There is much said about redheads.
Fiery hair, fiery temper. If brunettes are smart and blondes are dumb, then we redheads are sexpots. Slow to heal; easily bruised. [*]“You are a hemophiliac, aren’t you? No, I’m just a redhead." Higher pain threshold. Fair skin that freckles or burns, but rarely tans. In older times, redheads with green eyes were witches. [*]Mine are hazel, which tends to react to surrounding color, and funny, the red hair tends to keep mine a sort of sea foam green. We require more anesthetic. Do bees sting redheads more often? I’m pretty sure the wasps were more upset about the accidental destruction of their nest than the color of my hair. [*]And they all stung just my upper arm on the part that brushed against the nest; is there some kind of security alert scent spread on the outside to identify the vandals? I can definitely attest to mosquitoes preferring me over anyone around me. Redheads are said to go from red to blonde to white. I can’t wait for white. I’m a bit put out that I’ve got this brown phase going on before the blonde and white take over.
“There was a little girl, who had a little curl, right in the middle of her forehead. When she was good, she was very very good, but when she was bad, she was horrid.” — nursery rhyme that fit me to a tee
I was a sunny child, oblivious to what went unsaid. “Where did you get your pretty red hair?” “God gave it to me.” My parents both have dark brown hair. I was fully grown before I understood why Mommy was so pleased with my stock answer — a sweet innocent reply and reminder to the oh so proper church people asking the question. How was I to know what they might be implying?
My brother could always get under my skin. He knew every button to press. I never got scolded for screaming or crying; HE got the lectures about how to treat his little sister. I never learned emotional restraint in my childhood. Was it because my red hair was thought to indicate that I couldn’t?
We all carry regrets. When I gave my life to Christ, my heaviest regrets, those that weighed my back down with a load unbearable, were born of anger. Blame the hair, blame the lack of habit of, training for, skill at emotional restraint. When I got bent out of shape, those I cared about the most, those closest to me, were the ones to suffer. These may now be sins forgiven, but the harm to others? Their hurts are often not so easily healed.
I find myself in my second life surrounded by strength. By patience. By faithfulness. By truth. These are the traits of those who can stick through the thick and thin that is a redheaded emotional firestorm.
God, meds, humility, love. These and the superhero league surrounding me have worked to gentle me. No, really. They can attest. I used to be Way Worse than you see out of me now.
Well, yeah. And a weekend now and then, devoted solely to the redhead in me - it doesn't hurt.
This has been an entry for The Real LJ Idol writing competition: the Final Season, Topic 4 : “Nobody can ride your back if your back's not bent” .