Feeling Blue

Growing up with red hair and freckles isn't exactly a bundle of laughs.
I grew up in the era of "baking yourself in the sun to get a tan was cool". I couldn't get a tan to save my life. Sure I could go a bright shade of pink, even red, then my skin would shed itself like a snakes only to reveal the same ultra white with freckle wallpaper all over my body.
Someone told me if I lay in the sun long enough all my freckles would join together and I would have skin like a super model (I was also growing up in the era that that term was coined and Cindy Crawford was who you wanted to be when you grew up). Needless to say my freckles didn't join up. Sure I got a hell of a lot more freckles than I had before and no doubt a heavy dose of skin cancer but unfortunately none of them seemed to want to hold hands and come together.
Tan lines were something I would have put on my vision board (alas this was not the era of The Secret).
Pippi Longstocking was my bible but because she had super strength and a cool horse I decided that Pippi would never get teased about her looks and even if she did she would beat them up. Oh to be Pippi.
If only I had Lindsay Lohan (early years) to look up to but by the time I watched Mean Girls I was too old and crusty to care. Gone were the days of wearing clothes from under my chin to my big toe to cover my revolting skin.
Now before I continue I must confess something, you see I am not really a red head. I actually have mousey brown hair that I have been dying every colour known to man since I could say "Mamma".
Now it took me a long time to discover that red hair was in fact cool and it did in fact suit me and I could in fact be like Pippi Longstocking because eating pizza did give me super strength and I went on trail rides on the weekend. And as for my freckles they were there and they were like my multiple personalities - they weren't going anywhere anytime soon.
So I am work one day I serve a little girl and her Mum. The little girl is whispering to her Mum furiously until her Mum says, "Well just ask her."
"Ask me what Honey?" I say.
The girl is shy and says nothing. She would be no more than seven years old.
So her Mum speaks for her. "She wants to know if you like your hair?"
I had just chopped most of it off and wasn't sure about the new cut but looking at the girl I realise not only do we have exactly the same hairstyle but exactly the same colour. This girl could have been my daughter.
"Yes of course I love my hair. Why don't you?" I ask the girl.
She looks up at me with tears starting to well up in her eyes. "No. I hate my hair and I hate my skin. Everyone teases me. Do you have that problem? Do you have friends?"
The girl is in tears and all of my childhood floods back like I have peed myself.
"Let me tell you something," I say. "I love my hair so much. You know why? Because we are unique, there is hardly anyone like us out there and that makes us cool. The only reason people make us feel bad about our hair is because they are jealous they can't be as cool as us. Instead they have boring coloured hair like brown or blonde. Imagine that? Imagine being boring!"
The girl looks at me through her tears and whispers, "Really?"
"Really. Just remember anytime someone picks on you about your hair it is because they wish they could be as cool as you and not be so boring. Don't get upset, just be happy that you know their secret."
The girl's pink face lights up and she says to me, "You are so pretty - do you think I will look like you when I am older?"
"You already look exactly like me. So you already are pretty."
Her Mum gives me a hug and says that no one has been able to talk to her about this and she thanks me profusely. The girl is all smiles and my heart breaks for her.
Didn't have the heart to tell her or her Mum (who has brown hair) that I actually pay good money to have my hair this colour just so I can't be boring.
Regardless, Pippi would be proud and I am sure she wouldn't mind if my next book is called Paula Longstocking.