My father died when I was eleven years old.
A man of righteousness, as my mother described him.
A man that never gave up doing what was right and always held his family at the centre of his heart.
I love my father, but I did not get to know much of him.
I can remember how he taught me to pray at the masjid and taught me about the companions of the Prophet Muhammad.
He was truly a father I wish could’ve taught me how to become a man
I loved him for how he showed me how important it was to be Muslim.
We didn’t have much as I grew up with him.
He worked long hours, but he made up with longer hours to spend with us.
It was my mom, my older sister, my dad and I.
Now, I am fifteen years old and I ask myself if I am following the way of the Prophet Muhammad.
My father told me there was not a man who was as great as the Prophet Muhammad.
Every Friday, my father would sit the whole family down and tell us about the Prophet Muhammad and tell us stories.
Now, I wish I had that, but I remember them because I wrote them down just like my dad told me.
I wrap my turban the same way my father wrapped his.
I keep my thobe above my ankles and I let my beard grow just as the Prophet Muhammad, his companions, and my father.
I tell others about the example of the Prophet Muhammad and I learn from the imam about the Prophet Muhammad and his companions now.
I will never stop doing what is right and I will always love my religion because I know it is true.
And because I am Abir Islam.