The day he finally cut his hair, his mother cried before the scissors even touched it.

Not dramatic.

Just quiet tears slipping down her face while her son sat in the salon chair smiling nervously at her through the mirror.

For ten years, his hair had become part of who he was.

Teachers remembered him because of it.

Classmates mocked him because of it.

Strangers stared because of it.

But his mother knew the real reason.

Every inch of that hair was love grown patiently over time.