White supremacists are busy recruiting a new generation and have devised creative ways to lure children.

Children who Google Martin Luther King Jr., for example, might click on a “.org” site that comes up as a top result. It appears to link to King’s speeches and a civil rights library. Actually, it’s run by the Neo-Nazi site Stormfront, created by Don Black, a former Ku Klux Klan leader. The links from that particular MLK site lead to neo-Nazi propaganda.

Earlier this year, Newsweek reported on an interview with an editor of the neo-Nazi website Daily Stormer on a white supremacist radio show. The editor, Andrew Anglin, admitted that the purpose of the conspiracy site is to radicalize children as young as 11.

“My site is mainly designed to target children” for radicalization, Anglin reportedly said on Radical Agenda, a radio show hosted by Christopher Cantwell, one of the marchers at the Charlottesville, Virginia rally in August. “(Age) 11 through teenage years ... Young adults, pubescents.”

Linda Woolf, professor of psychology and international human rights at Webster University, has tracked these trends. She has been studying the recruitment and radicalization tactics of hate groups.

“I’m sure in schools they are warning kids about online predators,” she said. “My guess is that many don’t talk about online hate groups or cults. They use the same recruitment techniques.”

Unsuspecting tweens or teens stumble upon such sites or groups on social media, which number in the tens of thousands, and are invited to chat privately. The conversation doesn’t start with hate. Instead, the white supremacists groom the child by giving them attention and a sense of belonging. They wish them a happy birthday. They target those who already feel disillusioned, isolated or disenfranchised.

“People don’t always join hate groups because they hate,” Woolf said. Rather, they join to meet other social and emotional needs, such as finding a place to fit in. On college campuses, the recruitment events often feature free food to appeal to hungry students. The groups’ tactics have become more difficult to research after the initial contact, as many of these activities move to the dark web, requiring special passwords.

As most casual observers can tell, hate speech has been trending upward in America. For the past three years, there’s also been a documented rise of neo-Nazi and white supremacist groups in America. The number of hate groups has risen 20 percent since 2014, according to the Southern Poverty Law Center (SPLC). The SPLC identified 954 hate groups in the US in 2017, compared with 784 in 2014.

It’s not just the number of groups and hate crimes that are surging; white supremacists are more emboldened and trying to ascend into visible positions of power and social influence.

At least eight white nationalists are running for state or federal office, according to SPLC tracking. This appears to be more than in any other election in modern history.

We’ve seen a mainstreaming of language that dehumanizes racial, ethnic and religious minorities, along with alt-right creep into the public square.

Corey Stewart, Republican nominee in the Virginia Senate race, has ties to numerous white supremacist activists. He had described Paul Nehlen, the self-professed “pro-white” candidate for Congress, as his “personal hero,” but later disavowed him and said he wasn’t aware of his racist views.

Republican congressman Steve King also recently retweeted a Nazi sympathizer, Mark Collett, later saying he wasn’t aware of his Nazi affiliation. Collett is a well-known British white supremacist who has spoken admiringly of Adolf Hitler and was once featured in a documentary called “Young, Nazi and Proud,” according to the New York Times.

It’s no surprise that white supremacist hate groups are enjoying a resurgence in America, and that they are focusing their efforts on targeting younger white men to join their ideological ranks.

Woolf says the greatest danger these hate groups pose is the way they tacitly encourage individuals to commit violence -- including those who just casually consume their content.

She encourages schools to include these hate group tactics as part of media literacy education. She also urges parents to keep an eye on their children’s peer groups and try to monitor their online activity, especially if their child seems isolated and spends a lot of time online.

“I think the general public may underestimate the danger these groups pose,” Woolf said. “They work to infiltrate and target those most predisposed to violence.”

There are six ways to say “uncle” in Pakistani homes. There’s the standard English word, used to address any South Asian man older than you regardless of actual relation. Your parents’ friends are called “uncles” and “aunties” -- not Mr. or Mrs.

But in the case of truly related kinfolk, there are five different Urdu variations of “uncle” that denote the exact relationship, depending on whether you are referring to a maternal or paternal uncle, through marriage or blood, who is either older or younger than your parent.

It sounds complicated, but I love these specific titles for extended family. It makes each relationship seem special in its own way.

Growing up, I only had one of these uncles nearby. The rest were either in Pakistan, England or another American city.

Lucky for me, my father’s older brother, my Abbas taya, has been a constant presence in my life since I was born. He and my father emigrated within a few years of one another and have always lived in the same city. Our families grew up together. The six children in my family combined with the four in theirs meant we had a team of playmates, confidantes and partners in crime throughout our childhoods.

Abbas taya was the larger-than-life figure that loomed above us.

If every family has a gifted storyteller, Abbas taya is ours. He’s the life of the party, the center of attention in any room, the one making us all laugh with his wicked sense of humor. He’s the one who paved the path of financial success in this country, arriving with little and eventually building a factory that employed dozens. He has flair and a love for the finer things in life -- expensive cars, brand-name clothes, beautiful things and people.

