I can’t quite recall the exact moment in my childhood when I first felt that sting of not fitting in. You know, the nagging feeling of being left out of the “cool kids” club or the self-consciousness about my freckles and what some considered my “large ears.” Those comments stung, whether they were whispered behind my back or shouted across the playground. “Someone called you a freckled monkey today!” and “Wow, your ears are so big, you look just like Dumbo!” were among the unkind remarks that echoed in my mind.
Many parents can probably relate to this experience. Unless, of course, you belonged to the elite “cool crowd” that everyone admired. If you were one of those kids, I sincerely hope you treated your more awkward classmates with kindness.
I certainly wasn’t one of the cool kids. I was the girl who faced teasing in elementary school and the one who helped classmates search for their lost retainers in the sand under the swing set, fearing the wrath of their mothers.
As I grew older, I found my tribe—friends who embraced me for who I was. I gradually shed the negative comments of my childhood and emerged as a confident young woman. But little did I know that becoming a parent would bring back those old feelings. As a soon-to-be mom, I didn’t think, “I wonder what my kid will be teased about?”
When my daughter, Ava, turned four, she had her first school lunch. With only three girls in her class of seven, the infamous “girl triangle” quickly emerged. We all know how that goes—a trio of girls often leads to some friendship drama.
Before long, Ava was feeling the heat: “Sara and Emily said my picture was ugly today!” and “Emily told me my shoes don’t sparkle like hers!” As any parent would, I stepped in to help her navigate these tricky waters. “Each of us is a unique artist, and clearly, little Emily needs her eyes checked!” I might have left out the last part.
However, as the school year progressed, things became increasingly challenging. Each day brought a new issue, a fresh mean comment, and it was exhausting. Ava started mirroring her friends; suddenly, her favorite color was whatever little Sara liked, and she wanted shoes just like theirs. I knew I had to put a stop to this.
One particularly difficult day, I asked her, “What would make you feel more like yourself? You need to stop focusing on others and think about what makes you unique. How about painting your nails your favorite color or trying something new like dance?”
“No, I want to dye my hair!” she exclaimed.
While not what I expected, I was at my wit’s end and decided to roll with it. After confirming that this would genuinely make her feel like herself, I ran it by my husband, and off we went to get supplies. We grabbed some bleach and two vibrant shades of Manic Panic: fluorescent teal and pink.
That evening, I reiterated, “This will be permanent. The color might fade, but the blonde streak will stick around for a year or two unless you plan to shave your head.” Ava was sure this was what she wanted, so we went for it. I meticulously divided her lovely brown locks and bleached a two-inch section. After rinsing and drying, we applied the Manic Panic, and just like that, Ava had a fabulous new hairdo that she adored. In that moment, it was exactly what she needed.
Was it a bit over the top? Sure. But I noticed a positive shift in her attitude. Her classmates definitely took note of her new look, as did some of the school staff. But honestly? I didn’t care. It’s just hair! Life is too short to sweat the small stuff, and this change gave Ava a much-needed confidence boost.
Fast forward three years, and now Ava is seven. I’m sure many people raised eyebrows at our decision to dye her hair at such a young age; my own mother was initially furious. Yet, she soon came around as she saw how it lifted Ava’s spirits. In a strange way, it helped her embrace her uniqueness and realize that being herself was pretty great. Sure, we could’ve read a book about self-acceptance, but instead, we dyed her hair!
Over time, we’ve re-bleached that same section and experimented with different colors, or sometimes she just lets the blonde streak be. This choice has become a part of who she is, and she loves it.
As parents, we all do our best to make decisions we believe are in our children’s best interests. I give Ava the freedom to express herself, although I’m not about to let her get that Barbie tattoo on her bicep just yet! In the end, I’ve learned that parenting is just as challenging as childhood itself. We strive to remind our kids of their worth and individuality, whether it’s through a bottle of hair dye or other means.
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In summary, allowing my daughter to dye her hair was a pivotal moment in her journey of self-expression. It helped her embrace her individuality, and as parents, we’re all just trying to do our best in raising confident kids.