My mother taught me to cry with dignity.

She taught me how to be strong in a man's world and yet, at the same time, to cling to that which makes me most feminine.

She taught me the value of a well-timed, passionate rage and the beauty of a fluttered eyelash.

She taught me how to walk with my shoulders back and my head up, at all times, and in all circumstances, even the ones that want to swallow me whole.

My mother taught me how to make hospital corners.

My mother pointed out spring bulbs as they pushed their way through the last of Michigan's harsh snows; every year she did that, and now I know their names like they are my own children: daffodil, iris, tulip, hyacinth...My garden has her to thank.

My mother taught me that the bathtub is really a sanctuary of warmth and sweet-scented bubbles to be enjoyed privately and often and for hours at a time.

My mother taught me to make love to myself first, and that way I would always have enough to share.

She taught me how to throw a perfectly spiraled football - better than most men I know.

She showed me how to cook without measuring, and to love the same way that I cooked.

She showed me how to laugh with my whole body.

My mother showed me that grown-ups make mistakes, too.

And my mother, bless her, taught me to listen to my heart and to my mind and to find the narrow space of truth that lies between the two.

My mother taught me, that big boys don't cry, and any kind of femininity in a boy is wrong and unnatural, that any kind of sensitivity is wrong and boys should act more like boys.

That only Arabs and south-Asians are to be trusted, and it is dangerous to be friendly with anybody who originates outside of these places.

That all white women want nothing but sex, and I should stay away from them and never speak to them if I wish to remain pure.

That it is wrong to question any kind of authority, and even if the authority is a false one, we have no right to question it and we have no right to try to change the state of things.

That anything different is wrong, and I should do exactly as everybody else does in the country I live in.

That the English culture is a totally hedonistic, violent, and bestial one and I should have nothing to do with any white person.

That poetry and music and any kind of art will damn me, because art does nothing but drain the soul and distances a person from God.

That it is okay if she lies to me, but not if i lied to her, because I have no right to know everything about her life, but she has every right to know every little detail about my life.

That if I don't spend every minute of my spare time with my family, then it means I am insane and antisocial and love myself more than anybody else.

And I have spent the last four years trying to un-learn all these things.