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Right now, most Americans are either afraid or angry at Iraqis, especially the Sunnis. But there was a time not so long ago when relations with Iraq and Iraqis weren’t as heated as they are now. Back in that time, I myself was friendly with an Iraqi boy. Little did I know exactly who that boy was, or what his family did. Now that I have come to realize the significance of our friendship, I hope to share it with you. Here’s the story:

It all started back when I was in 2nd grade in 1999. I was new to my school, which I had come to after moving from the New Jersey suburbs into New York City. Obviously, I was a little nervous about a new school with new people. But soon a met a boy, who for security reasons I will solely identify as T, who shared my love of Pokémon. We started to talk and hang out, and got to know each other quite well. T seemed like your average 7 year old boy, he liked to run around and play, he liked Pokémon cards (which were popular at the time), and enjoyed Lunchables, putrid child pre-made meals made out of everything you don’t want to know about. Though, there was one strange thing about T, he drove to school and home every day in a limousine. My parents just assumed that his father owned a car service. Boy, were they in for a shock.

Technorati Tags: friend, friendship, iraq, iraqi, 9/11, war on terror

One day, T invited me over for the first time to his house. My parents were OK with that, and my mom took me over to T’s house after school. When my mom saw the house, she was pretty surprised. The house was a big, double or triple townhouse on the Upper East Side. My mom assumed that T’s father made a lot of money from the car service. But then she noticed the guards. They guarded the entrance to the townhouse. Now my mom started to get suspicious. Then she saw a flag. At first she thought it was the Pakistani flag. But then, after looking closer, she was able to recognize it as the flag of Iraq. Now my mom was started to piece things together, all while I was simply marveling at the size of the house and its cool guards. When we walked inside, my mom looked at the wall to see the final piece of the puzzle, a painting of none other than Saddam Hussein.That sure has heck through the T’s-dad-runs-a-car-servive theory out the window. After conversing with T’s mother, my mom learned of what T’s father actually did. He was a UN delegate for Iraq, whose job was to, get this, repel the sanctions imposed on Iraq during the Gulf War, including the UN investigators going into Iraq searching for WMDs (that might as well be an invitation for the Department of Homeland Security to interrogate me). My mom nearly went into shock. After that visit, I was no longer allowed to go to T’s house, thought T was free to come to my house.

After that, things went pretty smoothly with T. We still at e together at lunch, with T still eating his Lunchables (G-d knows that Lunchables is not Halal (the Muslim dietary laws, similar to that of Kosher for Jews); at that time the Baath Party was very secular), which he preferred over homemade Hummus (a delicious middle eastern dish made out of mashed up chick peas with herbs and spices) that my dad offered to make him. But then, one day, T said he had to go. At that point it was December of 2000 and we were in 3rd grade (our friendship at loosened after 2nd grade). It was very sudden; very awkward. T said he and his mom would go to London, while his father would return to Iraq (90% chance Bush is going to use this in his next “Saddam-was-involved-with-9/11″ speech). T and I had a very good friendship. We were both sad that he was leaving. But, life goes on. Nine months later the first bit of co-existing diplomatic and economic peace in over 70 years was shattered. The U.S. went in to terrorist lockdown. T seemed to disappear behind a 21st century iron curtain. A few years later my family and I swore that we saw him on the “America’s Most Wanted” card deck. My mom still says that “he was a very handsome terrorist. I’m sure that T is safe and sound in London, though we never did hear from him or his family again. His father most likely is dead, either killed by us or by Saddam himself. But I will never forget my friendship with T. Even though we had our differences, we still were true friends.