- Casey Anthony

“Don’t Be Silly, My Son the Drag Queen Can Return to Iran Any Time He Likes!"

    On behalf of the entire Najjar family, I demand, dear sirs, that you suspend your critical chatter about the “situation” with our 22-year-old son, Majid.

    Wh…? What? What dare say you, my good man? What…? You dare say, my dear chap, that my flamboyantly gay son, who merely claims to have barely escaped our humble Iran “with his life,” and now makes a living as a professional drag queen dancer in Lower East Manhattan is afraid to come back and pay his ol’ ma’ and pa’ a visit?  Preposterous!

     …What was that..? You say he can’t come back –in due haste or at his leisure– to our quaint conservative suburb of Uz Kala because he will be summarily executed?  O, rubbish!  Rubbish, I say!

     Why, I have nothing but complete adoration for my drag queen son.  In fact, the whole Najjar family has nothing but love for him.  Indeed, good sir, the whole neighborhood longs to see the little boy they once knew all grown up, visiting us from his home in Greenwich Village after forging a career prancing around Manhattan’s gay nightclub stages, festooned in mascara, rouge, wigs, leather, feathers, spiked heels and smoldering candle wax… Why then, pray tell, would we not wish to see the little tyke? He is after all still our little boy, our little Majid. And to say he’s “terrified” to come back and see us is indeed a shameful mischaracterization of the highest order, sir! Why, just look below at how his old playmates long to see him again:

     ‘Tis an age-old, heart-warming story: Boy Has Dreams of Striking It Big. Parents Are A Bit Skeptical. Boy Esca…Leaves Home in the Middle of the Night in Frenzied Panic to Become a Star. Years Pass With No Word. Then Boy Triumphantly Returns to Home Village a Proud, Rich, Successful Professional Dancing Homosexual Transvestite from New York City.

    Certainly, dear chap, cannot this timeless, tear-jerking scenario apply to the Najjar family, too? I can tell you suspect not, sir.  However you are most foolhardy –folly, I say! We are all awaiting his return to Iran with open arms. Any time our little Majid is ready to come see us, here we are.

     We long to hear of his adventures working the clubs, performing in every gay and tranny establishment from theBoots & Saddle, to the Cock Club, to the Urge, Boiler Room, Pyramid Club, Pieces, the Rub-A-Dub-Dub, and The Shelter… Manhattan’s finest hath never been so blessed as to have the ceaseless talent of Majid Najjar grace them, I proudly say. We raised him to be quite an energetic young man, and we await the cultural exchange he can bring home and share with us.

     And so, I entreat you all now with this simple request: if you do run into our son, Majid, in Lower East Manhattan, do not hesitate to tell him to come back and see his mother and I, near faint with nervous curiosity over his new life, and his siblings and old neighborhood. There will be a nice, hot bowl of his favorite goat and lentil soup waiting for him, fresh pita bread, and his room has been kept just the way it was that morning we woke to find him strangely missing.

So enough with your cynicism, dear sir. All rubbish, I say! My son, the flaming drag queen is free to come back to Iran any time he likes.

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