A Christian and a Muslim walk into a steakhouse…

Sounds like the start of a bad joke, right? Actually, unbeknownst to me, it was the beginning of my realization of just how stereotypical and judgmental I’d become over the years.

My patient’s mother had been on me for weeks to join a dating site so I could find a nice guy — maybe the one. Of course I was skeptical, but I eventually set up an account. The next two weeks were ridiculous. I had one guy who kept telling me that he loved me right off the bat. Then another man’s girlfriend texted me for a week non-stop about being a home wrecker. That was when I gave up. I just couldn’t do it.

I took a break for two weeks, and for some reason, one night I decided to check my inbox messages. Among the plethora of the usual absurd missives, there was one message that caught my attention.  There was no picture and the information given was general, and despite the fact that I very well almost passed it by and deleted my account, I didn’t. I texted the number and so it began.

Almost immediately I received a text back, and over the next hour we approached the normal questions anyone does when they meet someone completely unknown to them. What are you looking for? Do you have kids? What do you do for a living? What do you do for fun? And then the all-important swapping of head shots.

As soon as he sent his picture, I knew he wasn’t “Caucasian” as he had put on his profile. He was exotic looking, to say the least. It was late, though, and we promised we would talk again the next day.

The next night we exchanged text messages for two hours, and suddenly I decided I wanted to talk on the phone. I received a text back saying, “Ahhh, you will have a big surprise when I call!”

I had no idea what that meant, and to be honest a little alarm went off in my head, but I still thought, what the hell? So I dialed his number. I was instantly greeted with a thick accent that I couldn’t identify. We exchanged the obligatory hellos and then silence. Then trepidation from his end as he said, “I guess you can tell that I am not from the U.S.” I laughed and said it was OK. It never occurred to me that this would be a problem. Why should it? He’d already proven to be a smart and funny man, and I was really interested in learning more about him.

I found out that he was Egyptian and he’d been here for a little over ten years. He was a physician, which worked out well because I’m a nurse, so during the silent moments we had medical things to discuss. We decided that we would meet the following evening for dinner and see where things went.

To say I was a nervous wreck would be an understatement. I hadn’t dated in 12 years. After deciding on the perfect outfit, that night after work I nervously met him in a Walgreen’s parking lot, and we immediately hit it off. We both joked about the fact that we were each really who we had said we were. After deciding on a steakhouse, we left in his car and headed to dinner.

There was light conversation on the drive there, and I won’t say that I wasn’t excited with butterflies in my stomach as he took my hand when we walked through the restaurant. That we was being such a gentleman in every way overwhelmed me: holding my chair out, allowing me to order first, and so on. I hadn’t been treated this well in a long time. 

We chatted over drinks while we waited. When it came time to order our salads, he quietly asked the waiter if it had pork in it. The tension from him was palpable, and I quickly turned to him and asked him a question I never thought I’d ask: “You don’t eat pork. What religion are you?” Looking at me nervously, he replied, “Muslim,” and then quickly followed that up with, “Is that OK?”

I was momentarily perplexed. Why wouldn’t it be OK? I had never thought about it. Actually, I didn’t know any Muslims. Thinking back, that sounds strange to me now. Surely I’d come across many of them in my day-to-day activities, but I’d never noticed.

Throughout the rest of our evening I began to notice others looking at us when he would talk. When we’d laugh together. Amazingly, some people even looked at us with disdain. I was appalled. I had the urge to ask them what their problem was. Of course I kept all of this to myself.

After our night was over and I went home and crawled into bed, my mind wandered to the past. 9-11 to be exact. Suddenly I realized that at some point I’d been one of many of those same people who had so recently stared us down at dinner.

I remembered having to fly two days after the attacks, and that was the first time I realized that I had, in fact, come in contact with Muslims before. I remember everyone else on the flight, including myself, staring at the two men, frightened. At the time, I remember thinking it was perfectly acceptable in my own mind to be afraid. How did we know that these two men weren’t carrying bombs or weapons? How did we know that they didn’t mean us harm? One man actually cancelled his flight and quickly left with his young son in tow. I didn’t blame him, I thought quietly to myself. I was scared as well.

Needless to say, nothing happened on the flight. I didn’t feel bad for being scared, either. I had that right, I thought to myself. Also, these men shouldn’t have been surprised that people were fearful.

We spent the next couple of days together on a mini vacation of sorts. We were met with the same sneering looks we’d encountered before. He didn’t seem to notice, but I was now on high alert. How in the world could people be so ugly towards a man I was quickly growing fonder of day by day? They didn’t know him. They didn’t know his silliness when driving in the car as he would sing to the radio. His need for affection and to feel wanted. They didn’t and would never know the deep bond I was quickly forming with him and how it felt when he looked upon me adoringly with those amazing eyes.

With all the turmoil happening in the world today regarding refugees wanting to enter the U.S., the constant threat of ISIS and terrorism in general, I have to admit that probably only days before I met this man, I was one of those people saying, “No way. They can’t come here. What will they do to us? How do we know who they are and what their intentions are?”

Except now, I’ve got a different viewpoint on things. A different outlook on those that are not “like” me. Who am I to judge others on their character just because of a stereotype that shouldn’t even exist?

I’ll tell you who I am today. I’m a woman who is quickly falling head over heels for the most amazing man I’ve ever met. A man who makes me laugh, makes me feel beautiful despite my flaws, both mentally and physically.

It just goes to show that you never know who someone is until you get to know their story — their background. Don’t we all owe that to each other?