There is a mosque in my neighborhood. Sometimes it makes me nervous. Sometimes I purposefully walk on the other side of the street to avoid walking too close, or I choose a path that avoids that block altogether.
There is a mosque in my neighborhood. I’m not nervous about the people who go to the mosque. I’m worried about other people. Hate-filled people who may want to harm the mosque and its members because of bad things done by terrorists who look like the people in the mosque and who label their crimes as acts of religion.
There is a mosque in my neighborhood. I worry as I walk by that there might be a bomb or angry, ignorant men with guns attacking it. I hate that the world makes me worry about such things. I hate that there is so much hate.
There is a mosque in my neighborhood. There are also several churches and a nearby synagogue. I see little difference between these places, between these people. My biggest complaints relate to traffic and parking problems during their respective services.
There is a mosque in my neighborhood. It is not a Muslim neighborhood. It is not a terrorist neighborhood. It is my neighborhood.
There is a mosque in my neighborhood. I’m okay it that. Are you?
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Kim Z. Dale 