Lindsey Grissom
Professor VanderVen
ENGL1102M Assignment 2 |
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Red
"Oh what beautiful hair you have! Why sweetie, it's just gorgeous!" Never mind that I'd just played Lady Allison's Minuet to perfection in my piano recital. I was only good for my hair. My older sister lucked out and got brownish blonde hair. I was so jealous. I looked like a bird of paradise flower all the time- a skinny, tall little thing with a mop of bright red hair. I towered over all of my classmates in elementary school, and I stuck out like a sore thumb in all the pictures. I was seven years old, and I hated having red hair.
"Oh! You must be the redheaded stepchild of the family! I hope your mother doesn't beat you for your temper!" The lady laughed like it was some kind of joke- a sick joke. She assumed, as many people have over the years, that since red hair is a sort of genetic mutation, that gives her license to degrade us and insult us. These people will stereotype redheads with a bad temper, but conveniently forget about that while they jeer at you. The idea of a redheaded stepchild made me uneasy. That year, my older sister had jokingly told me I had been adopted. She only told me that because I had told her the same thing a few weeks earlier. The only difference was, where she had laughed, I believed her, because it made sense. No one else had red hair in the family. I was sure I was a redheaded stepchild of some sort. Later on that day, at the tender age of six, I learned what a great-great grandfather was. One of those on each side, I was told, who used to have red hair is all you need to have red hair yourself. It was my first defense against the rampant redists. Because of these horrid stereotypes, I later developed a very quick temper. I would not hesitate to defend myself, and with such a role, I honed my talents in witty repartee. I studied the dictionary so that I could better understand the language and respond to insults. By fourth grade, I was dubbed "Ms. Thesaurus".
I've learned, over the years, that this is not an isolated incident among redheads. The prevalent image of a hot-tempered redhead has forced many redheads to develop certain defenses. But it doesn't stop there. The first time I decided to cut my long locks into a stylish bob, my stylist almost refused to do it. "You have a duty," she said, "to the world. You have to preserve your red hair." Whether in favor of or against redheads, the preconceived notions surrounding ginger hair limit our experiences. I've since learned to simply cut my hair myself the first time, so that my stylist can have no qualms about shearing my tresses. Learning to adapt to others' preconceptions about redheads is a lesson we learn early and often in our lives as Gingers.
In fourth grade I tried out for the play You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown. They told us there would be no typecasting - just because you had brown hair didn't mean you'd be Lucy. I'd always been told what a great little actress I was. At church I always got really good roles, since I was also a talented reader. I was cast as "The Little Red Headed Girl". The Little Redheaded Girl only struts out on the stage and waves coyly to Charlie Brown. I didn't even speak once. I didn't think it was fair then, and I still don't think it was. But redheads have a history of mistreatment. Ancient Egyptians ritually buried redheaded men alive. The ancient Greeks said that redheads were unbalanced, with their humors in the wrong proportions. In the dark ages, Europeans deemed redheads as wicked, deceitful, and unreliable, and used the fat of redheads as an essential ingredient in poisons. It's a trend that still carries on into modern times. Dr. Laura, the sharp-tongued voice of conservative radio, claims that redheads are social deviants who do nothing for the gene pool and are therefore useless (www.redheadsunited.com). It is this sort of thinking that presses redheads into social oppression. While they may try and keep us down, they instead create an environment perfect for redheads to unite together.
The first time I walked into a meeting of the Phi Kappa Literary Society here at UGA, I felt a little out of place. The first girl to come to my side, however, was a redhead. She looked at me once and said, "I'm so glad to see another redhead here, finally!" As redheads, we develop an instant camaraderie with other redheads. It transcends the cultural lines many other bonds must be defined by. Since the phenomenon known as "red hair" can occur in any race (Malcolm X was a redhead, as was Judas Iscariot, Kind Herod's daughter, and Nero), at any time, redheads are a global community. We only make up less than 4% of the global population; redheads are a true minority. But we don't receive minority rights, like other minorities. Our only doll representation is Midge, the Barbie with an utter lack of personality. On TV we've got Grace (from Will and Grace), Anne (Anne of Green Gables), and Donna (That 70s Show). Each is characterized as a "quirky" personality, a stereotype which redheads are often relegated to. We're sometimes treated as pseudo-Caucasians, slightly below others, our own separate class, and because of this sub-par distinction, we all understand the suffering. An American redhead will connect instantly with a Scottish redhead or an African redhead. As improbable as it seems, there are redheads of every race. Malcolm X himself was an actual redhead. I can remember countless times when I'd enter a room as a young child, be straight away accosted by a redhead fanatic, and immediately receive pitying looks from any other redheads present. This ability to instantly relate to any redhead creates a close knit community. My parents and friends never understood this bond. They didn't understand the special friendship my second grade teacher, Mrs. Greene, and I had. She, too, was a redhead. Often, during snack time, I'd sit near her desk and we'd talk about the boy who called me "Carrot-top" or the girl who asked why I looked like a ghost or why it looked like I didn't have eyelashes or eyebrows. Indeed, this solidarity is illustrated most frequently on the Internet, where a simple search of "redhead" will bring up countless cyber-communities for redheads to rant about prejudices and proclaim their pride. Few other cultures can claim such immediate bonds. To be sure, being a redhead compels one to reach out to other redheads, especially young children. I've always felt a strong urge to stop young ginger mothers and drop a quick tip in their ear. I can never stress enough the importance of mascara at a young age.
I know that I have a good chance of passing along the gene for red hair to any children I might have. I know, too, that as I grow up, the names and lewd comments won't stop. All redheads know this. It might seem melodramatic, even, to suggest that there is discrimination against redheads. But in my past eighteen years, I have lived the life of a redhead. And in those years, I've found that people really will form opinions about you based solely on the color of hair you might posses. I've learned that some people won't hesitate to pet and go into raptures over a complete and utter stranger. But I've also learned that redheads make wonderful and instantaneous friends, that everything my mother told me was true- redists really are jealous. And I've learned that my red tresses aren't going anywhere, and it's high time I joined the ranks of other proud redheads.
Works Cited
www.redheadsunited.com
so there you go, my own little english paper on being a redhead. acutally, on the culture of being a redhead. i'm still not sure i like it, but it works well enough, i suppose.
in other news
(and i can feel that, especially with that paper, not many people will make it down here)
i'm really tired and i have a french test tomorrow that i haven't studied for at all yet. i need to get on that, but i really want to finish Lanters on the Levee first. it's a really good book. i even capitalized it, so you know it's important.
ugh i'm craving chocolate right now! nevermind that i'm trying to get skinny again, i really want some chocolate!
i think i'll go scrounge some up
i'm wearing a sweatshirt
i didn't blowdry my hair
love
lindsey
