When Joe decided to grow his hair, his classmates started making fun of him. One of his teachers, Mr. Cooper, was a man of conservative values, and he even encouraged the jokes against Joe. But one day, Joe’s father found out about the situation, and he did something shocking.
“What are you doing with that ponytail? Are you a little girl?” Mr. Cooper sneered when Joe walked into his classroom on the first day of school. The rest of his classmates laughed, and Joe looked down in shame. But he knew he had to keep growing it. He had his reasons. No one would dissuade him, not even the worst teacher in the school.
Joe had started growing his hair the previous school year. No one paid too much attention to it then because the summer holidays had begun. But now that he was back, everyone saw how overgrown his hair was because he kept it in a ponytail.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
Unfortunately, the comments didn’t stop, and the other boys in class started teasing him every day. The poor eight-year-old returned home every day in tears, but he never told his parents what was happening. They tried to let it go, and Joe started hiding his tears in the bathroom at some point.
Joe’s father got out his phone. He loaded the video they shot the night before and showed it to Mr. Cooper.
Their art teacher, Mrs. Burns, was somewhat new at the school, and she found Joe crying one day after everyone left for recess. “Joe, what’s going on? Why are you growing your hair so long?” she asked kindly.
He finally felt compelled to tell someone about it, and when he finished, the gentle teacher gave him a huge hug. “You have a beautiful heart. Don’t ever let anyone else change that, okay?” she told him encouragingly.
“But even Mr. Cooper makes fun of me. It’s not fair,” Joe mumbled. His tears had finally stopped, thanks to her kindness.
“Some people will always be bullies even when they grow up. I’ll try to talk to him,” Mrs. Burns replied, patting his shoulder.
“Don’t tell him why. He doesn’t deserve to know anything. This is my thing,” Joe requested, looking at the teacher with his earnest eyes.
“Of course. This will be between you and me. But what you are doing is nothing to be ashamed of,” the teacher assured him.
“Still. I don’t want them to know,” the little boy insisted, and Mrs. Burns nodded with a slight grin.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
***
Over the next few days, Mrs. Burns talked to teachers about the situation, but the truth is that all of them didn’t approve of the hairstyle. They thought Joe’s parents were wrong for not getting it cut.
The math teacher, Mrs. Figgins, complained, “If he’s allowed to grow his hair out at eight years old, he’s going to become a hoodlum in high school. Kids, especially boys, need discipline at this age.”
Mrs. Burns had no idea what to do. She didn’t have seniority at this school and Mr. Cooper was the most respected teacher there. Furthermore, she couldn’t tell them the real reason because of Joe’s request. Maybe calling his parents would be a better option, she thought. If things didn’t get better soon, she might have no choice.
***
“Joe, come down here!” Joe’s dad, Patrick Perkins, called out one night.
“What dad?” Joe said when he reached the kitchen. He had been doing his homework.
“Your teacher, Mrs. Burns, just called. She told me everything. Are the kids making fun of you? Is that why you’ve been crying every day after school?” Patrick inquired, kneeling before his son and looking at him.
The boy pouted his lips, and his eyes watered too. “It’s not just my friends. Mr. Cooper is the worst,” Joe revealed, shocking his father.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
“What?” Patrick said, shocked. He couldn’t believe it. He knew Mr. Cooper and had talked to him before. He was an older fellow, a veteran, and a well-respected man in their community. Of course, everyone knew he was conservative, but he didn’t think he would go as far as to make fun of a child for their hair.
Joe nodded, and his dad asked, “Why didn’t you tell them why you’re growing your hair?”
“It’s not their business,” the little boy said, and Patrick nodded this time. It was utterly true. No one else needed to know about it.
“You are completely right, kid. But you know something. I believe it’s time to cut that hair. You’ve finally reached the required length, and I have a plan,” Patrick stated, smiling at his son, who got excited about reaching his goal.
