When I was little, I began noticing the difference between my
Pakistani-Punjabi mom and the quintessential white American mother.
Kyle’s mom was cool according to elementary-school standards: She’d
sport her shades, stand by the SUV and wait for Kyle to leave the
playground without showing much eagerness to see the kid. My mommy?
Well, she was a different case. She would meet me after school as though
I just returned from a war zone. She would be waiting by the glass door
with a second serving of lunch for me in a bright shalwar kameez. By the time everyone asked me, “Hey, is that your mom?” I changed my ethnicity from Pakistani to Mexican to eskimo.