Red--the color of my hair. According to the Miriam-Webster dictionary, red is defined as "having the color of blood; reddish brown or reddish orange in color." Growing up, I hated every strand of my reddish-orange hair. Please don't misunderstand. I had a wonderful childhood. But people either loved my hair or they (mostly boys) hurled nicknames at me: Annie, Little Red, Chester Cheetah. Don't feel too sorry for me. I always kicked back.
One of the secondary characters in my debut novel Free Runner is a redhead. In my research, I came across an interesting
article, "Why Do People Hate Redheads?" Research is vital to any writer at any stage of their career. We don't just "write what we know." It's imperative we research and write what we don't know. My dreams last night included me running away from one angry venomous snake with fangs the size of giant needles, trying to puncture my skin. Warning! Researching things late at night can cost you a good night's sleep. I expect to be chased by the CIA or South African Button spiders tonight.
I sported blond hair until the end of Kindergarten. By the beginning of first grade, my head was covered in red. Great Britain refers to redheads as gingers. I learned that my great grandmother was a redhead from Ireland. During my dreadful teenage years, I dumped a bottle of peroxide on my hair--on purpose. Nothing happened. I poured lemon juice on my hair and sat out in the sun all day. The same "nothing" happened. I've since learned it is extremely hard to dye natural red hair.
"Bees are thought to sting redheads more than those of other hair colors." So, that explains my constant attack from killer bees. I should be thankful I'm a redhead living in today's world. If I showed up with my blazened hair during the Spanish inquisition, well, I'd would have been "accused of having stolen the fires of hell, then quickly burned as a witch."
On the flip side, if I were a slave in ancient Rome, I'd sell for a higher price. But not everyone appreciates redheads. If I was living in Corsica, someone might spit and turn their back on me. And according to this article, "In France, there is hardly a fate worse than to be a redhead." Sorry, French friends, not sure if that's how you really feel!
When I went off to college, I started to hear compliments on my hair from someone other than my mother. Today, you won't find one strand of gray hair on my head. I guess we don't go gray. White will probably be my fate. So, for all my dear old friends who called me names and now struggle to hide their gray hairs, I would like to say I've had the exact same hair color since I was five.
I feel unique to be a part of only 2% of all Americans and only 4% of the entire world population. If you don't hate on redheads, we can be friends unless you are a bee, have a spitting problem or own a time machine. If you are a writer, what are you researching? Does it give you nightmares or does it give you wings?
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