Last night, while standing next to my naked almost-two year old playing on the beach at the edge of the Persian Gulf, a six year old named Jenna -- Heaven -- approached me to give  pointers on Islam and parenting. She was followed adventurously by a little brother, Mohammed.
"Are you Muslim?" Jenna asked and without waiting for an answer continued, "Do you love Allah?"
"No, I'm Christian, but yes I love Allah." That stumped the little girl only momentarily, because she had yet to get to her point. "Allah would be happier if you had clothes on the baby," she revealed, twisting her hair and pointing at her own clothes. Her mother was sitting in the sand twenty feet away, fully covered, and I wondered what conversation had motivated the girl to share her theology.  "No, it's ok, the baby is happy and Allah doesn't mind. I didn't bring extra clothes, and they would get wet."
"Do you pray?" she continued, trying to plumb the depth of my knowledge of Allah.
"Not every day, only once a week at church," I said.
Jenna shook her head gravely. "You must pray every day. Don't go anywhere to pray. Men should go to the mosque but girls can pray at home. If you love Allah and pray, you will go to heaven."
And we left it at that, an interfaith dialogue on religion and the merits of clothing, but no hard feelings on either side. I let the baby play, naked, until I felt the time turning heavy. I picked up little Iola Therese and started tromping through the sand back to the restaurant where John sat waiting for the check. Babies can be naked, I kept telling herself. I remember playing naked on the street in front of my childhood home as a three-year old, but perhaps the reason I remember is because someone remarked that it was not appropriate for a little girl. Keeping babies from going naked is related to a fear of lurking pedophiles, and keeping women covered from head to toe is related to a fear of tempting lust. But why bother, if you have other measures in place to stop them? No one will lay a hand on my baby while I stand within inches of her, and no one would lay an eye on Pashto women even if they were uncovered, for fear of the wrath of brothers and fathers. I start to get worked up thinking about this, when middle-aged women who have had nine children completely veil themselves and then, for good measure, turn their back on my husband, while I am sitting there next to him. I think of this as a direct insult to me. My husband only has eyes for me. Why would he look at anyone else, and why are you implying that he would?
Oh well, this is why conversations with six-year old girls are easier than conversations with their mothers.