He was mocked and bullied for looking like a girl but despite the abus…

He was mocked and bullied for looking like a girl but despite the abuse, one unrepentant mother reveals: 'I didn't get my son's hair cut until he was TEN!'

By Christa D'souza

Published: 22:46 BST, 5 December 2012 | Updated: 23:05 BST, 5 December 2012









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 A damp Thursday afternoon and here I am with my ten-year-old son who is about to have his first ever hair cut.

Yes, that's right, I have a male child with hair well below his shoulders. Through his choice, I should stress. 

Those lunatics you read about who keep their sons' hair long and dress them in pink because secretly they wish they'd given birth to a girl? I'm not one of them, I swear.







Carefree: Django with long hair and (right) the new cut

Django has always had long hair. He has never set foot in a barber's shop. As it grew in magnificent ringlets down his back, quite often he was mistaken for a girl.

Inevitably, there was teasing, and other parents regarded me suspiciously, suspecting me of a form of middle-class child abuse. Still, Django wanted to keep it long, and so long it stayed.





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His three brothers and father — all with conventional short back and sides — grew fond of this little ‘mophead' in the house, while he seemed impervious to the comments.

He loved the attention it brought, particularly from girls. And so for ten years the ringlets grew unchecked. Until today. Until the big chop.

Before you start calling social services, jadwal film porno zambia let me explain why I waited ten years to take my son for a hair cut.

It most definitely has nothing to do with slovenliness or neglect. I can assure you, a child with long ringlets requires far higher maintenance than a child with hair shaved three-quarters of an inch all round. 

One contemporary used to insist that every time she looked at my son, she started scratching her head, but on the nits front, his head was always clear, having had to be combed through almost every night. That was the only thing he hated about long hair, the combing. 



Bullied: Christa D'Souza's son Django was bullied because of his long hair

Otherwise, hand on heart, there was no arm twisting, I never had to force him to keep it long. He liked it that way. As did I. Those leonine, tumbling ringlets that were always such a conversation piece, I adored them.

I have always offered him the choice, just as I have offered both him and his brothers the choice of boarding school. You could say I have been guilty of facilitating the situation, of shielding him from real life. 

When there was a whiff of playground teasing at his last school, I whipped him out immediately and put him in one where lots of boys, not to mention their dads, also have long hair.

Before shopkeepers, immigration officers and waiters had a chance to refer to him as ‘her', I was right in there going: 'And my son will have...'

Meanwhile, I always tried as hard as I could to maintain a long-hair friendly household, always dropping little hints about how manly men with long hair could be. 

Look at footballers Fernando Torres, look at Didier Drogba, I'd say. Look at my all-time hero rock star, Robert Plant. Do they have to pull their pants down to prove they are not girls?

But, in truth, it wasn't easy. So how did this demand for a hair cut come about? At first, I have to confess I suspected my other half of having dropped a little poison in his ear, but he insisted on his innocence. 

In the end, it took me a week to get to the bottom of why Django wanted to be rid of that beautiful hair: he was getting bullied at football.

They called him a 'shemale' and wouldn't pass him the ball because they thought he looked too much like a girl.







Long haired: Actor Jared Leto (left) and footballer, Fernando Torres, are both famous for their long hair

Then it all came pouring out, how he was sick of big girls wanting to touch his hair, sick of having to put people straight, sick of having to brush it out of his eyes. All of which made wonder why we hadn't saved him pain and done this sooner.

It also forced me to confront my own motives for allowing his hair to be like that for so long. Might not my inability to produce a girl subconsciously be part of it? 

In protecting him from the real world, might I have been guilty of  infantalising him, of preserving him as my baby while his next older brother, now 6ft 2in and with a voice deeper than his dad's, is such a grown-up? 

My guilt deepened. Had he been keeping it long just for his mother's sake? Is that what he saw as his pre-designated role within the family — to be, as it were, the household 'dolly'?

So here I am, knuckles stuffed in my mouth while Django sits in an oversized gown in a chair, calmly discussing with Marisa, his stylist, what hairstyle he wants.

He points to a picture of a male model with a short back and sides and — gulp — a quiff. Undaunted by the task ahead of her, Marisa combs out one of his wet, almost waist-length ringlets, and starts chopping.

Within minutes, a small crowd has formed around our station oohing and aahhing at the great Rapunzel hanks which fall onto a pile under his chair. 

While I suppress a very real urge to pick them up and bury my face in them, he seems completely unbothered, only occasionally looking up while he flips through a magazine.

When Marisa is finished, she hands him a mirror to survey the back of his head. Yes, he is delighted, this is exactly what he wanted. I, on the other hand, am overcome with emotion. It is certainly a beautiful cut; Marisa's a clever lady.



Tough: French rugby player Sebastien Chabal might have long hair but it hasn't slowed his career down

But who is this new little person with normal 'boy' hair? This new little person who nobody would ever, in a million years, mistake for a girl? 

On the car ride home, I keep having to look at him in my rear-view mirror. Looking at him looking at himself, I should add.

Yes, it's what he wanted, but it is hard for us both, reconciling the person he is now with the person he was an hour or so earlier. They look so completely and utterly different. 

I make a checklist: the passport picture — that's definitely going to have to be replaced. He keeps touching his head and playing with his new quiff. I want to have a feel, but he won't let me. 

In fact, now it feels there is an invisible orbit around his head just like there is around the head of his 14-vear-old brother. Enter only at your peril, it says.

Oh, Lord. I am sure I will get used to it eventually, but the dread of waking up tomorrow and experiencing that horrid cold dawning that no it wasn't a dream, it is very much for real. 

After a week with my short-haired son, suddenly the sight of other little boys with long hair rather repulses me. I can't help thinking of those women you read about who keep their little boys' hair long and dress them up as girls. Is this how other mothers used to see me?

Oddly, I think Django may even have grown a bit in height since he has had it cut. As yet, they have not discovered a link between very long hair on boys and stunted growth, but maybe one day they will.

But oh, what a massive tug there is at my heart any time I look at a ‘before' picture. It's a little like looking at pictures of him with his baby teeth. That was an era that can never be recaptured. 

So where has it all gone? The hair, I mean? Well it is in a bag under my bed, actually, next to my father's ashes.

That sounds ghoulish I know but, the baby teeth, the scans (so primitive compared with the ones you get now) and even the pregnancy detector stick where the line went blue instead of pink, they're under there, too. 

Besides photos and videos, that is all I have left of my baby. Excuse me, would you, while I go and have a private sob … and a sniff.