Despite the fact that we all have mixed memories of school, we can all relate to the rules. This is a tumultuous moment of highs and lows.
While some rules, like the one against wearing jewelry to athletic events, make sense, it seems unnecessary to send someone home because they brought a certain soda or because they are wearing too much makeup. It also misses teaching opportunities for the kids involved.
The strict dress codes enforced by schools often clash with the times in children’s lives when they want to be different and express who they are.
For one mother and her child, these rules might have been excessive, and they might have kept an 8-year-old boy from getting an excellent education.
Farouk James of London, England, attracts the attention of model scouts due to his amazing hairstyle. He is currently working as a child model and has completed photo shoots in Italy and New York.
But his appearance has only made things difficult for him in the classroom; multiple institutions have rejected him due to the length of his hair.
Bonnie Miller, James’s mother, says she was told when her older brother was in school that his hair was too short.
Bonnie claims that Farouk’s father is from Ghana and that, in accordance with traditional traditions, his parents waited until he was three years old to cut his hair.
“At that point, he was attached— and so was I, to be honest— with his beautiful hair,” Bonnie stated to CBS News. “We kept the hair only.”
The family lives in the UK, where most schools have a policy against guys wearing long hair, even if girls are allowed to.
Bonnie claims that cutting a child’s hair violates their human rights.
“I will not give up trying to persuade governments to put legislation in place to protect children from these outdated, punishing rules,” his mother Bonnie wrote in an Instagram post.
“Despite the fact that Farok has done nothing wrong, you reject him! He will have to say farewell to his buddies when they are all accepted into the universities he so desperately wants to attend.
Because of this, Bonnie even started a Change.org petition to make hair discrimination illegal in the UK.
“We’re assembling a real team and dubbed it the Mane Generation,” Bonnie said. “We are going to fight this until these rules are changed. It also spreads over the entire world, not only the United Kingdom.
Farouk’s mother has an Instagram account that boasts over a quarter of a million followers, showcasing his lively nature and role as a child model.
They still get hate mail, though, despite all the love and support he gets online. Bonnie stated she received a lot of negative comments after discussing the family’s search for a school that will welcome Farouk and his hair on the well-known U.K. TV morning show “This Morning.”
“This is mental health week, so I’m surprised to be receiving lots of negative comments about Farouk’s hair,” Bonnie said in May of last year.
“Farouk refuses to cut his hair to appease people; it is a God-given feature of him, and he does not keep it long at my request.”
Bonnie argues that the clothing regulations for boys and girls in schools are outdated and often discriminatory because many schools prohibit braids and dreadlocks.
The mother vows that she will never give up on gaining acceptance for Farouk, his hair, and all the other children who encounter discrimination because they want to display their cultural heritage and identity.
In 2022, it will not be acceptable for people in charge of our children’s education to turn away a student because of the color of their hair. Farouk’s hair is an essential component of who he is. These rules should be prohibited.
My Mom Told Me Not to Visit for 3 Months Due to ‘Renovations’ — When I Decided to Surprise Her, I Discovered the Gory Truth She Was Hiding
For three months, Mia’s mom insisted she stay away while her house was being renovated. But something didn’t sit right. When Mia arrives unannounced, she finds the door unlocked, the house eerily pristine, and a strange smell in the air. Mia is about to stumble upon a devastating secret.
The city was just waking up as I drove through its empty streets. Early morning light painted everything in soft hues, but I couldn’t shake this gnawing feeling in my gut. Something was wrong.
A woman driving | Source: Midjourney
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white. Mom’s voice echoed in my head as my memory replayed all those hurried phone calls and weird excuses. “Oh, honey, I can’t have you over. The house is a mess with all these renovations.”
But three months without seeing her? That wasn’t like us. We used to be thick as thieves, her and me.
I worried about what had changed as I waited at an intersection. Mom had always been house-proud, constantly tweaking and updating our home. But this felt different.
An intersection | Source: Pexels
Her voice on the phone lately… she always sounded so tired. Sad, even. And every time I’d try to press her on it, she’d brush me off. “Don’t worry about me, Mia. How’s that big project at work going? Have you gotten that promotion yet?”
I knew she was keeping something from me, and I’d let it slide for far too long.
A woman driving | Source: Midjourney
So here I was, way too early on a Saturday morning, driving across town because I couldn’t shake this feeling that something was terribly wrong.
As I pulled up to Mom’s house, my heart sank. The garden, usually Mom’s pride and joy, was overgrown and neglected. Weeds poked through the flower beds, and the rosebushes looked like they hadn’t seen pruning shears in months.
“What the hell?” I muttered. I killed the engine and rushed to the gate.
A woman walking up a front path | Source: Midjourney
I walked up to the front door, my footsteps echoing in the quiet morning. When I tried the handle, it turned easily. Unlocked. That wasn’t like Mom at all.
Fear prickled across my skin as I stepped inside. There was no dust, or building materials in sight. No sign of a drop cloth or any paint cans either. And what was that smell? Sharp and citrusy. The place was too clean, too sterile. Like a hospital.
“Mom?” I called out.
No answer.
A woman standing in a hallway | Source: Midjourney
My eyes swept the entryway, landing on a familiar photo on the side table. It was us at the beach when I was maybe seven or eight. I was grinning at the camera, gap-toothed and sunburned, while Mom hugged me from behind, laughing.
The glass was smudged with fingerprints, mostly over my face. That was weird. Mom was always wiping things down, keeping everything spotless. But this… it looked like someone had been touching the photo a lot, almost frantically.
