Minding My P's and Q's

beautiful, energetic, my mama

 

She's dynamite in white: pants, shirt, shoes, socks. Even her mop of curly hair is iced in frosty hues.

 

Multi lingual army brat, homecoming queen, degreed. She's a busy professional who operates her own business, jogs, lifts weights, writes. A stranger once stopped her on the street to rave over her multi colored aura but you don't have to read it to see it: energy shoots from her eyes, radiates off her skin, envelopes friends and others. She's a light in the darkness, a campfire on a cold night, a rocket soaring through the sky.

 

"We travelled from California to Missouri and all along the way people offered me their seat," she laments. "As if I were old."

 

I suggest the deference wasn't due to incorrectly assessed infirmity but because she's a woman, professional, of a certain age and worthy of respect. She rolls her eyes.

 

"Did you take the seat?" I ask.

 

She nods, smiles. " Yes, of course."

 

respect your elders, youngun

(Katie and her grandpapa)

 

My mama taught me this: say please and thank you, excuse me, yes, ma'am, no, sir. Don't play your music too loud, do offer your seat, flush. These universal niceties are one's P's and Q's and apply no matter where you are in the world…plus a few more:

 

In Qatar

 

Adherence to the cultural expectation of modesty is considered good manners and respectful too. Plus, when supping from a communal dish one should use the three fingers on the right hand, eat from the area nearest you, don't blow on your food. Hold the door and stand so that others enter first, to your right. An older-than-you female relative or stranger is called "aunt" or her kunya is used to address her. Adult women refer to young girls as "Mahmah" to bestow a kind of pre-respect. Deference is shown to a man with the title "uncle."

 

But, wait, there's more:

 

"…I go to the ground floor of our house and my children rush to kiss my head…I start by greeting 'Al-Salam Alaikum wa Rahmat Allah wa Barakatuh', and try to find my mother. I kiss her on the head, then do the same for my father. My siblings and nieces/nephews would be queuing to kiss my head…"

Osama Al Assiry describes a typical Family Friday in Qatar

 

That's right, older family members - and senior strangers within the culture - receive kisses to the top of heads from younger others. It's respectful, deferential and expected.

 

Doha billboard

be respectful: don't spit!

 

In Philippines

 

Unofficially Filipinos comprise the second largest expat population in Qatar (after Indians). They are nannies and maids, clerks, administrative assistants, receptionists, drivers, mechanics, nurses, doctors and more.

 

"If Filipinos left Qatar, everything would come to a screeching halt."

- commonly heard (in country)

 

Some young Filipina mothers don't see their children for years as adults often leave home to provide for the family. Most come to Qatar alone, leaving children behind with grandma. It's no surprise that Filipino families are very close, with a strong, culturally imbued respect for elders.

 

"…conservative families expect children to practice the kissing of hands or placing their parents or elder family members' hand to their foreheads with the words 'mano po'…"

- philippinecountry.com

 

Remember to say please and thank you and press the back of auntie's hand to your forehead.

 

In America

 

 

Lush groves, rattling trucks and hog sized motorcycles with riders in camo doo-rags. Someone's mama drives a rusted Buick which passes an Amish buggy on a highway flanked by fields of corn, clover and Queen Anne's lace. Where just-folks wave to strangers, the American flag unfurls over the quik mart and the downtown McDonalds does a brisk noon business.

 

The highway between Springfield and Kansas City: the heart of America's heartland.

 

I pull into an empty parking space, step across the busy drive-through lane. In front of me swagger two teenage boys in CAT caps, baggy jeans, black tee shirts and scuffed, untied tennis shoes.

 

One boy pauses at the door. He holds it and stands so I might enter first, to his right. "After you, ma'am."

 

My heart swells with pride for his mama.

 

"R-E-S-P-E-C-T find out what it means to me…"

-Aretha Franklin, "Respect"

Middle Eastern Mother-in-Law

"You should throw her from the plane."

-Middle Eastern woman joking about a mother in law's visit

 

"I must cover at home to respect my mother in law."

-Asian Muslim woman married to a Middle Eastern man

 

"I'm not allowed to do any of the cooking because my mother in law doesn't like it."

-Asian Muslim woman married to a Middle Eastern man, lives in her mother-in-law's home

 

"All of the first daughters in my family are named after my mother-in-law."

-Qatari woman

 

"HOWARD! I need to pee!"

-Big Bang Theory's Mrs. Wolowitz calling to her son

 

Mothers and Mothers-in-Law: Peggy, Cindi, Kitty

twenty-nine years of successful family and relationship building

 

I'm lucky. I have a great mom and mom-in-law (MIL) who paved the way for their children to create strong families by example: supporting fledgling son- and daughter-in-laws, encouraging independence, loving, lifting, inspiring - and breaking down stereotypes.

