It’s a fair question... I’ve been a Muslim for 12 years and have been wearing a scarf for about half that time. A bitty part of my reluctance to wear the scarf came from just such a concern.

A trite concern? I don’t think so. The decision to wear a scarf was, and continues to be, an all-or-nothing undertaking. A woman cannot put on a scarf every morning and take it off every afternoon in order to conform to the people who surround her, except you know, in extreme circumstances.

I’m the same old me on the inside, but my outside has certainly been overhauled with the simple addition of white cloth. How on earth can it be logical that a person is judged to be good, bad, trashy, clean, normal, or weird... based on a rectangle of cotton? Makes no sense. Nevertheless, way too often, like usually, that’s the way Muslims and non-Muslims judge a woman.

In the en

d (of the decision-making, not my life), I chose to wear a scarf because I wanted to set a good example for my daughter, Laila… and maybe other Muslims looking for an example of someone who can be successful with a piece of cloth on her head, insha Allah.

Laila will, upon reflection, choose to wear or not to wear a scarf in the United States by balancing religious ideals with the cold reality that too many people in this world hate Muslims and Islam, and a hijab-wearing Muslimah is the quintessential symbol of Islam. And a target. I hope to give my baby spiritual ammunition to do the right thing, insha Allah.

If anyone is doubtful that Muslimahs are not targets of hate, please enjoy the article from the Washington Post, “Spare Me the Sermon on Muslim Women” by Mohja Kahf, (www.washingtonpost.com) then read the comments that follow. Amazingly, “confused,” “bitter,” “smug,” “stupid,” and “materialistic” were all used to describe this Muslim woman who loves her religion… and wearing a scarf.

My decision to wear or not to wear, the scarf required commitment, which took time. Now I’m committed. (Maybe I should be committed?) Like my faith, wearing a scarf is just a fact of my existence. It just is. There is no high plane on which I must sit to wear a scarf. No striving to reach such a plane by wearing it. No hidden meanings, no symbolism defiant or spiritual, no attempts to make a point, or my husband happy. I wear a scarf because I am a Muslim. I am a Muslim because Islam is the truth. It’s that simple.

Back to the question: Do I ever miss the wind in my hair?

Answer: Come on, really. How often do any of us actually have the wind in our hair on a regular basis? Not all of us can go deep-sea fishing daily, weekly, or even once a year. Convertibles are fantasy cars, really-- can a woman drive to work in a convertible without having to redo her hair, and maybe her makeup too?

In reality, it was extremely rare for me to ever have wind in my hair, let alone to delight in it. I never even drive with the window down (except in the winter), because it costs less to run the AC and it’s more comfortable.

Since becoming a Muslim, then, I appreciate it all the more on those cool and quiet autumn evenings when the crickets are chirping, the frogs are jumping and I sit on the front porch or take a walk along the lake, usually with, sometimes without, my scarf.

Now, in the entire time I’ve been wearing the scarf, only once has it been a hindrance, and I was really annoyed that day. It was at my family reunion a couple years ago. We had a volleyball game and every time I jumped to hit the ball, the scarf flew up in my face. Now, it’s bad enough I don’t hit the ball straight anymore (astigmatism), but come on... Volleyball is one of the very, very few sports I used to be pretty good at.

While I’m a little sad that I should not waste any more efforts playing volleyball (I am a true liability), I’ve gotten over my annoyance. Once in six years does not oppression make, I say. It’ll take much more than a horrid volleyball game to take this thing off me.