A chill ran down my spine.
A woman holding a framed photo | Source: Midjourney
“Mom?” I called again, louder this time. “You here?”
That’s when I heard it. A faint creaking came from upstairs.
My heart raced as I climbed the stairs. The quiet felt heavy, pressing in on me from all sides. I tried to steady my breathing as I walked down the hallway toward Mom’s room.
“Mom?” My voice came out as a whisper now. “It’s me. It’s Mia.”
I pushed open her bedroom door, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis.
A bedroom door | Source: Unsplash
There she was, struggling to sit up in bed. But this… this couldn’t be my mother. The woman before me was frail and gaunt, her skin sallow against the white sheets. And her hair… oh God, her beautiful hair was gone, replaced by a scarf wrapped around her head.
“Mia?” Her voice was weak, barely above a whisper. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”
I stood frozen in the doorway, my mind refusing to process what I was seeing.
A woman standing in a doorway | Source: Midjourney
“Mom? What… what happened to you?”
She looked at me with those familiar brown eyes, now sunken in her pale face. “Oh, honey,” she sighed. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.”
I stumbled to her bedside, dropping to my knees. “Find out what? Mom, please, tell me what’s going on.”
She reached out a thin hand, and I clasped it in both of mine. It felt so fragile, like a bird’s bones.
“I have cancer, Mia,” she said softly.
People holding hands | Source: Pexels
Time stopped and my world narrowed down to how dry her lips looked as she spoke and the hollow feeling in my chest. I couldn’t breathe.
“… undergoing chemotherapy for the past few months,” she finished.
“Cancer? But… but why didn’t you tell me? Why did you keep this from me?”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “I didn’t want to burden you, sweetheart. You’ve been working so hard for that promotion. I thought… I thought I could handle this on my own.”
A woman sitting in bed | Source: Midjourney
Anger flared up inside me, hot and sudden. “Handle it on your own? Mom, I’m your daughter! I should have been here! I should have known!”
“Mia, please,” she pleaded. “I was trying to protect you. I didn’t want you to see me like this, so weak and…”
“Protect me?” I cut her off, my voice rising as tears blurred my vision. “By lying to me? By keeping me away when you needed me most? How could you do that?”
A shocked woman | Source: Midjourney
Mom’s face crumpled, and she started to cry, too. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry, Mia. I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn’t want to be a burden.”
I climbed onto the bed beside her, careful not to jostle her too much, and pulled her into my arms.
“Oh, Mom,” I whispered. “You could never be a burden to me. Never.”
We sat there for a long time, just holding each other and crying. All the fear and pain of the past few months came pouring out.
A sad woman | Source: Midjourney
When we finally calmed down, I helped Mom get more comfortable, propping her up with pillows. Then I went downstairs and made us both some tea, my mind reeling with everything I’d learned.
Back in her room, I perched on the edge of the bed, handing her a steaming mug. “So,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Tell me everything. From the beginning.”
And she did. She told me about the diagnosis, the shock, and the fear. How she’d started treatment right away, hoping to beat it before I even knew something was wrong.
A woman lying in bed | Source: Midjourney
“But it spread so fast,” she said, her voice trembling. “By the time I realized how bad it was, I was already so sick.”
I took her hand again, squeezing gently. “Mom, don’t you get it? I love you. All of you. Even the sick parts, even the scared parts. Especially those parts. That’s what family is for.”
She looked at me, her eyes filled with a mixture of love and regret. “I just… I’ve always been the strong one, you know? Your rock. I didn’t know how to be anything else.”
A woman glancing to one side | Source: Midjourney
I smiled through my tears. “Well, now it’s my turn to be the rock. I’m not going anywhere, Mom. We’re in this together, okay?”
She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Okay.”
I moved back in with Mom later that week. I also took time off work and called in every favor I could to get Mom the best care possible, even if all we could do was keep her as comfortable as possible.
We spent her final days together, sharing stories and memories, laughing and crying together. And when the end came, I was right there beside her.
A woman lying beside her mother | Source: Midjourney
“I’m sorry, Mia,” she whispered. “I wanted… I never took you to Disneyland… I promised to take you camping in the mountains… so many promises I’ve broken…”
“It’s not important.” I moved closer to her on the bed. “What matters is that you were always there for me when I needed you. You always knew how to make me smile when I was sad, or make everything better when I messed something up.” I sniffed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you, Mom.”
Her eyes cracked open, and she smiled faintly at me.
Close up of a woman’s eyes | Source: Midjourney
“You’re going to be okay, Mia. You’re so strong… my amazing daughter. I love you so much.”
I put my arms around her and hugged her as tightly as I dared. I’m not sure exactly when she slipped away, but when I eventually pulled back, Mom was gone.
I stayed there for a long time, trying to hold onto the warmth of our last hug as sobs racked my body, replaying her last words in my mind. Trying to keep her with me, no matter how impossible that was.
A woman grieving | Source: Midjourney
Saying goodbye to Mom was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But I wouldn’t trade those moments I spent with her for anything in the world.
Because in the end, that’s what love is. It’s showing up, even when it’s hard. It’s being there, even in the darkest moments. It’s holding on tight and never letting go.
Here’s another story: My name is Larissa, and I’m just a regular woman trying to keep up with the demands of life. Between work and everything else, I sometimes forget to slow down and focus on what really matters. But nothing could have prepared me for the day I returned to my childhood home, only to find it reduced to rubble and my mother missing.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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