Two major events marked the summer that I turned twenty. First, the eastern-most reach of Russia, that incidentally Alaskans claim is in their backyard anyways, decided to secede from the grim grasp of the old Soviet regime, and beg for a place in the American union. They were promptly accepted, cheered, sent bushels of candy and flowers, and given full birthright citizen perks, much more than any of those annoying mongrel Hawaiians whom we know are really all born in Kenya! Or Indonesia. Whatever.
They called themselves ‘Realaska’, to the ire of the governor in Juneau. ‘They’re stealing m’thunder,’ she squawked.
The second major event was the headline-grabbing antics of who would soon become Realaska’s most famous member, a kindly, grandmotherly lady called Lala Falin. She declared it her new patriotic duty to run for president one day, and somehow the newspapers and media really latched on to the idea. We were treated to a dose of Lala nearly every day.
I didn’t pay much attention until the following year. I’d been a little on edge, because it seemed like all of a sudden a lot of Americans were really irritated with us Muslims, and I couldn’t figure out why! Then Lala Falin put out a tweet. She said ‘peaceful Muslims’ weren’t stepping up to the plate. Through an undercover reporter, we learned that Lala had never met a Muslim in her life. Immediately, a contest was organized: you just had to prove you were the most peaceful Muslim in America, and you’d get to meet with good old Lala.
Well, I was all over it. It was like telling Popeye to eat spinach! It was like telling a kid to suck a lollipop, or Superman to do his job. All my friends were sitting back in amazement watching me perform super-peaceful-Muslim feats. First, I stationed myself in the most dangerous streets of Philadelphia and intercepted zooming bullets coming at cute, four-year-old girls. Then, I gave my left kidney to a hearty Christian gentleman from the Bible Belt, needing a transplant. Then I wandered down into the flat sands of good, salt-of-the-earth Texas – yes, that Texas! – and was installed as a teacher in a failing school. I even wore a sign on my chest that said, ‘I am a Muslim’, so no one would confuse my shamelessly handsome dark hair and eyes and credit my good works to a mere Mexican. By the end of the year, all my fourth-graders were college-ready and bound. It was a good feeling, but it got better after I updated my resume, sent it off to the contest, and got word that I had won! I was going to meet with Ms. Falin!
When I first stepped off the airplane onto the tarmac, way up under the northern sun, I saw Lala wagging her pointy finger at me. The first thing she told me was:
‘I know you think you pulled a fast one on me, but I won’t pretend for a minute I believe there are any Muslim Americans!’
I was at a loss for words. ‘Why not?’ I asked.
‘Well, I have my sources,’ Lala informed me. ‘Like, you know, the American Girls books. Now, there is a Black American Girl, and a Jewish American Girl, and one of ‘em Mexicans, and heck, even one of those indigenous Indians got into the series! Then there’s several pretty characters with lovely golden hair, but that’s a given. Have you heard of there being any Muslim American Girl? No! Refudiate that!’
She then told me that she was looking forward to getting to know me, and sharing her life. I learned lots of things about her in the next few days: like the fact that she loved the Harry Potter series, and had read the fifth book a million times because her favorite character was Umbridge; and that her nickname was Lala Banana because everyone thought she was gooey and turned rotten real fast like those sunshiney fruits; and that her favorite food ever was reindeer chili, and that she would be happy to make me some.
A few days into the experience, we arrived at the ‘Learn to Love a Muslim’ horse ranch. The instructor there assigned each of us a steed, on which we were to go flying over those hazy, burnished Realaskan fields. I was placed next to the reindeer, and Lala got the horse. We exchanged a glance, and promptly switched places.
‘Lala’s a lot more comfortable with reindeer,’ I explained to our instructor, Jamie. She shrugged.
‘You know it’s not really a reindeer,’ Jamie informed us. ‘It’s just another horse with reindeer antlers attached.’
But we wouldn’t budge. Unfortunately, that meant I got the wild horse. I was nearly kicked several times, after which my horse went galloping away and Jamie had to track her down. All this time, Lala Banana was applying nail polish and touching up her lipstick. ‘What’s the big occasion?’ I asked.
‘Definitely not you,’ Lala smirked.
Eventually, Lala and I came to a good understanding of each other. She even invited me to sit in on a church service. I, with good will, reciprocated by asking Lala the honor of accompanying me to a Muslim wedding.
‘A wedding?’ she asked, disappointed. ‘You mean you all do things other than funerals?’
She then remembered that all Muslims are basically terrorists (‘Refudiate that!’), and was going to turn me down, but I reassured her on that point, explaining that most Muslims can only strike during the full moon, if El Nino is the strongest its been in 70 years, and if it’s been a bumper summer for new cicadas, and if Pippi Longstocking’s father is seen to sail the South Seas again. Lala and her advisors secretly shepherded this information to the FBI and other American strongholds of might and justice, and I believe they spent the better part of a year trying to decipher the hidden code. In the meantime, Lala and I galloped cross-country to Tennessee, where the wedding hall had been booked, me on my kicking horse, Lala on her reindeer disguise.
At first, Lala kept looking around, as if waiting for someone to jump out and say, ‘boo!’ A group of women approached, most of them wearing headscarves, and you can bet Lala squirmed at that! But then they told her that she seemed like such a good mother, from what they’d watched on the news, and Lala positively glowed. When they told her she was looking so pretty, Lala positively blushed.
The women led Lala over to the tables of spicy rice and stews. Lala took one look, said ‘‘I’ll soon fix this,’’ and started ladling gobs of reindeer soup over everything. While we were eating, my wild horse rebelled with Lala’s reindeer and got lost wandering around the city. We were left without a ride. The Imam and his wife decided to put us up for the night.
Seated on his comfortable living room couch, Lala finally broke down. She tearfully explained that all she ever wanted was to love her home and country and her elk and caribou, and all the world, and that she had never meant to refudiate all the Peaceful Muslims. We cheered her up, put her to bed, and assured her that if she ever did run for office, we would be the first to vote her way.
Alas, it was not to be! A new strain of the birther movement, annoyed at some maverick-like rumors coming out of Realaska, decided they’d had enough of the fifty-first state, and gave it back to Russia. Lala lost her chance. But I know that had she run a campaign, her chief platform points were to be protection of reindeer habitats and agitation for an American Girl Doll from Realaska. I will be voting for the candidate who best matches Lala’s wishes. I close by saying how thankful I am for the opportunity of meeting Lala Banana, and to all the other Peaceful Muslims out there who applied, I only hope that you too get your chance!