Patrick called his wife, Rosie, who placed Joe’s hair in a proper ponytail, and she cut it completely, saving the hair for their particular plan. Patrick had been recording it on his phone the entire time and even asked Joe to say something to commemorate the moment.
***
“Finally, Joe! You no longer look like a girl!” Mr. Cooper bellowed when Joe walked into class, but he didn’t expect to see Patrick there too.
“Mr. Cooper,” Patrick muttered, looking sternly at the teacher.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
“Oh! Mr. Perkins! So, you finally got your kid a haircut? Congrats!” the teacher said with a smile, extending his hand to shake Patrick’s.
Instead of shaking Mr. Cooper’s hand, Joe’s father got out his phone. He loaded the video they shot the night before and showed it to Mr. Cooper. The teacher’s eyebrows rose as he watched it, and Patrick started speaking so that all the kids could hear him.
“Mr. Cooper, I understand you have been encouraging the jokes against my son. I would’ve never imagined that from you, sir,” Patrick said sternly.
The older man swallowed thickly, and it seemed he got emotional. “I had no idea he would be donating his hair to cancer patients.”
The kids heard that and raised their eyebrows at Joe in surprise and admiration.
“Yeah, well. Joe didn’t want to tell anyone until he reached his goal. We visited a children’s hospital and did some volunteer work last April. He loved it and started growing his hair right away. But this school year, he started coming home in tears because everyone made fun of him, including his teacher. Do you think that’s fair, sir?” Joe’s father reprimanded the older man, who looked extremely ashamed of his actions.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
“I’m… so sorry, Joe. Mr. Perkins, I had no idea. My… granddaughter just went through several rounds of chemo, and she lost all her hair. My son and daughter-in-law had communicated with this foundation that makes wigs from donations,” Mr. Cooper sadly stated to Joe’s father and the kids in class. Then he approached Joe, who was already sitting at his desk.
“Thank you, kid. Not all heroes wear capes,” Mr. Cooper offered. “I was so wrong. Please, forgive me.”
Joe only nodded and smiled at the older man and Patrick finally reached out and shook Mr. Cooper’s hand. “I’m glad we’ve settled this. See you later, son,” he waved at Joe and left the classroom.
The rest of the day, all the kids asked Joe about his donation and what it was like. The boys started talking about growing their hair too, and the girls wanted to join in. They had learned a huge lesson that day.
What can we learn from this story?
- It’s best not to judge anyone on their appearance. Everyone has a right to express themselves, and no one has the right to mock them for it.
- Doing something charitable can inspire others to do the same. Joe’s act of kindness and generosity rubbed off on his classmates who also wanted to do the same.
Share this story with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.
If you enjoyed this story, you might like this one about a woman who adopted a little boy she found abandoned on the side of the road.
When My MIL Handed Me a ‘Good Wife’ Rulebook on My Wedding Day, My Husband Got Rich!
You think you’re entering a dream when you marry the person you love. But that dream can quickly become a nightmare when you receive a list of rules about how to be a “good wife.” This is where my revenge started.
As a child, I always imagined that marriage would be different. I pictured Sunday mornings in bed, sharing laughs and secrets, and a partnership based on love and respect. But reality has a strange way of surprising you.
Dan and I had just gotten married. The wedding was perfect—small, intimate, everything I had always dreamed of. For a while, it felt like a fairy tale. Dan was kind and funny, and I truly believed we shared the same ideas about how we wanted to live our lives together. That was until Karen, his mother, gave me a gift after the ceremony.
I remember standing in our living room, still feeling happy from the wedding, when Karen came up to me with her “special” present.
“This is for you, Lucia. A little something to help you as you start your new role.” She handed me a fancy box with a big smile, but her eyes didn’t match her cheerful expression.
Inside the box was a neatly folded piece of paper. When I opened it, my mouth dropped. At the top, in bold letters, it said: “How to Be a Good Wife for My Son.”
At first, I laughed, thinking it was a joke. Maybe Karen was making fun of those old-fashioned ideas about marriage.