 

my beautiful mom, Peggy S. Hedrick: smart, fabulous, kind, generous, wife/mom/MIL and lawyer, married 59 years to my dad: builds and supports, lifts and encourages, no stereotype

Learn more about this amazing woman at: http://www.peggyhedrick.com

 

You know the stereotype I'm talking about: the classic Western MIL: her mother. The jealous, self-centered shrew who wedges her way between the young couple in a passive aggressive battle for her daughter's (and grandchildren's) affections. Who locks out the less powerful his mother lower-case mil and undermines the youthful pair's bond through manipulation of the mother-daughter relationship - even as she breezes through husbands in her own world.

 

In dating, marriage and life, the woman controls the children, supplies the family's energy or lack of it, coordinates structure (or lack of it), nurtures a foundation or opens the door to quicksand. If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.

 

Thus, in the West, at least - if Mama's Mama ain't happy - and especially if she's selfish, cruel, mean and unstable - everything else just got a whole lot harder.

 

Kimberly with her Grams, Kitty Kennaley - mom of 8, kind and loving MIL to many,

married 52 years to Dan, no stereotype

 

In the East, as in traditional Qatari culture, his mother is boss.

 

Traditionally, a Qatari bride is expected to leave her home to become part of her husband's family. Newlyweds spend their wedding night - and the first few weeks of marriage - living in a room or suite of rooms in the groom's family home. Modern Qataris sometimes live separate from the family, but, I am told, most eventually occupy a villa within the walled compound that provides living quarters for hubby's parents, brothers, unmarried sisters, cousins, uncles and their families.

 

"We like houses."

-Qatari woman explaining why locals don't live in apartments.

 

This isn't specifically a Qatari, Middle Eastern or Muslim idea - although all mothers are revered in Islam. It's more of an Eastern World thing.

 

In her rooms the young bride is Queen of her universe. Within the larger home and family his mother rules.

 

The arrangement makes sense in this part of the world as a family's social security is locked up in its sons: the responsibility for caring for mom and dad falls to the first born son (and, it follows, his wife). If boy #1 is unable to care for mom and/or dad, he may pass responsibility on to the next son. A married woman is not (officially) liable for the long term welfare of her own parents (habibimatrimonials.com).

 

When a daughter in law moves into his mother's home, her job is to do what his mother wants in the way she wants it done: cooking, not cooking, wearing an abaya to run to the bathroom and back.

 

In the East as in the West, most husbands don't care how the kitchen gets cleaned or who's cooking dinner (or picking it up). Typically there's no power struggle between husbands and wives over who changes baby's diaper (unless nobody's doing it) or decides who's invited to what, when or how. This is because (generally speaking, arguably, in many successful families) the woman does these things - or supervises husband's, maid's or nanny's completion of said activity.

 

In the West, as newly marrieds do not typically live with their parents, a man may not notice there's a classic MIL in place (even if his mother tries to point it out). He's blissfully unaware right up to the minute divorce papers are served…and sometimes beyond.

 

In the East, where Queens are domestically merged, there is friction and most people are quite aware of it. Which is why even the best Middle Eastern mother-in-law inherits (along with the subordinate Queen) a bad rep.

 

serving dinner to my great, loveable, wonderful MIL

 

My husband and I lived with his family for a short period, Middle Eastern style. We had a private room, bathroom and living area with tv. Our baby slept in a crib by our bed. The baby monitor (a device that transmits sound) sat on our night stand while the receiving end was in the kitchen where communal life happened.

 

My beautiful MIL cheerfully offered advice without taking over and let me make mistakes without recrimination. She welcomed my mother, with whom I am very close. When my tiny baby needed surgery, she took me to the doctor's office and held my hand while I cried. She was then, and is now - awesome.

 

hanging at The Pearl's little beach with Kimber and Kitty

 

For the next two weeks my wonderful MIL is living and playing with us in Doha. We'll buy her stuff, take her places, love and serve her and treat her like a Queen. Not because she's in the Middle East where his mother rules. But because she's FANTASTIC.

 

Kitty Kennaley, now in Doha

Six Days in Doha with Chris

The Riding a Camel Pic

 

What if you had just a few days in a Middle Eastern country - where traffic buzzes the city like bees searching for a hive, winter means beach sun and flowers, strange things circle the sky and jumping off a pile of sand into another pile of sand is a national pastime?

 

a guy (it's always a guy), a parachute-like thing, a great big, round fan

 

Oh sure, you'd hang with your way cool 'rents

 

working out at the Singing Dunes

not hot, windy or dry enough for music this trip

great for running and climbing

 

top it off with a cold one

at the Inland Sea

 

You'd tour a mosque and cultural center, study customs and religion, watch as a muezzin in traditional attire stands before a microphone, recites a beautiful, inspiring Adhan, call to prayer.  You'd jog a resort, wander a beach, jump into a dune

 

Wheeeeee!

