Is just one the of the ridiculous questions I was asked recently in regards to his luxurious locks.

I don’t know what it is about seeing a redhead that brings the craziness out in people. I mean, sometimes it’s like the general public lose all kinds of common sense when they see me and Little Man coming.

To be fair, most of the time what I hear is compliments. We’re known in the neighbourhood purely because of our hair so it’s been easy to make friends and stop and chat to people. Little Man won’t be able to get away with anything when he’s older because everyone knows where we live and a young lad at the park actually seems to stroke his hair for luck before playing tag so I know people have become accustomed to seeing us around. This makes me sound like some kind of alien but I’ve never really understood the way people go cray-cray for red hair. I mean, it is pretty awesome but it’s also just hair.

Those of you that have been around from the start of this blog will remember the many times I wrote about inappropriate responses from people who see my son rocking his glorious copper-hued mane (surprisingly most happen to be from retail staff).

There was the time when he was a few months old and I was advised that I may have dye his hair to avoid bullying. And the time my friend and I were stalked by two elderly ladies and asked if our children were cousins because they are both of the ginger army variety. Or the time a staff member said Little Man’s hair colour was wasted on a boy and he appeared to swipe the nearest shelf of it’s goods in retaliation.

First of all, the day my son dyes his hair is the day he chooses too for the right reasons. The only reason being is if he has turned into a goth (he has the skin for it). If he dyes his hair to avoid bullying at school I’m not going to give him an easy time at home about it. Own it baby, own it.

Secondly, redheads tend to have smart mouths. We develop it as a tool because comments are inevitable, especially in the UK where the amount of abuse you can receive is truly mind-boggling – I’m not just talking about the equivalent of the occasional blonde joke here. As a good natured example, in some circles I’m still known as “B” after Bianca, a red haired character in a soap opera called Eastenders. A show that is watched or known by everyone in Britain, and geez, her overly dramatic life was so similar to mine when I was TWELVE.

And thirdly, please don’t ever tell me that his hair would look better on a girl. Seriously, what is that statement even about?

Until next time,



1 comment

  1. Underneath that hair is a Irish/Scottish heart that will win the day no matter what is said about his looks. Rock on little braveheart. P.s. Just don’t let him near a set of bagpipes! Love grandad xxx

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