Cherububble

Beautiful Horrible Hair

 ‘What beautiful curls,’ people said patting Ari’s hair. His Mum patted it too.

Ari liked the feel of her hand.

When Ari began school, the boys had short hair. Ari’s curls were long.

‘School’s cool,’ he said, ‘except for swimming.

My hair takes ages drying and drips down my back.

Sometimes I’m teased when it wets my pants. Can I get it cut?’

‘Not your beautiful curls,’ Mum smiled twisting a black curl round her finger. 

Then Simon’s group at school began calling him ‘Curly Locks’.

This changed to ‘Goldilocks’. Ari hated it.

The crosser he became, the more they chanted. He told Dad.

‘Fight them,’ Dad said. Ari hung his head.

‘We’re not allowed to fight.’

‘Well ignore them. Words can’t hurt you.’ But they did.

Ari tried ignoring them but it made no difference.

The teasing continued.

‘Goldilocks’ they taunted, ‘nar-nar-na-nar-nar’.

Waves of anger welled inside Ari.

His fists wanted to fight but he knew the teasing rules: ask them to stop;

walk away and finally, tell the teacher. 

Ari asked them to stop. He walked away. The teasing continued.

‘Goldilocks,’ they shouted. ‘Nar-nar-na-nar-nar’. 

After the holidays, it was worse.

Most of the boys had a number one or number two hair cut.

Ari’s curls were even longer. The chanting went on.  

Ari felt lonely and sad.

‘I hate school. I hate my horrible hair,’ he yelled, stamping his feet.   

‘Are you alright?’ is teacher asked. Ari shrugged, blinking away his tears.

He didn’t want to dob, but everything burst out. 

In class later his teacher spoke about friendship and teasing.

‘Words can be as hurtful as hitting or kicking,’ she explained,

 ‘but it’s an inside hurt.’ When she had finished, Simon turned to him hissing,

‘Goldilocks, dibberdobber’.     

‘I feel sick,’ Ari told Mum next morning.

‘Nonsense,’ she replied, ruffling his curls. Ari yanked his head away.

He didn’t like the feel of her hand anymore. 

That afternoon at home, he caught sight of his hair.

In a black fury he grabbed Mum’s scissors and hack, hack, hacked at his hair.

Black curls piled on the floor.

Looking up he saw Mum at the doorway, her face crumpling. Ari froze.

What had he done? Sobs rose in his throat.

Pushing her aside, he raced to his room throwing himself on the bed.     

‘How could you?’ Mum asked following, ‘your beautiful curls.’ 

‘They’re horrible, horrible. I hate them,’ Ari sobbed. ‘And I hate the teasing.

Why can’t I have a normal hair cut?’  

Mum reached out but he shoved her away.

She waited until he stopped sobbing then put her arms around him. 

‘I had no idea you were so sad,’ she said, holding him close.

‘I’m so sorry. We’ll get it cut; anyway, we’ll have to.’ 

‘Sorry Mum.’ Ari gave her a wry smile.

Ari’s hair was cut, not a number one or even number two, but it was shorter.

It made him look different, older. Ari was pleased.

He couldn’t wait to go to school and, swimming would be great. 

He caused quite a sensation.

The children stared, some not even recognising him at first but,

best of all, no one called him names. 

After the holidays a new boy started.

He had black hair and brown eyes like Ari, but no curls. Ari liked him.

They played together. After school the new boy’s mother collected him. 

The next day the teasing began.

‘Your Mum wears funny clothes,’ Simon laughed, nudging his friends.

Ari looked with understanding at his new friend’s hurt face.

Clenching his fists, he turned to Simon.

 ‘I like his Mum’s clothes,’ he growled.

‘I wish my Mum wore bright colours and pretty long skirts

 instead of jeans all the time. If you tease him again, I’ll, I’ll …..’

Ari wished he could say ‘punch you on the nose,’ but, he knew….. 

He took a step closer. Simon shrugged, beckoned his friends and moved away.

Ari put his arm around his new friend. 

‘I like your Mum’s pretty clothes.’ His friend’s face lit up. 

‘Race you to the climbing equipment,’ Ari shouted.

Laughing together, they scampered off.

 

Text © Elizabeth Smart 2009    Illustrations © Dale Newman 2009