 

Wheeee times three!

 

You'd view artifacts from all over the Middle East at the Museum of Islamic Art and walk the length and breadth of the fantastic Museum park.  Where there are outstanding views of West Bay, hills, a strange obelisk like thing, and cool, glittering water.  You'd ride a dhow around Doha's fabulous West Bay...

 

 

...drink sweet hospitality tea, eat shwarma, hummus, pita, kofta, babaganoush, awesome delicious rice.  You'd absorb the unique smells, textures and flavors (fats, sugars, carbs) and you'd not be sorry.  Not one tiny, little bit.

 

 

 

Not sorry

 

Because later - of course - you'd drink sweet Herbalife tea and sweat it all out at the gym.

 

Plus, there's the Inland Sea where you'd (watch Mom) swim under a gleaming sun in the warm appearing, but deceptively cold Gulf spanning the distance between Qatar and Saudi Arabia...

 

blue, beautiful

Inland Sea in January 2014

 

...dune bashing and sand golf (for Mary Ann and Gary)

 

This is the fairway

 

This is the sand trap

Yes, the sand course has a sand trap

aka "bunker" 

 

falcons, giant pearls, massive teapots

 

 

 

Qatari night life, camel races, unmarked desert bound Catholic church - and treasures to be found at the updated-to-look-old, modern, antique souq.

 

at the souq

 

Lucky, happy people - to get a great, marvelous, wondrous, whirlwind, fantastic six days in Doha with our beautiful, smart, fantastic son!

 

Video snippets from one wondrous Doha day, chosen by the camera

Service Hours for God

You ask for nothing in return.  Yet you sit with me for hours, over coffee and croissants.  Speak with me in Arabic, correct my grammar, feed me vocabulary.

 

 

You're just 17 years old and I'm an "imra' al kebeera" a woman of a certain age - older, even, than your mother.  You're a recent high school graduate, preparing for university.  It's summer and you have friends to see, parties to attend.  You talk on the phone, walk the mall, listen to music.  You know the cafes and shops, carry a leather covered cell phone that rings and rings.

 

young girls get hands "henna-ed" for special events, at parties, "just because"

You won't let me pay you.  For your time, knowledge, help.  Why?

 

You shrug, ask: "What shall I call you?"

 

The question is respectful.  It acknowledges the sanctity of my name and my position (ie, age).  In Middle Eastern culture, names reveal secrets as they outline a family's history.  And, while Middle Eastern women in the same generational bracket refer to one another using first names, some older women prefer youth to use the Kunya (mine is Umm Chris, "mother of Chris," who is my son and first born child).  The question also recognizes the practice in my culture to refer to an older, married woman using her husband's name: "Mrs. Kennaley."

 

I prefer to close the gap:  "Please call me Cindi."

 

You are fashionable in long skirts and blouses with color coordinated head band and hijab.  Your dark eyes are bright with enthusiasm and fun, your smile patient ("try to remember the word, Cindi; I will wait").

 

You are goal driven, motivated, inspired, intelligent, fun, funny, beautiful (ما شاء الله)*.  You speak Arabic and English and a multitude of dialects: Egyptian, Syrian, Gulf, Moroccan and others.  You claim your English wasn't as good two years ago (when you transferred to the American School) as it is now.

 

Your English is very, very good.

 

You want to go into politics in your home country, with an outspoken desire to attain a status never before achieved by a woman there, veiled or otherwise.  "It will be difficult."

 

You nod, "Maybe I begin with a position in the ministry."

 

You speak eloquently about the problems facing your country (not Qatar): poverty, mismanaged agriculture, poor use of historical sites, corruption.  Your ideas for improvement are mature, thoughtful, reflective, wise.

 

We are serious, silly.  We laugh, joke, tease one another.  "Titkallameen 'araby, speak Arabic," you say, when I lose the words.  "Mooreh, relax," you remind, when I am frustrated.  You are a patient, knowledgeable teacher and it's easy to forget your relative youth.

 

When the check ("al fatoorah") arrives we battle over it - and not in a playful way at all.  "Tafaddali, please accept," I insist.  It's crazy, but we're both near tears.

 

After a pause, I ask again: why do you help?

 

You smile.  "In my religion, one who helps another without return is rewarded in Heaven.  Being good, kind, helpful.  It's expected.  This is Islam."

