Two Muslim mothers are sitting in the cafe chatting over a pint of
> goat's >> milk. The older of the moms pulls out her bag and starts flipping
> through >> pictures and reminiscing. "This is my oldest son Mohammed. He would be
> 24 >> now."
>>
>>
>> The other mom replies, "I remember him as a baby."
>>
>> Mom says, "He's a martyr now."
>>
>> "Oh, so sad, my dear."
>>
>> Mom flips to another picture. "And this is my second son, Kalid. He
> would >> be 21."
>>
>> "Oh I remember him. He had such curly hair when he was born."
>>
>> Mom sighs, "He's a martyr, too."
>>
>> "Oh gracious me," says the second mother.
>>
>> "And this is my third son. My beautiful Ahmed! He would be 18." Mom >> whispers.
>>
>> "Yes," says her friend enthusiastically, "I remember when he first
> started >> school."
>>
>> "He's a martyr also" Mom says, with tears in her eyes.
>>
>> After a pause and a deep sigh, the second Muslim mother looks
> wistfully at >> the photos and says,
>>
>> "They blow up so fast, don't they?"
>>
