What makes a special day special?
Learning Objective: to analyze the theme in a work of fiction
It’s Eid, but it doesn’t feel like Eid. I’m wearing pajamas, the house is empty (except for Mama, who’s sleeping), and if you look around and check in with all your senses, there’s nothing to tell you today’s a special day. No delicious smells coming from the kitchen, no colorful balloon bundles in room corners, no music playing from the stereo.
I want to go back to bed, but I can’t, because I’m waiting for Mama to wake up and need me.
What makes a day special? What I mean is, what makes a special day special? Because so far, today has been the opposite—an un-special day. Which is worse than a regular day, when you think about it. Tons worse, because my brain keeps showing me all the things we did every Eid before happiness left the house. The things that made this special day special.
I look at myself in the bathroom mirror. I’m wearing pajamas, not fancy Eid clothes. Maybe that’s why my face looks exactly the way I feel inside. Like all of me is getting squished and pushed into a small empty space I didn’t know was there.
I think about putting on last year’s Eid clothes from when I was 12. I still fit into the dress, and it’s my favorite color—almost-black purple.
But I don’t change into Eid clothes.
Instead I check on Mama (still sleeping), pull on jeans, put on a coat, and run out of the house.
Because all of a sudden, I remember something special.
Really special.
Donuts.
I open the door to Mr. Laidlaw’s bakery and join the line. Morning rush. So many people sniffing the deliciousness in the air.
It almost smells like Eid.
My eyes are fixed on my favorite donut when I hear the cashier.
“Yes?”
I look up. Her hair is striped pastel pink, violet, and gray. She has on four choker necklaces and lipstick in my favorite purple-black color. And she looks very bored.
“Hi. I’d like six donuts,” I say. “Apple Crunch, Cinnamon Swirl, Chocolate Chocolate, Strawberry Kiss, Powdered Delight, and Old Tyme.”
“Half a dozen.” She punches it in. “Something to drink with that?”
“No. Just the donuts.”
“It’s free. It’s a promotion. Buy half a dozen, get a coffee or hot chocolate.” She indicates the display board behind her.
“Um, OK. I’ll have the hot chocolate.” I hold out a $20 bill. It’s my Eidi—the gift my dad gave me this morning. I’m pretty sure he could barely afford it.
She punches the order in. “You’re Kareem’s sister, right? Nadia?”
“Yes?”
“I used to go to school with him,” she says, a small smile lighting up her face. Now her expression matches the name tag on her uniform: Joy. I smile back. Can a smile make a day special?
As she hands me my change, I notice a big turquoise ring on her thumb. Mama’s sleeping face—her bare head resting on the pillow—flashes in my mind.
I count the change. Joy’s given me an idea. And maybe I have enough money for it.
Sara Alfageeh
I walk back home, balancing the donuts in one hand and the hot chocolate in the other, a plastic Buyway bag hanging off my wrist.
That’s when I see him. It’s Mr. Laidlaw. In front of his bakery. He’s leaning on his cane. I stop. It’s like seeing a celebrity. But a celebrity you got to see a lot before he disappeared. Well, retired.
“Hello there, I see you’ve bought my donuts.” His voice sounds the same as before, just a bit quieter.
I stop and smile up at him. “Yes. They’re for my family. For Eid.”
He takes a step closer and peers at me. “Ah, yes. I remember your family. You’d pick up things for the mosque bake sales. And every Eid, you’d stop by to get donuts.”
I nod. Kareem’s laughing voice comes into my head: Don’ut ever break Eid tradition.
“I’d see your mother on those bake sale days,” he says. “She’d buy cinnamon buns for the mosque.”
He looks kind of sad. Is it because he doesn’t have a family? Everyone knows Mr. Laidlaw only has the bakery. Maybe that’s why he visits it.
He turns to me again. “And you—you’re Nadia. Tell your family I said happy Eid. Where are they?”
“They’re at Eid prayers already. I stayed home.”
“Ah, you’re bringing donuts for them. How lovely, Nadia.” He smiles in a kind way. So kind it makes me blurt, “My mother is sick, and it’s my turn to stay with her.”
I don’t add how sick. I don’t add what’s in the plastic bag dangling from my wrist. But if I look at his smile any longer, I might blurt everything out. “I have to go because she might be waking up now. Bye, Mr. Laidlaw!”
