The world is a dangerous place for those wearing fanta pants

An article has come out fighting in the Sydney Morning Herald claiming that teasing a redhead isn't racist or prejudice.. You'll note from a previous post I wrote about reds, that I can take the ginger nut biscuit jabs on the chin. You kind of have to. Years of experience have taught me that people generally don't have any issues with redheads... they just tease us, er, because they're jealous? Because they have unresolved childhood parental issues? Because... um.

The reason I'm writing this post isn't really to do with redheads. It's to do with teasing and bullying in general. Did being teased as a child / adolescent 'toughen me up' and 'make me a stronger person'? Probably. But it also made me feel ugly, humiliated, ashamed, outcast, bewildered and angry. You only become tougher and stronger and funnier because you end up having to fight the demons inside as well as outside. Bullying torments kids, it always has. It cuts them deep where people can't always see and sometimes where they can.

Does something have to be racist or prejudicing a minority group for it to be wrong? I think not.

To this day I still get 'good natured' teasing... How oh how can we ever teach our children that bullying is wrong if their adult role models are doing it themselves? Can a child tell the difference between calling a redhead a ranga or calling a black person a darkie? See, it's really plain how hurtful comments can be when you put them into context like that.

My hair colour doesn't define me any more than the colour of a person's skin defines them.

I wish supposedly mature adults would stop making blonde jokes, redhead jokes, fat jokes, female jokes... it's endless the way we carry on. And I wish supposedly mature adults would stop defending hurtful remarks as being 'harmless',  'a bit of fun', 'can't you take a joke?' It really. isn't. funny. I wish we could all just grow up and be the people we want our kids to be.

Maybe then our children will learn that teasing and bullying hurts people in ways they can't imagine. Oh, please, maybe then.


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Things I learnt this week including the fact that bus scrolls are taking over the known world

Sadly, my Fridge Chronicles did not take the blogging world by storm as intended.* But, even though they chose not to participate, many seemed to love the idea so look out for July and - EXTENDED BY POPULAR DEMAND - you can still post for June. In any case, I've learnt a lot about blogging this week, among other things...

1. Stumbleupon is a site that lets you scroll through the web on topics that interest you. It's likely to also be a great way to drive traffic to your blog if you're interested.

2. It's possible for a female, droney-voiced, rather smart redhead to become prime minister of blokey, over-excited, rather, um, cerebrally-challenged, tanned Australia. My thoughts on this are perfectly summarised in an earlier post.

3. It's estimated that dyslexia affects almost 10% of children in Australia.

4. You can't dabble in Twitter, it's an all or nothing place.

5. Kids library bags online cost over $30 (or are cheaper but so yuck)... unbelievable. Horrified, I rushed to Funky Fabrix and almost bought this lovely fabric to make my own.

6. At least 62.8%** of homes featured in Important Interior Design (IID) magazines (or 'house porn' as LOML calls them) must contain a whimsical destination bus scroll.

7. I just don't get Haiku (although Fluffy Bunnies does write some lovely ones...)

8. 'Passwords' is a really good way for Early Readers to learn their sight words. You stick words at every door in the house (hard ones at most used doors). When it's "passwords on" everyone has to say the sight word in order to get through the door. "Passwords off" means Mum gets a little break. Taking a leisurely evening stroll through the house in the same manner each night after bath is also a clever way to use the loci system for learning the words.

9. I would rather stand in line all morning than use the self-serve checkout at Woolies. It's just not right.

10. Pictory showcases the most amazing photography and the stories behind the photos. I just love it.


* Although they were not as big a bomb as that intelligent, witty, charming bastard Sir Ken Robinson.

** Please note: this statistic is made up. It means absolutely nothing and can therefore be used as a supporting fact in any argument as long as 8 glasses of wine have been consumed prior.

An aside...

Further to my earlier rude red post, a friend sent me this Edward Monkton image which made me want to do a little happy dance of my own.

The trouble with reds

My dear sister at Life in a Pink Fibro wrote a fantastic post about redheads today. I started writing a comment on her site and realised it was getting longer and longer and longer. So I decided to do a redhead post of my own. I have a lot to say on this topic!

I'm red. Mum to reds. Sister to red. Cousin to red. Niece to red. Red, red, red. I'm sure other hair colours aren't quite so life defining.

Mum to reds. On hearing 'it's a boy' after a 40 hour labour and emergency CS, first words out of my mouth (croaking, manic, some weeping): 'has he got red hair? HAS. HE. GOT. RED. HAIR???'

No, no, they soothed, no red hair.

They lied.

Ranga, Ginga, Bunsen Burner. Ginger, Rude Red, Flame Thrower. Blue, Rusty, Fireball. Carrot Top, Big Red. Woody, Cherry, Fanta Pants. Ronald McDonald, Strawberry, Duracell, Little Orphan Annie. Ginger Ninja, Bozo, Sunset.

Heard 'em all.

Let's face it. Carrot tops are an acquired taste. They have to be really, really gorgeous to even be in the ballpark. There is nothing more unattractive than an unattractive redhead. Conversely, there's probably nothing more stunning than a really lovely redhead. People either love 'em (like crazy, beware the redhead loving male (RHLM)) or loathe 'em. And boy, do they loathe them.

The irony is that it's probably not even the hair colour that makes Ginger Ninjas so outcast. It's all the bits that go along with it. The pasty white skin, the spotty freckles, the lack of eyebrows and eyelashes. The red pubes. I'm just saying.

Do I like my children's red hair? Do I like my red hair? Do I like red hair in general?

Maybe. I dyed my hair a darkish brown once when I lived in England and I really missed being a ginga. I hadn't realised how much it puts you in the spotlight and I missed the red light when it was gone. I felt, well, ordinary. I had failed to appreciate how nice it is to be regularly complimented on my hair or what a great conversation starter it was. I had failed to appreciate that being different, standing out, not fitting in, is not such a bad thing at all. Truth is, being a redhead is a major part of being me.

That said, I think my children are attractive DESPITE the rude red. They got lucky in the gene pool because EVEN THOUGH THEY GOT MY RED HAIR, they also got their Italian daddy's dark eyes and lashes, non-glow in the dark skin and (thank god) eyebrows. I hope this will see them through. I hope they'll be okay. I hope they develop a fast sense of humour about their rude redness. Otherwise, the playground is a remarkably dangerous place for those wearing Fanta Pants.