But as I kept reading, my smile faded. It was a real list—actual rules I was supposed to follow as Dan’s wife.
I looked at Dan, hoping he’d be as shocked as I was, but he was busy opening his own gift. A check. A big one, too. And me? I got a rulebook.
Later that evening, Dan came to me with a sheepish grin. “You got the rules my mom gave you, didn’t you?” he asked, as if it were just a casual suggestion, not a guide for a life of serving him.
“Yep… I did,” I replied, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice but not succeeding.
Dan shifted awkwardly and scratched the back of his neck. “Well, you know, that’s just how it is now. Marriage is different from dating.”
I stared at him, waiting for him to smile, to say it was all a joke. But he didn’t.
“Wait… You’re serious?” I asked, looking at him like I didn’t recognize the man I had just married.
He shrugged. “It’s just how things are. Mom says it’s important to keep order, you know?”
I bit my lip, holding back a sharp reply. Keep order. That’s how they saw me now?
After Dan fell asleep, I read through the list again, my hands shaking with anger. I couldn’t believe the nerve.
At 6 a.m., I had to be fully dressed and made up, cooking a hot breakfast for Dan. No veggies, no milk, no butter—he only likes plain eggs and toast. The toast must be perfectly golden brown, and it has to be served on a blue plate because the green one ruins his appetite.
Do all the grocery shopping myself. Dan hates shopping, and it’s no place for a man. Always buy his favorite beer, but not too much—just enough for football nights, but not so much he gets lazy. And I had to carry everything in myself because it’s unladylike to ask for help.
After dinner, the kitchen had to be spotless before Dan even left the dining room. Men shouldn’t see a mess; they must enter a clean space. And always stack the plates by size, wiping the counters twice because Dan hates crumbs.
Dress conservatively when Dan’s friends come over. We don’t want them thinking I’m too “modern” or that I’m not the “right kind of wife.” A good wife never wears anything above the knee, and the neckline should always be high. Anything else would embarrass Dan in front of his buddies.
Make sure Dan never does his laundry. A good wife always has fresh, ironed clothes ready, and socks folded just right—three folds, not two—because that’s how Dan likes them. He should never have to pick out mismatched socks or wear a wrinkled shirt. It reflects poorly on me if he does.
By the time I finished reading, I was furious. This wasn’t just outdated advice; it was a full-on expectation that I cater to Dan’s every wish like I had no other purpose.
And the worst part? Dan was okay with it. He hadn’t even reacted when I mentioned the rules.
I felt trapped, but I wasn’t going to let them get away with this. If they wanted to play this game, I’d play along, but on my terms.
The morning after I read Karen’s list, I woke up at 6 a.m., just like the rules said. I got out of bed, put on my makeup, and slipped into a nice dress.
I looked at myself in the mirror, quietly laughing at how silly this all was. But if Karen wanted me to play this part, I would—just with a twist.
I went downstairs and made breakfast, just like the rules said: plain toast and eggs. But I didn’t stop there. I took the tiniest slice of toast and a plain boiled egg and put them on Dan’s huge blue plate. The plate was so big that the small meal looked ridiculous.
I carefully set it on the table, smiling sweetly as Dan walked into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.
He looked at the plate, confused. “Isn’t there… anything else?”
I shook my head, smiling brightly. “Just following the rules. Plain eggs and toast! Want me to make another slice?”
Dan sighed, picking up the toast. “No… this is fine.”
I stood there watching him eat the driest breakfast ever, trying not to laugh. Oh, this was going to be entertaining.
Later that afternoon, I made a big show of going to the grocery store. I took my reusable bags and left the house, making sure Dan saw me go by myself, just like the rules said.
When I got back, I carried in all the bags myself, even the heavy ones. Dan watched from the couch, clearly uncomfortable but saying nothing. As I unpacked, he frowned.
“Where’s the beer? Did you forget it?” he asked.