I used to love our house so much, its red brick with wide steps leading up to an even wider porch.
It’s hard to love it so much now that we live only on the first floor. We had to rent out the upstairs and basement. That was after we sold the car, when happiness began to leave our home.
But every time something “bad” happened, Dad pointed out something good. Like that the bus stop is right outside our house. The same bus that everyone took to Eid prayers this morning.
I let myself into the house. Mama’s still sleeping. Beside her on the bedspread lies a dark-blue abaya with big turquoise flowers. Noor put it out way before I even woke up this morning. But she’d whispered about it to me last night. I want Mama to get ready for Eid day.
For some reason, Noor forgot to put Mama’s hijab on the bed too. I saw that this morning. Maybe it’s because Noor has a lot on her mind because she’s the oldest. Or maybe she thinks Mama doesn’t need a hijab. Because of her hair situation.
But Mama loves her hijabs. She always loved wearing them to the mosque. She had a lot of colorful scarves. Before.
So this morning, I went through her things. But there were only two hijabs left in her dresser drawer. Black and white.
Nothing special.
Sara Alfageeh
I’d better get dressed. If Mama wakes and sees me all ready, she’ll probably want to change too. I put on my dress and look at myself in the mirror. It’s better than pajamas. I’ll never ever get tired of purple-black.
Then I remember the girl with the dark lips at Mr. Laidlaw’s bakery: Joy.
I spot Noor’s makeup bag on top of the dresser. She isn’t here to check on me. Noor doesn’t have dark-purple lipstick, so first I put on dark pink. Then I put light red on top of that. Then I add some blue eyeliner and a bit of black eyeliner—but not on my eyes. On my lips. I rub them together and smack them. They kind of look like Joy’s lips. And they almost match the dress.
They almost look special.
After I help Mama use the bathroom, she eats watery oatmeal in bed. I wonder if I should tell her about the donuts. I want it to be a surprise, but it was never a surprise before. We always just knew we’d stop for donuts on Eid mornings.
Don’ut ever break Eid tradition.
But still, it feels different today. Everything’s different. Our house, our clothes, our Eid.
Mama looks up from her oatmeal, and her gaze goes from my dress to my lips. Her eyes widen, and they look like they did before she got sick. They look like they want to see everything again.
She smiles at my lips, covered in my favorite color. At first her smile is small, like a spark you’re not sure you saw. Then it grows big—big enough for me to know something for sure: Yes, a smile can make a day special.
I run out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. I put the Buyway bag and hot chocolate on top of the box of donuts. I carry it all like a tray to Mama and Dad’s room. Mama needs to know everything.
Sara Alfageeh
But first, she needs to feel the way I do in my dress, in purple-black. I get the clothes that Noor laid out on the bed.
Mama changes slowly. I help her only when she needs it, which isn’t that much. Except when she looks in the mirror. I stand beside her and look in the mirror at her face. It looks like my face did before I ran out of the house this morning. Squished.
I know she doesn’t see anything special.
What makes a day special?
Smiles. Favorite-colored dresses and fancy lips.
And, I realize, as I glance at the bottle of oud on the dresser, smells.
I pick up the little glass bottle of Mama’s perfume. The oud has a bit of jasmine scent, her favorite flower.
I unscrew the top. Mama reaches her wrists out to get them dabbed and then rubs them together, but she never stops looking at her reflection, at the top of her bare head.
Her hair is growing in but only in small bits, mostly at the back.
“Mama? Do you want a hijab?” I open the Buyway bag. “Do you want your favorite color? Turquoise?”
Inside the bag is a pashmina scarf, the kind of scarf Mama used to wear to work with her heeled boots and shiny black hair.
She puts it on. And when she turns to me, her face tells me it’s true—she’s starting to feel it.
Like me.
That’s when she notices the box of donuts. As she stares at them, I whisper, “Don’ut break Eid tradition.”
Mama laughs, and it’s like a door opens for happiness to step back into the house. A door opens in me too, and I tumble out unsquished.
Mama lets me fix the scarf on her, and I pin it carefully under her chin.
She looks beautiful.
“Why don’t you drink your hot chocolate, sweetie?” she asks. “And have your donut?”
