments where I was most proud of my parents arose at Parent-Teacher Conference night. Before, my parents would never even consider going together, but now, they enjoy hearing the praise my teachers had of me. They would come home and shower me in kisses, telling me how they signed up to chaperone some events, so they could come see me in action and then they would show me their calendars, which would be full of events that they were going to attend. All throughout this process, my parents themselves never changed. The way they acted at home was just projected to the outside world. Society’s image of normal shifted; my parents didn’t need to assimilate because people realized that their relationship was just like any others, except it was special. As for our extended family however, it took a little more effort to move them towards our acceptance. The first step my parents both took was conjuring up the confidence to stand up to their own families and express to them how they feel about their family’s treatment towards their spouse. The next step was sharing with their families their views of the world. They would talk about how American culture is different but more accepting; how people are able to choose how they want to live instead of having to obey cultural standards and restrictions. In particular, they talked about change and consistency. My parents always advocated that as a family, we are allowed to make certain changes to improve our lives but at the same time still stick to certain traditional core values that we derive from our native land and culture, that make us who we are. Step three was inclusion. Whenever we visited our relatives my parents would make an effort to include one another in the conversation. For example, when we would visit my mom’s side of the family, my mom would make an active effort to first include my dad in our conversation and activities, and then lean back and let my dad showcase his worth. My family, just like the strangers at the supermarket, saw how my dad and his family were just like them. My mom’s family saw how his family and him struggled as immigrants just like them, and how hard he was working to provide my mom and I with a better life than what he lived. My grandma on my mom’s side would whisper to me, “I never realized how good of a man your father is. I hope you find a husband one day who is just as handsome and intelligent.” Family visits became one of my favorite times of the month especially since my grandma would teach my dad how to make Jamaican meals like ackee and saltfish, rum cake, and dumplings which I got to eat. My mom’s side of the family started treating my dad like their own, not just “Tasnova’s Father”. The same acceptance was displayed on my dad’s side of the family towards my mother. After a bit of intervention from my father, my dad’s side of the family became almost fascinated by mom as they realized that she was not as different as they thought and that she wanted to learn and celebrate their culture. Now instead of isolating my mom they cherish her and her desire to learn. The women loved teaching my mom Bengali and in return they looked to her for help in improving their English. They would also go outfit shopping with my mom and help her pick out lengahs, saris, and other traditional Bangladeshi clothes that best fit her. In return, my mom also teaches my dad’s family about some of her Jamaican culture. My mom and the women from my dad’s family have actually became very close now and I can often expect to be taken out to dinner with just my mom and these aunties as well as going on day trips without my dad. My aunties love to post pictures of my mom on Facebook and brag about having a family member who comes from a different culture but also enjoys sharing their culture. We are now at a point where both sides of my family embrace our similarity to one another as well as celebrate the differences that lie between us. Today, I can say, that I love spending time with both sides of my family altogether and that despite our differences, we are still able to look at each other as family. My family may still be the black sheeps, but we’re the most beautiful kind that I’ve ever seen.