“Oh no, I didn’t forget,” I said cheerfully. “I just didn’t want you getting lazy. Besides, sparkling water is good for you!”
I pulled out a six-pack of sparkling water, a big bottle of green juice, and some quinoa, knowing he wouldn’t touch any of them. Dan’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything. I could see he was starting to realize something was off, but I was just getting started.
After dinner, I followed the other rules in the letter. I wiped down the counters, washed the dishes, and cleaned the kitchen—but not really.
Instead of putting everything back where it belonged, I rearranged the whole kitchen. Plates went in the bathroom cupboard, utensils in the laundry room, and the toaster? I put that in the hall closet.
Dan came into the kitchen, looking around in confusion. “Why is everything all over the place?”
I turned to him with a worried look. “I’m doing my best! Maybe I need to wipe the counters three times instead of two?”
He blinked at me, totally confused, but he let it go. The fun was just beginning.
When Dan’s friends came over for football night a few days later, I made sure to follow Karen’s rule about dressing modestly. I dug through my closet and found the most old-fashioned outfit I could: a long skirt, high-collared blouse, and a buttoned-up cardigan that looked like something from the 1800s.
As soon as Dan’s friends arrived, I walked into the living room with a tray of snacks. His friends looked me up and down, confused but polite enough not to say anything.
Dan pulled me aside as soon as he could, whispering, “You know you don’t have to dress like that, right?”
I widened my eyes innocently. “But your mom said I have to dress modestly. We wouldn’t want them getting the wrong idea about me, would we?”
Dan’s friends exchanged awkward glances, but I kept smiling sweetly. The look on Dan’s face was priceless; he was starting to see that I was flipping this whole “good wife” idea upside down, and he was stuck going along with it.
Laundry day came, and I followed the rules again, but with a twist. I washed all of Dan’s clothes together: whites, darks, colors—everything went in one load. When I pulled them out, his once-clean shirts were now a lovely shade of pink, and his socks were either shrunk or mismatched.
Dan opened his drawer the next morning, pulling out one wrinkled pink shirt after another. “What happened to my clothes? These socks don’t even match!”
I walked in with an apologetic look. “Oh no! I must’ve messed up. I’ll try folding them in threes next time, just like the rules say.”
He groaned, putting on his mismatched socks before heading to work, completely defeated. I couldn’t help but smile.
By the end of the week, Dan had had enough. He was trying to eat yet another bland breakfast when Karen arrived, her usual smile on her face. She sat at the table, looking pleased.
“Lucia, I’m so glad to see you following the rules! Isn’t life easier now?”
I laughed quietly. “Oh, Karen, you have no idea.”
Dan slammed his fork down, surprising both of us. “Mom, we need to talk.”
Karen blinked, confused. “Talk about what?”
“These rules… they’re crazy,” Dan said, his voice rising. “I’m miserable, Lucia’s miserable, and this isn’t how we’re going to live.”
Karen looked shocked. “But, Dan, I just want to make sure you’re taken care of! I thought this was how marriage should be!”
Dan shot me a glance, and I shrugged. I was just following the rules, right?
“We need to find our own way,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re my wife, not my maid.”
Karen’s face fell, her smile fading. “I was just trying to help. I didn’t mean to upset you both…”
But it was too late. The damage was done. We spent the next few days talking about what we wanted our marriage to look like, finally finding a balance between his mom’s outdated ideas and our modern life.
The change didn’t happen overnight, but eventually, we found a way to laugh about the whole ordeal, especially when Dan had to explain to his mom why he was now making breakfast for me on Saturdays.
Karen never brought up the rules again, and I made sure to return the fancy box she gave me, filled with the crumpled paper and an assortment of mismatched socks. I told her I didn’t need them anymore.
Looking back, I can’t help but think that her gift, while ridiculous, actually brought us closer together. Dan and I learned how to communicate better, and we established what we wanted from our marriage without anyone else’s rules getting in the way.
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