Bikky had been teased about his hair for as long as he could remember. As much as he’d loved hid dad, there’d been a lot of times he’d wished both his parents had been black instead of just his mom, because it had left him stuck somewhere in the middle, half black, half white and not really fitting in anywhere. The fact that he’d inherited his dad’s blond hair and blue eyes only made it worse.

“Don’t let them bully you,” his dad kept telling him. “Stand up to them!” But that was easier said than done. Bikky was small and scrawny, and the kids who picked on him were all bigger and stronger. They ganged up on him anyway, and there was no way he could stand up to four or five older kids at once, not when the only kid who might have his back was a girl.

Carol was his best friend, and she was tough as well as being three years older than Bikky, but she was also small and pretty, she couldn’t defend him against the bigger boys, and anyway, they’d only mock him for letting a girl fight his battles for him.

He didn’t really know why he let his hair get so long. He hated how pale and fine it was, hated the extra work of caring for long hair, all the brushing out of tangles, and having to tie it back to keep it out of the way, but his dad was always too busy to take him to the barber, and having short hair wouldn’t change anything. He’d still get picked on for being a blond kid with skin the color of coffee. Besides, Carol liked his long hair, she said it suited him.

“It’s like we’re twins!” she’d told him once, braiding his hair so he could play basketball without it getting in his way. He liked having that bond with her, something that made it seem they belonged together. He didn’t care if other kids thought he was weird for being best friends with a girl. Carol was just way cooler than any of the boys he knew, even the few he liked enough to consider them friends.

So he left his hair long, occasionally letting Carol trim the ends off to keep it neat, and he didn’t badger his dad to let him get it cut. If he was going to get bullied no matter what he did, all he could do was put up with it, and why should he care what anyone else thought anyway? He did though. Getting picked on sucked.

Then his dad was killed, and one of the cops investigating the murder took him in. Ryo didn’t laugh at his long hair, or tell him he should get it cut short the way some of the teachers did.

“It’s your hair, Bikky. How you wear it is your choice, and it shouldn’t matter to anyone else, as long as you keep it clean and tidy. If you ever want to get it cut, then you can, but it’s entirely up to you. Do whatever you’re comfortable with, be who you are, and don’t let anyone try to force you to meet their standards. Okay?”

“Okay.” Somehow, Ryo’s acceptance of him made Bikky feel better about himself, more confident, and he stood up straighter, doing his best to ignore the taunts some of the kids threw at him. ‘This is who I am,’ he thought to himself. ‘If anyone doesn’t like it, that’s their problem, not mine.’

Then, one day at recess, an older kid stopped him. “You should get your hair cut, you look like a girl from the back,” he sniggered. “People might get confused.”

“Yeah? Well, you look like an idiot from the front,” Bikky threw back at him. As he walked away, he could hear the other kids applauding and cheering him, and suddenly he felt ten feet tall. He really didn’t have to put up with other kids making fun of him just for being himself. He was through with being bullied, and the long hair was staying, at least for now. In fact, everything about his hair was kinda growing on him.


The End