I have never seen my father cry. I’ve seen him get emotional, sympathetic and impassioned, but I have never seen him show signs of tears. As Khizr Khan delivered his speech at the DNC, I saw tears spring into my father’s eyes for the first time. Khizr Khan, undoubtedly, gave one of the most powerful speeches in DNC history as he spoke of his heroic son’s fall in Iraq in 2004 and, to put into colloquial terms, schooled Donald Trump in his views on ethnicity. He spoke against the racial animosity behind Trump’s “ban on foreign Muslims” and informed the more than 9 million viewers of the DNC about what it meant to be an American.

As an Indian-American, I found myself largely connecting to the meaning behind Khizr’s speech and it only propelled my disgust toward Trump’s ideals against my fellow South Asians. It’s a known fact that there is obvious enmity between Hindus and Muslims, be it in India or in foreign countries. I’ve heard everything from snide remarks to blatant racism coming from both sides. I won’t even deny the fact that my mother shares some of this antagonism. She’s one of the main reasons why I promised myself I’d never let my future kids see their mother portraying hatred toward people who were meant to be our brothers and sisters. However, my dad always stayed quiet whenever my mother said something contemptuous. I’ve always wondered whether he stayed quiet because he didn’t want to argue with my mother or because he silently agreed with her.

Watching my father hold his breath and rub the sheen of tears covering his eyes as Khizr pulled out a copy of the U.S. Constitution from his suit jacket, I knew that in his head, he was imagining himself standing right next to Khizr in solitude, as many other people of color, specifically South Asians found themselves. Khizr was a reminder to us all that this country was not made for just one group of people. That the American dream was meant for anyone who believed in the opportunities this country had to offer, and the equality, justice and freedom that was engraved in the foundation of the United States of America.

As Khizr spoke about being one of the many immigrants that found themselves empty-handed and fighting to make ends meet, I knew my father was picturing the first day we spent in America in 1999, me plopped on my mother’s waist and my sister holding my father’s hand as we took our first picture as an Indian-AMERICAN family. As Khizr spoke of his three son’s dreams, I knew he imagined my sister at the age of 7 trying to adjust to living in America, going through the one ELA course offered at her shabby elementary school, and then walking home to run her own private ELA course in our two bedroom apartment. I knew he imagined my sister now, calling my family from med school to let us know she passed her Step One exam. As Khizr spoke of the divide in this country Donald Trump wants to place, I knew my father thought of the aftermath of 9/11, where he received dirty looks walking in the city and listened as one of his closest friends, a Sikh, spoke of the abusive words passing people sometimes whispered about him and the occasional “terrorist” yelled at him.

I may not be Muslim, and I may not be under direct attack in this country, but I know that these people are my siblings at heart. I know that it’s my job to defend them when I see someone with misconceptions running through his or her head, letting the words “Radical Islam” charge the racist language exchanged by many these days. I know what it’s like to have people question whether I truly am an American, just because I don’t look the same as the so-called “first Americans” of this world. I stand with Khizr, and the thousands of other Muslims across this country who find themselves isolated as their identity is questioned by people with only bigotry and assumptions in their mind. Thank you Khizr for reminding us all what it means to be an American. For restating the obvious idea that what’s inside you, the ideals you believe in, should have more emphasis than your race or religion. Your son may be honored as a hero by the nation, but to me, to my father, you too are a hero.