What’s a Mother to Do?

Sulani Rasula

“Leave the worrying to professionals,
and live your lives.”

— Michael Bloomberg, Mayor of New York City

First, 9/11: they took my husband Ali, a fire captain working in midtown. Not the Arabs, the morons in charge! The alarm rang, he answered the call. Into the melee. Problem was the cops wouldn’t answer his call. They knew the building he and his crew were in was coming down. They just refused to tell the firemen. The cops never need to talk to anyone, I was told, by the grinning mayor, cabeesh?

That’s why I didn’t reach to kiss for his outstretched pinkie ring.

Or for my wallet. They might think it was a gun.

I reached for my cell phone. I told the detectives watching me I’d inform The Times of the mismanagement. They offered me a job for my silence: go to DC, make sure the president hands over the money promised. They had doubts, too.

I sent my son Ya Ya. They thought he was a sniper, then decided he was a terrorist. Sent him to Guantanamo Bay. I sent the Bill of Rights with the family lawyer. He’s now in the cell next door.

So I went myself to find out where all the money was going. I met with Admiral Poindexter. I came back to tell the new mayor his internet access wasn’t safe. He said he was having problems, not to hak him a chaynik. Enshallah, I knew the Yiddish! What’s a mother to do? I kept quiet.

Problem is my younger son Abdul is a doctor working in Africa on the malaria epidemic. He was so happy to hear the president pledge millions for AIDS on the State of the Union address. Problem is, they didn’t allocate any new money. They just bled his budget to nothing. Now he’s sick from the malaria and can get no medicine.

What’s a mother to do? I told the mayor about the president. He gave me a new job. With a web site and everything. MAW: Mothers Against Worry.

Every day I get a new worry: anthrax, bridge and tunnel delays, iodide pills, duct tape, Maureen Dowd, the subways, the protestors.

I’m still waiting on my first check. What do they tell me? What else? “Don’t worry.”

I tell them, “I hear you. I’m a professional.”