While taking a stroll in the park with my son one day, a cyclist zoomed by and shouted, “Look at that carrot top!” I considered responding by pointing out that carrot tops are actually green, but he was gone before I could say anything. Honestly, even if he had heard me, my attempts at clever comebacks would likely have landed as clumsily as they did back in elementary school.
Every outing with my son seems to invite an array of unsolicited remarks about his striking curly red hair. The comments can be downright rude and thoughtless: “He’ll be a handful!” or “That redhead is bound to cause trouble.” The most perplexing of all, however, is the question disguised as curiosity: “Where did he get that red hair?”
Having dealt with teasing about my own red hair during my junior high years, I initially relied on my husband to field these inquiries. He would shoot a pointed look at my hair when questioned, but this tactic did little to deter the curious. Next, he attempted to brush it off with a nonchalant, “Me, obviously,” but that didn’t stop the barrage either. Eventually, he resorted to giving mini-lessons on genetics: “That’s the long arm of chromosome 16.” I offered a more relatable explanation: “Both of us. It’s actually a recessive gene.”
Despite our efforts, the questions persisted. I started providing family-based explanations: “His hair is the same shade as my mom’s in her childhood photos!” This seemed to satisfy the questioners, as they often needed to reconcile how my son could have such hair when neither parent did.
I often feel frustrated by these responses. I wish to avoid discussing our family’s genetic history while navigating the aisles of the grocery store with a toddler. Sometimes, I fantasize about simply saying “a different lover” and walking away. While that might be amusing for me, it wouldn’t teach my son any valuable lessons about engaging with the world.
The underlying issue, as articulated in Jackie Colliss Harvey’s book Red: A History of the Redhead, is that it often feels as though my son’s hair belongs to everyone but him. The people making these comments are not addressing him directly; they’re speaking about him as if he’s invisible. When they call him carrot top or suggest he has no soul, they overlook the fact that he’s right there, absorbing their words.
If these individuals were genuinely engaging with my son, they could simply say, “I love your curly red hair.” Yet, I can’t recall a single stranger outside our family offering him such a compliment.
Now that my son is old enough to speak for himself, I’ve stepped back and let him respond. His answers are a testament to children’s creativity: “No, it’s green.” Depending on his mood and how many times he’s been asked that day, his tone ranges from playful to confrontational.
This clever retort not only declares his individuality but also challenges people to engage with him rather than simply commenting about him. Most often, questioners quickly join in, playfully affirming, “Yes, it’s a lovely green color.” Some have even speculated about colorblindness, which is quite humorous since anyone who follows us around the store would hear my son confidently naming the colors of everything we encounter. He frequently tells them that his hair is now blue, much to everyone’s amusement.
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In summary, navigating the comments about my son’s vibrant hair has been a journey filled with both frustration and humor. As he grows, I hope he learns to embrace his uniqueness and respond in ways that assert his identity.
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