Hoover 1 Kate Hoover Ms.

Gardner Honors English 10, Period 2 15 January 2014 Not a Soul in Sight As a child--young, naive, and full of innocence--it was never a surprise when a stranger would tell me that I have pretty hair. My bangs have a mind of their own; I have long since resigned my duties of yanking a brush through my hair; a recent haircut left my locks in short dissatisfaction, not long enough to be supported by my shoulders, and just barely long enough to tuck behind my ears: how can I possibly have pretty hair? Going to the grocery store, walking the dog, spending a day at the beach--I was never caught off guard by someone who would make a comment on the current state of the mess on my head, but what puzzled me was the inevitable question: why? Of course, I never voiced those specific thoughts; although, I managed to voice anything and everything else that the average curious kid would feel the need to ask or say. Replying with a modest grin and on occasion a shy thank you, I would dismiss any persons sincere remark on my hair. The usual, I wish I had your hair, with much exasperation, was a constant remark made by my mother, my grandmother, my aunts, my family friends--everyone, as fingers were sifted through strands without permission. Why? It is board straight, it cant hold a curl if its life depended on it, it develops an electric mind of its own after a rainstorm when the crisp, dry air comes anywhere near it, it is virtually impossible to manage after a dunk in the pool--it is so ordinary. Yet, there is something that sets apart my rats nest from all of the other rats nests of the world.

Hoover 2 After years of churning the gears in my developing brain as to why my tangled mop atop my head could ever be considered pleasant, I finally noticed what set me apart from all the other mops: the color. I realized it isnt common to have an assortment of the beginning of a rainbow throughout the strands. My hair was always strawberry blonde: blonde, like all of my elementary school friends, except with hints of a ripe fruit. In my defense, who doesnt love strawberries? I wasnt aware of the brutal connotations with myself and the color of my hair that would become so important to how I looked at myself: suddenly, the wide-eyed child was replaced with associations with blood, war, hatred, sin, seduction, and ferocity. The Little Mermaid I once idolized for having endless confidence and bravery, eclectic seashell fashion and thing-a-ma-bob collection, was no longer just another Disney Princess-Ariel was a redhead. The freckles on my face werent sun kisses, as my parents playfully named them, but the result of my fair skin color and extreme sensitivity to ultraviolet light--commonalities that are strung together as a result of the recessive gene that I inherited. My mother--an elegantly oliveskinned, brunette-headed swimmer. My father--a regularly tanned, blonde-streaked surfer. Their daughter--a deathly pale, carrot-topped outdoor adventurist with her only kryptonite: sunlight. I realized that sunscreen was a necessity during the months of summer; meanwhile, my peers were spending hours baking under the suns rays to achieve the warmest color skin they possibly could without resulting in immediate skin cancer. I walked down the blacktop aisle of my sixth grade promotion in a deep, painful shade of red due to the forgotten appliance of sunscreen at a pool party the previous day--all of my other classmates had gracefully earned a golden tone, effortlessly.

Hoover 3 I realized that my preceding donation of my hair to Locks of Love may have taken a teninch burden off of my shoulders and onto someone elses--only for them to be teased just as much, if not more, than me. I was told that giving my hair to another individual to call their own was a praised, selfless act: generosity is a quality that many pursue. Yes, I was a considerate tenyear-old, but am I now an inconsiderate fifteen-year-old if I were to give it away again? Middle school knocked all the remaining innocence out of my mind, as I was introduced to a new concept that would carve a path towards my unfortunate, to say the least, role in society: I was a soulless ginger. Whether I have early history to thank for labelling those with red hair as wanted by neither God nor Satan or an episode of South Park, where the unique term was first keyed, this punishment for my supposed lack of a soul took a considerable blow to my confidence. Every other day, in seventh grade, I was reminded by two boys sitting a row behind me in P.E. roll call of being a soulless ginger, and this internal state being the reason as to why I acted the way I did. Why did I have a better mile time than they did? It couldnt possibly be because I was physically active; it was because I was a soulless ginger. How did I pass the belay test in the Rock Climbing Unit and they didnt? There was no way is was because I paid attention to instruction; it was because I was, and am, a soulless ginger. Somehow I survived the courage-damaging introduction to reality without any visible battle scars; although, I cant account for the numerous injuries to my once young, naive, and full of innocence spirit. Somehow in a world of cosmetic shelves lined with hundreds of different hair dyes, I remain true to my original roots. Somehow the traits I received from my parents, and a pheomelanin pigment that allowed my hair its distinctive color, determined my emotional nature and morals. Somehow my inheritance of the genetics on chromosome 16 left me without the ability to feel or express sympathy and kindness towards others, or to have an appreciation

Hoover 4 for art and the beautiful things in life. Somehow being a soulless ginger lead me to being an inadequate human being. Somehow I have flaws that I have no control over, and only exist within the eyes of others. Somehow, whether I approve of it or not, having strawberry blonde colored hair is directly associated with being incomplete. Who doesnt love strawberries? A lot of people, apparently.

Works Cited http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_hair

Hoover 5 http://carolynnmarie.hubpages.com/hub/Living-As-A-Redhead http://articles.chicagotribune.com/2012-01-10/features/sc-fam-0110-redheads20120110_1_redheads-red-hair-hair-color http://www.southparkstudios.com/full-episodes/s09e11-ginger-kids http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/soul