In the living room of the house in which I grew up there was a wood-burning fireplace surrounded by white bricks. Every December it was the center of all things Christmas. The armchair that stood year-round to the right of the fireplace was moved to make room for the Christmas tree, usually a six-footer with the pine aroma of the holiday.
On a visit to the Houston Holocaust Museum I learned that had I lived in Nazi-ruled Germany I would have been classified as a “first-degree mischling.”
My mother passed away last Friday, February 3. I don't have a living mother anymore. I don't know if that will ever feel like a normal statement.
I have decided to approach writing not as a profession, but as a tool.
I'm writing an author Q&A with Arsalan Iftikhar (The Muslim Guy) on the occasion of the release of his new book, Scapegoats: How Islamophobia Helps Our Enemies and Threatens Our Freedoms. He writes about becoming the Muslim Guy shortly after September 11, 2001.