As I strolled through the park one day with my son, a cyclist zoomed by and shouted, “Look at that carrot top!” I almost retorted that carrot tops are green, but he was gone before I could even open my mouth. Even if he had heard me, my comeback would have landed as well as it did in my childhood—namely, not at all.
Every outing with my son brings a fresh wave of unsolicited remarks about his stunning curly red hair. The rudeness knows no bounds. Comments range from “He’ll be trouble!” to “Redheads have no souls!” Yet, the most frustrating remark is the one disguised as a question: “Where did he get that red hair?”
Growing up, my own hair was a fiery color that attracted its fair share of teasing. Initially, whenever strangers stopped to inquire about my son’s hair, my husband would shoot me a pointed glance. That didn’t deter anyone, so he tried a casual approach: “Me, obviously.” This, too, failed to silence the curious, prompting him to give mini-lessons on genetics: “It’s all in chromosome 16.” I would chime in with a more palatable explanation: “Both of us. It’s a recessive gene.”
Despite our earnest attempts, the inquiries kept rolling in. I tried familial references: “It’s the same shade as my mom’s hair when she was a kid. He looks just like her baby pictures!” This approach has worked moderately well; it provides an answer to the underlying question: How can this child have hair so different from his parents?
Still, I find these responses unsatisfactory. I would rather not delve into a family history of hair color while managing a toddler in a crowded grocery store. Sometimes, I dream of simply saying “my lover” in response, but while that would be amusing, it wouldn’t be a teaching moment for my child.
My discomfort stems from the realization that I shouldn’t be the one answering these questions. In her book, Red: A History of the Redhead, Julia Bennett highlights a critical point: “Growing up as a redhead, it sometimes felt as if the last person my red hair belonged to was me.” The comments aren’t directed at my son; they’re about him. When people yell “carrot top” or joke that he has no soul, they act as though he isn’t there.
If these individuals truly engaged with my son, they could easily say, “I love your curly red hair.” Yet, I can’t recall a single person outside our family ever offering him that compliment.
Now that he’s old enough to chat, I’ve taken a step back, allowing him to respond. His reply is proof that children possess a creativity that often surpasses adults: “No, it’s green.” Depending on his mood, his tone shifts from playful to defiant.
This response is perfect; it firmly asserts his identity and requires people to engage with him directly. Sometimes, the questioners will play along, saying, “Yes, it’s a lovely green color.” His favorite reply has even led some clueless individuals to whisper about possible colorblindness—particularly amusing since my son can accurately name every color in the store!
He quickly clarifies, “Actually, my hair is blue now.”
The constant stream of comments can be overwhelming, but it’s a chance to teach my son how to navigate the world and assert himself. For more insights on navigating similar situations, check out this article here. If you’re considering home insemination, reputable online retailers like Cryobaby offer excellent kits, and you can also find valuable information in this resource on intrauterine insemination.
In summary, the comments about my son’s hair may come from a place of curiosity, but they often overlook his individuality. By encouraging him to express himself, I hope he learns to embrace his uniqueness while navigating the complexities of social interactions.