“No, I want to wait for everyone else,” I say. “Do you think it will feel exactly like Eid did before? If I wait for them with a box of donuts? Outside?”
She hugs me all of a sudden. It’s almost as tight as her hugs used to be.
“Eid Mubarak, my precious one,” Mama says into my hair. “Now go outside to wait. Drink your hot chocolate to stay warm.”
“But they’ll see me. And Esa might get mad that he didn’t get hot chocolate too,” I say. “You know how he gets, Mama.”
“I have an idea! I’ll make everyone hot chocolate.” Mama begins walking to the kitchen.
“But, Mama, you can’t!” I follow her. “You’re supposed to rest!”
“Sweetie, I can boil water and stir chocolate powder. And you can see me through the kitchen window. I’ll be right at the stove.”
“But what if you get weak?” I move in front of her and touch her arms. “Like that day? Like last time?”
“I was doing something silly then, darling. I was trying to do the laundry.” She holds my arms. “We’ll keep an eye on each other. Through the window. OK?”
Her eyes are wide. They’re happy.
So I let her.
I sip the warm chocolate on the porch. It’s so wide that Dad says it’s like an extra sofa. I smile. Now I get it. It’s because we had to cut our living room in half with bookshelves to make a bedroom for Esa and Kareem. Dad’s saying the porch is part of our living room now.
We’re lucky to have such a porch.
The bus is coming!
I pick up the donut box, then turn to wave at Mama through the kitchen window. She’s stirring in front of the stove. Her turquoise-framed face smiles at me.
I don’t think anyone will believe it’s Mama standing there when they get off the bus. Well, maybe sitting there, because I pulled up a chair for her by the stove to rest on in between stirring.
The bus pulls up in front of the house, and my family gets off: Kareem, Noor, Dad holding Esa.
And then more people get off behind them: Aunty Zareena and Uncle Fawaz and their daughter, Hina. Uncle Ashraf and Aunty Mona and their boys, Talal and Munir. Mama’s oldest friend, Aunty Rachel, with her daughter, Rebecca.
I lower the box of donuts. There are only six.
Sara Alfageeh
“Why do you look like a vampire, Naddy? Your lips are scary!” Esa says to me when Dad sets him down.
“Is that Mama?” Noor exclaims. “Why is she in the kitchen?”
“Eid Mubarak, Nadia!” Kareem opens his arms to give me a hug.
The bus speeds away.
Parked across the street is a black car. A familiar man in dark glasses leans against its hood.
It’s Mr. Laidlaw. He makes his way to our house with Joy beside him. She’s holding a big box of donuts.
Enough for everyone!
“I couldn’t believe it when Joy told me your daughter hadn’t picked one of our special Eid donuts,” Mr. Laidlaw tells Dad. “The new Cinnamon Chai donut. Of course I had to bring some over.”
“What I can’t believe is that Nadia went to the bakery on her own. To keep up the tradition.” Dad strokes my hair and smiles. “Come inside, Mr. Laidlaw. You must.”
“I’d like that,” Mr. Laidlaw says, stepping with his cane onto the pathway to our house. Joy has already followed Kareem onto the porch, where Noor is setting mugs of hot chocolate on the wide railing for our guests.
Mama isn’t at the kitchen window anymore. She must be sitting with her friends.
Now I know something I never ever want to forget, like I don’t ever want to forget to love purple-black: Special days start when you run toward them.
So I run into the house, to the rest of this most special day.
From Once Upon an Eid, edited by S.K. Ali and Aisha Saeed. Text copyright ©S.K. Ali. By permission of Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS, New York. All rights reserved.
Writing Prompt
Over the course of the story, what does Nadia come to realize about what makes a special day special? Answer in a well-organized paragraph. Use text evidence.
This story was originally published in the April 2024 issue.
Essential Questions: How can a shift in perspective affect how we feel? How do our traditions and celebrations help shape who we are? What does it mean for something to be “special”?
1. PREPARE TO READ (20 MINUTES)
Do Now: Journal and Discuss (10 minutes)
Project the following on your whiteboard for students to respond to in their writing journals or on a sheet of paper:
Write a definition of special in your own words.
Preview Terms (10 minutes)
2. READ AND DISCUSS (75 MINUTES)
❗= I’m surprised.