He worked out regularly, and to my young eyes was the strongest and biggest man I knew. He could easily have been an intimidating figure, but that was rarely his way with us. Instead, he charmed us with stories that poked fun at himself more often than others. He defused his frequent teasing with genuine flattery and self-deprecating remarks. He never got sentimental, but his concern and interest in our lives spoke to the unspoken love he has for us.

These were valuable lessons he taught by example: Don’t take life so seriously. Learn to take a joke. Develop a thick skin. Be generous. Dream big. Live big.

He and my father love each other dearly, and also had some epic fights when we were growing up. They share the same quick and volatile temper and sensitivities. Yet they never let any of their personal disagreements spill into any of our family relationships. While my father has always been my intellectual foil, my cheerleader and The Law in our home, my taya has been the one who brings the party, and makes every person he meets believe they are the most talented, interesting and beautiful person he’s ever met.

In the past few years, I watched him struggle with health problems that challenged the way I’ve seen him my entire life. Back problems and neck surgeries seemed to shrink his imposing frame. Some days he can carry on conversations like his old self, but many times, he will ask the same questions multiple times in the same visit. On days when his memory is more clouded, he sits and observes our family gatherings rather than taking center stage, holding court and telling stories.

It’s strange to see him quieter.

He’s 81, which I suppose might sound old to someone who never knew him. But to me, he’s the last person who could have ever gotten old. It took me a while to accept that time can turn the toughest patriarch, the happy-go-lucky success story, into the one who needs care.

I make a point to visit him and my aunt every time I go back home to Houston. As an adult, I can see more clearly the village that helped raise me.

On a recent visit, the brief moments of clarity in our conversation where punctuated with longer pauses of confusion and repetition. As I got up to leave, I walked over to give my taya a hug.

I stopped for a second, kissed his cheek and said, “Thank you for being a second father to me my entire life.”

“What are you talking about?” he said, in the good-natured way he dismisses such comments. He sounded exactly like his old self. Then he kissed my head and said softly, “You’re just like my daughter.”

“I love you.”

This is a Ramadan story about how I ended up crying in an IHOP.

It’s become a tradition in my area for young Muslims to congregate at their nearest 24-hour diner for a carbo-licious meal before the fast begins. This means showing up at the local IHOP around 2 a.m. to finish eating around 3:45 a.m.

This seems like a lot of fun if you are young enough to stay up that late and still have the kind of metabolism to handle this sort of meal. I’m no longer among this demographic. But when my daughter wanted to go with her friends early that Saturday morning, I reluctantly agreed to drive them.

The restaurant was jam-packed with Muslims, mostly teenagers and college students, who seemed oblivious to the time. My eyes were burning, and I was debating whether I could really eat a 1,200 calorie breakfast. (It turns out, I could. Looking at you, spicy poblano omelette.)

I was lucky enough to get my food pretty quickly, having joined a friend who had arrived earlier. But when I headed over to my daughter’s table, I realized their orders had not been taken, and no water had been brought to the table despite nearly an hour wait.

It turns out Cedric, the manager on duty, was the only one serving our entire half of the restaurant. The other waiter had called in. Cedric was running around like a headless chicken. As the clock ticked closer to the end of suhoor time, I was getting more and more anxious about whether the kids would get any food before the fast started.

About 15 minutes to the deadline, the tension was palpable with a roomful of hangry teens. Then the plates started rolling off the order counter -- strawberries and cream, Cinn-a-stack pancakes, hash browns that got doused in hot sauce. Thankfully, everyone got their food and was able to scarf it down in time.

When we were getting up to leave, I realized what an intense situation it is for the waitstaff during these early morning hours of Ramadan, especially if a worker doesn’t make it in. I wondered if the young people knew how important it was to tip the waitstaff well, due to the low base wages in the restaurant industry, and that certain circumstances were beyond the control of the servers. I called Cedric when I got home and thanked him, and said I would come by later with an additional tip.

He said the phone call meant more to him than an extra tip.

I shared my thoughts with a few local Muslim groups about what restaurant staffs deal with during this month. It kicked off a spirited discussion about raising awareness within our community about tipping. Immediately, people said they wanted to contribute toward a small bonus to show our appreciation.

Within 12 hours, people had sent me money via VenMo and Paypal. When I showed up for an iftar at the mosque that evening, women literally shoved cash at me to take for the servers.

After we broke our fast, I drove by the IHOP around 10 p.m. and asked if I could speak to Cedric. He didn’t remember who I was until I reminded him that I had called and was worried about whether he and the staff were tipped appropriately.

Then I handed him two envelopes with nearly $1,000 and said, “This is from the St. Louis Muslim community, to thank you and the waitstaff for feeding us during those 2 a.m. shifts in Ramadan.”

Cedric was stunned. His jaw dropped. His eyes got red and watery. And he said, “Just the phone call was enough. Really, that was enough.”

He said the gift would make a big impression on his staff.

And that, my friends, is how I ended up in tears in the International House of Pancakes.

PSA: Always tip your waitstaff well.