In a remote corner on a relatively isolated WAWA parking lot not far from my Philly home, I spotted a platinum-haired guy about 25 years old kneeling face-to-the-ground on a prayer mat. This non-Middle Eastern, Caucasian prayer penitent could have been any one of the local Catholic boys you sometimes see playing street hockey. I had to look twice: what is his story? How had he converted to Islam – or had he? And what do his poor parents think about that?