❓ = This is unfamiliar.
⭐ = This is important.
💭 = “I wonder . . .” (add comments or questions)
💙 = l love this.
Divide students into groups to discuss the close-reading questions along with their annotations. (The close-reading questions appear in the margins of the print magazine or by clicking on the bolded words on the digital story page.) If you’d like students to respond in writing, an interactive and printable Close-Reading and Critical-Thinking activity is available in your Resources tab.
Close-Reading Questions (30 minutes)
At the beginning of the story, how is Nadia feeling about Eid? Why? (inference) At the beginning of the story, Nadia is feeling disappointed about Eid. This is clear from the first line of the story, when she says, “It’s Eid, but it doesn’t feel like Eid.” She contrasts this Eid to Eids past, when she would have been wearing fancy clothes, smelling delicious foods cooking, and listening to lively music. We can infer that this Eid is different from Eids of the past because of her mother’s serious illness. Nadia says that “happiness left the house” and refers to staying home to take care of her sleeping mother. The family also seems to have fallen on financial difficulties (likely related to paying for Nadia’s mother’s care); Nadia reveals that the family had to sell their car and rent out the basement and upstairs of their house.
What does Nadia do after she leaves the donut shop? What do you learn later about how this connects to Joy’s ring? (inference) After leaving the donut shop, Nadia goes to Buyway to purchase a turquoise hijab for her mother. Later in the story, Nadia opens the Buyway bag and offers the hijab to her mother, saying, “Do you want your favorite color? Turquoise?” These lines make clear that Nadia bought the hijab at Buyway and that it was the color of Joy’s ring that gave Nadia the idea, because turquoise is her mother’s favorite color.
Say Kareem’s line out loud. What does the word donut sound like? What is Kareem saying about having donuts on Eid? (theme) Donut sounds like do not. Kareem is saying that it’s important to stick to the traditions of the holiday because they set it apart from other days. Eating donuts is an example of a special holiday tradition for Nadia and Kareem’s family.
Why might Noor think Mama doesn’t need a hijab? What is Mama’s “hair situation”? (inference) Mama has lost her hair—Nadia refers to her “bare head”—which indicates she has been receiving cancer treatments, which can cause hair to fall out. Because a hijab is meant to cover the hair, Noor might think that her mother does not need one, given that she has no hair to cover.
What is the it Mama is starting to feel? (interpreting text) The it Mama is starting to feel is the special feeling that comes with celebrating Eid. It’s what makes the day different from ordinary days.
How has Nadia started to look at things more in the way her dad looks at them? (character) Nadia has started to see things in a more positive way, like her dad does. Whenever something bad happened, “Dad pointed out something good,” Nadia says. For example, the family had to sell their car, but rather than complain, Nadia’s dad pointed out how lucky they were to have a bus stop right in front of their house. At this point in the story, Nadia explains that her family had to rent out part of their house and fit into a smaller living area, but rather than dwell on the loss of space, Nadia expresses her gratitude to have a wide front porch.
Why do Joy and Mr. Laidlaw come to Nadia’s house? (character motivations) Mr. Laidlaw tells Nadia’s family that they have come to bring some new Cinnamon Chai donuts, since Nadia had not picked any out earlier. But it’s likely they have other motivations as well. Mr. Laidlaw knows that Nadia’s mother is ill because Nadia told him so; he probably wants to do something kind for the family. Furthermore, he doesn’t have his own family to celebrate with, so he might want to spend time with Nadia’s family. Joy seems like she might have a crush on Kareem, so she probably likes having a chance to see him.
Critical-Thinking Questions (20 minutes)
3. WRITE YOUR PARAGRAPH (30 MINUTES)
Over the course of the story, what does Nadia come to realize about what makes a special day special? Answer in a well-organized paragraph. Use text evidence.
4. SUPPORT MULTILINGUAL LEARNERS
Language Acquisition Springboard
Practice Reading Italics
Explain that italics are letters that slant to the right and are used in many ways. In this story, they are used in two ways: to emphasize certain words and to express an important thought in the narrator’s head. Practice saying the following lines from the story, reading the italicized words with more emphasis than the rest of the words in that statement as appropriate.
Emphasis:
Expressing a thought in the narrator’s head:
CONNECTED READING
