When someone tells me about Malala, the girl who was shot by the Taliban – that’s my definition for her – I don’t think she’s me. Now I don’t even feel as if I was shot. Even my life in Swat feels like a part of history or a movie I watched. Things change. God has given us a brain and a heart which tell us how to live.
I could have easily been a statistic. Growing up in Brooklyn, N.Y., it was easy – a little too easy – to get into trouble. Surrounded by poor schools, lack of resources, high unemployment rates, poverty, gangs and more, I watched as many of my peers fell victim to a vicious cycle of diminished opportunities and imprisonment.
Four of my children are daughters, and I’ve watched them devote themselves to reading books about how little girls learn to become women – how they learn to deal with boys and men, and the different hurdles females have to go over.