 

ladies prayer space

 "One who moves to fulfill any need of his brother, and makes effort for it, will find it better than itikaaf [to remain in masjid with the intention of worship] of ten years; and one who performs itikaaf for one day for the pleasure of Allah, he will create a distance of three ditches between him and the hell - and each ditch has a width which lies between East and West, or between the heaven and earth." (islamcan.com)

 

and:

 

"…In Islam, helping others and solving their problems is not only an important virtue, it is also a profound act of worship.  It is a means of righteousness that promotes peace on Earth and allows us to earn Allah's eternal reward in the Hereafter…This hadîth shows us that the greatest form of devotion, the best way to please Allah, is to provide service to humanity…" (islamtoday.net)

 

It's kind of like (in America-speak): service hours for God.  Nice.

Perhaps my desire to learn Arabic is not as critical as building an orphanage in Ethiopia.  This doesn't minimize the value of your aid:  humble service shares faith through action.  This concept exists in Christianity too:  "..in love, serve one another."  (Galatians 5:13)

 

Still.  It can be hard to accept favor from another person, whether it's a family member solicited for financial and occupational counsel or a 17-year old girl giving up a summer morning to tutor a conversation-hungry foreigner.  Part of the gift is allowing the person on the receiving end the dignity of reciprocation, however modest the effort.

 

I unfold the bill.  "Please let me do this small thing."

 

You smile and the room warms like sunrise at the dunes.  "Same time next week?"

 

Yes, please.

 

ahhhhhhhhh

* ma-sha'-Allah: "What God Wills," spoken after a compliment to acknowledge appreciation for God's gifts...as everything comes from God and anything divinely gifted may also be divinely re-acquired.

Happy Father's Day - in Arabic

Every day is Father's Day in Middle Eastern culture!  Children are expected to respect their parents both culturally and in Islam.  The importance of one's behavior toward parents is so important, it's mentioned eleven times in the Quran.  Poor behavior toward one's parents is considered a major sin:

 

"And your Lord has decreed that you not worship except Him, and to parents, good treatment. Whether one or both of them reach old age [while] with you, say not to them [so much as] 'uff' [i.e., an expression of irritation or disapproval] and do not repel them but speak to them a noble word. And lower to them the wing of humility out of mercy and say: 'My Lord! Have mercy upon them as they brought me up [when I was] small.'" [Quran 17:23-24]

 

and

 

"I asked the Prophet : 'Which deed is the most beloved to Allah?' He replied: 'Prayers performed on time.' I then asked: 'Which one is next?' He replied: 'Goodness to parents.'…"

http://www.islamweb.net

 

In Islam, first respect is due Allah, then your mother, then your mother, then your mother…and then your father.

 

To celebrate Father's Day in America I've written a poem for my dad.  In honor of my mother (who also loves Arabic), I've written the poem in Arabic (it's okay to laugh):

 

 

 

Translation:

سلام عليكم!  مرحبا!  اهلا و سهلا!  كيف حالك!   هذا اسبوع ستكون عيد في امريكا الذي اسمه "يوم الأب."   ابي يسكن بعيد من لي لانه في امريكا و انا اسكن في الدوحة.   كتبت قصيدة لأبي التي سوف أقرأها لكم قريبا.   و لكن الأول ساتكلم كلمات قليلة باللغة العربية المصرية لأبي:   "يا بابا ازياك؟ كوايس؟ طيب؟ مزبوط؟ اي حجة حبيبي؟ اوزة بتكلم معاك... تعل هنا  !ممكن؟ او بكرة في مشمش؟"   معلش.   باس. مافيش كمان. خلاس. دلواءتي أقرأ قصيدة لأبي.   الآن:   احب الشاطئ احب الجزر احب الشمس احب البحر   احب الصحراء احب الهواء احب الريح احب السماء.   لكن ابي, ابو, بابا... أكثر احب انت.   كل سنة و انت طيب!   العيد سعيد يوم لآب!

Peace be upon you, welcome, hi, how are you!   This week is "Father's Day" in America.   My father lives far from me in America while I live in Doha.   I wrote a poem for my father which I'll read to you soon.   But first I will speak a few words in Egyptian Arabic for my father.  [As most of you know, my parents lived and worked in Egypt for many years and our family has a special affection for the country.]   "Hey Dad, how are you? Good? What's up, love? I want to speak with you, come on over here! Is it possible or not?"   Never mind.  Now I'll read a poem for my dad:   I love the beach. I love carrots. I love the sun. I love the sea.   I love the desert. I love the air. I love the wind. I love the sky.   But Father, Dad, Daddy, Most of all, I love you.   Every year, you are great.  Happy Father's Day!

 

(A private message to the HWKT writers, especially Judy, Lisha and Ann): This represents my first (self) published work in Arabic.  Shall I bring cookies?  :)

 

With the World's Best Parents - I love them