The father, Hari, came to the United States from Pakistan when he was a young man. He was a precocious youngster who came from one of the tribal areas of Waziristan and spent much of his youth working on his father’s farm. This would have been his fate for the rest of his life had it not been for the intervention of one of the local Imams who, while studying the Koran with the youngster, recognized his mathematical potential at an early age.
The Imam appealed to his pupil’s father and urged him to let Hari go to school in Peshawar where he could tap into what the Imam felt was a mathematical potential that must not dissipate on the farm. “Your son could bring back the days of the great, glorious Islamic mathematicians,” he said. The Imam’s reputation was such that the father agreed, so Hari took a placement test and received a full scholarship to the University of Peshawar where he majored in mathematics.
After completing undergraduate studies in record time, he obtained a Ph.D. in mathematics at Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois and settled down to a career as a teacher and researcher in the mathematics department of the University of Wisconsin. He married a wealthy American-born heiress from Madison. Hari was a devout Muslim, and his wife, Lois, converted to Islam. They gave their son a solid Islamic upbringing, but this did not change the rebellion that they and Ben’s teachers knew only too well.
The principal called Lois the next morning. He wasted no time in getting into the details of Ben’s recent altercation. “Your son was fighting in the hallways, Mrs. Marzan. Two teachers brought him to my office. We had a talk, and I have to tell you he was a bit rude. I’m concerned about his attitude. He’s an incredible intellect, but I’m afraid he’s going to squander his potential.”
Lois slumped in her chair; others had told her the same thing. “I’m sorry, sir, I’ll have a talk with him. Was he hurt in any way? Was the other boy hurt?”
“No major physical injuries, Mrs. Marzan. From what I understand, it was the other boy that got the worst of it, but nothing serious; nothing to worry about.”
Lois breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God for that,” she said.
“This is not the first time this has happened, Mrs. Marzan. There is a pattern here, I believe. His attitude is…what shall I say…different than his peers. It makes me wonder if a consultation with a mental health professional would be in order? It’s your choice, of course, but if you’d like a quick evaluation, we could offer the school psychologist, Dr. Levine.”
This was something Lois did not want to hear, but at the same time, she was not surprised. This nagging thought had been on her mind and was already a source of conflict between her and her husband. She sighed and closed her eyes. “I’ll talk this over with my husband when he comes home tonight, and I’ll get back to you tomorrow,” she replied.
As she sat back in her favorite recliner, she revisited the fear that there might indeed be something wrong with their son. He was an only child. She herself was an only child. She had always led a sheltered existence, growing up in the house of a prominent Wisconsin surgeon and his socialite wife.
She was five feet four inches, and was very attractive with dark brown hair and hazel eyes now shimmering with tears. Yes, we’ve got to do something, she thought, I’ll have it out with Hari when he gets home.
When her husband arrived, she let him settle in before she spoke with him. He had a specific ritual that she knew better not to disturb. He would have to get out of his suit and put on some leisure clothes, put on his slippers, spend a few minutes scanning the paper before it was wise to speak with him. “I have news about your son, Hari.”
“My son? When it’s my son, that means I’m not going to get pleasant news. When it’s your son, that means the news will be good. Why is that? Okay, what happened now?”
She spared no detail telling him about the fight at school and the principal’s phone call and his recommendations.
“What is he suggesting,” said Hari. “Does he think that Ben should see a psychiatrist?” He got off his recliner and walked over to the table to join his wife so he could be closer to her. This told her that it was a good time to get deeper into the discussion. His wife stared into his penetrating dark eyes. His full head of black hair, combed without a hair out of place when he would leave for work every morning, was ruffled. This contrasted with his perfectly groomed salt and pepper beard. He was a serious man, very analytic in his thinking, inbred from years of concentration on advanced mathematical thinking—and his facial expression reflected this mindset.
Lois quickly took advantage of his body language message and said, “He used the words mental health professional, and he said if we were interested he would let him see the school psychologist, Dr. Levine. It looks to me like that’s the quickest way to get an opinion. We shouldn’t pass this up.”
“Yes, you’re right. We have to help Ben…but the method…the method…that’s what we have to think about.”
“What do you mean…the method? What is there to think about?”
“There’s more than one way to get help. I don’t have much faith in the American mental health system of care. I have friends who go to get help. They get put in a clinic setting and never even see a doctor. This counselor…that counselor. It’s all secular. It has nothing to do with religion. God has no place in it. He needs more than what they have to offer in this country.”
Lois leaned forward, her forehead creased, tears in her eyes, her lips closed. Then she blurted out, “More than one way? What more ways are there? We have to leave it to the professionals, people trained in such disciplines.”
“Calm, be calm. You’re right; we have to leave it to the professionals. But it’s a matter of defining the word professional. You feel it’s a medical professional. I have a different viewpoint. I agree that you and I have had no luck with our son. Yes, he needs help. We will give him that help. I know what he needs. He needs to come closer to Allah. That’s what he needs. He needs God in his life,” said Hari. Then after a long pause, “That he can not get from doctors or nurses.”
She slumped back in her chair. “You’ve tried that more than once and nothing happened? What would it hurt to let him see the school psychologist at least one time?”
“Is once enough?” “I don’t think so. What does the psychologist know? I’ve been trying for years to get the boy on the right path. We’re both too emotionally involved. You think a psychologist will see him once, and he will come to Allah and all his quirks will be gone. You’re dreaming, my dear wife.”
“All I know is that he graduates in three months and starts college soon. He still doesn’t know what he wants to do with his life. If he acts the same way in college as he’s acting in high school, what’ll happen? I worry about his future. I think we need to do something soon,” Lois said with tears rolling down her cheeks.
Hari shook his head as he stared at his wife who he recognized was reaching a point of desperation. Then with finality he said, “Okay, okay. I’ll go along with you for a while. I’ll give one month to see what happens. It will take time for me to arrange spiritual help. You call the principal tomorrow and tell him that it’s okay for him to see the school psychologist, three or four times if necessary. The psychologist should talk to his teachers before she sees Ben and get feedback from them. Then we’ll talk to her and see what she thinks. We will try and see what happens with a neutral third party. You and I are having no success.”
Lois, smiling, wiped her tears and nodded yes.
CHAPTER 3
Psychological evaluation:
At