I’m Aalim Aabid Ameen I’m named after my grandfather a Muslim Shaikh he was a proud man just like my father. They both want the best for me well wanted the best for me my grandfather pasted on my 11th birthday, now we don’t celebrate it. My father is strict he doesn’t believe in gays, blacks, whites, transgender, happiness, love, sports, or anything artsy. He wants one thing for me and that’s to be a Shaikh just like my all powerful grandfather. Oh and did I mention I’m a Christian. I read my small white bible every night I’m almost done, I hide it under my mattress so he won’t find it. But as you guessed he doesn’t believe in personal space he checks my room for “Contraband” like I’m a stereotypical terrorist or drug addict. On the night of November 3, 9:16pm he was supposed to be at work when he barged into my room to see me on my knees praying with the Christian bible clutched between both my brown palms. He ran in snatched the holy book out my hands and slung it across the room I ran after it with a dramatic motion, but that was short lived I felt his huge brown hand around the back of my neck and he pulled me towards him and stared me dead in my eyes pulled his right hand over his shoulder and whiteness struck my eyes and tears struck my cheeks. He started to yell at me, he said “I disown you, get out of my house you mutt”

“You don’t deserve to have the sir name of Ameen”
“You are Aalim Aabid the bastard without a father”
And this is when my story starts.

    He grabbed my bible and clothes and started to launch my belongings out of the house while yelling “Metha”, bastard in Arabic, a tongue he only spoke when he was praying or extremely angry. I knew he was serious when he grabbed me and tossed me out into the cold streets of Beaverton Oregon, and we didn’t live in a good neighborhood. I looked up and he tossed a black trash bag out the window while yelling “that’s the last gift you’ll get from me”. I looked around and saw most of my clothes wet from the concrete and puddles in the road, I decided to grab the driest ones and come back for the rest if I could. I only had one pair of pants and three tee-shirts, I also had this ripped old windbreaker I used to wear when I played soccer in the sandlot. I still remember the day it ripped, I had the ball going down fast only me and one defender, and we didn’t play goalies. He reached for the ball I spun and nutmegged him he grabbed my windbreaker but I didn’t stop I knew my dad would be mad but that was then and this was now, I kicked as hard as I could and closed my eyes. I heard a sound I wouldn’t here in a long time a ball hitting a net, because I had a feeling the good times where far gone.
   I realized that memory was a deep thought from me almost falling asleep, I wondered how I could even think of falling asleep at a time like this, the stress must be getting to my body. I grabbed my stuff out of the cold, wet concrete and started to walk I didn’t know where I was going but I wanted to go somewhere, somewhere safe and warm where the gangs in my neighborhood couldn’t get me, I wanted to go home.