Spoken groove (2)
OK. So this isn't my words, Ok so it's not even set in my country, however, this song by spoken groove, who I still think are brilliant, sum up my feelings on red heads.RED HEADS RULE!!!
Carrot top
She couldn’t have said anything worse
There were no lines she could have rehearsed
To bring greater damage to my heart that Sunday after church
I’d just been introduced to Rebecca
And made a comment about her nice red hair
When she dealt the blow that brings me here before you today
It’s still hard for me to say
“Oh yeah I guess you’re hair is sort of red”
I remember the first time anyone tried to make fun of my orangey red hair shining fair and bright in the summer afternoon, my six-year-old nose and cheeks covered with cute patches of freckles.
She called me carrot top. That little girl kept hurling it at me as if I possessed some sort of bulbous, grotesque deformity, or contagious disease or maybe she felt it her duty to be the one oh so snidely and funny and the enormity of her stunning discovery of like “oh my gosh my hair isn’t blond like how is that possible”
“Like for sure”
But I was ready…The six glorious years I had lived were rushing together in a culmination of that savoury moment of childhood satisfaction when I would hurl her down from her high an mighty pedestal of fun making. I may have looked sweet and innocent but I was completely prepared to anilate her in the warfare of pre pubesant verbal battle. I would rattle her brain with my ribald repost clothe her with shame for the mere thought that she was allowed to make witticisms about my God given birthright of beautiful red hair. I merely maid plain the obvious truth her little ignorant eyes had overlooked. “Ha, you’re stupid, carrot tops are green!”
And it was done. Her tongue lay helpless in the Texas dirt. I never saw her again but those words must have quickly spread to all humanity because no one ever dared call me Carrot top. From that point on I took up the red haired badge of courage, conducting the research on our history, collecting the wisdom of red haired sages of the past who persevered in the path of persecution, paranoia and abuse. I was the first to speak up at local rally’s, the last to leave protests demonstrations and sit in’s.
When we marched on Washington, hair burning a trail into the heart of America I was on the front line and every time I hear some kid in the mall point me out and say I look like shaggy do well I make sure I let them know that it’s not his lanky limbs, sgraggly goatee baggy clothes or the way his nose and throat keep his voice forever sounding like he’s like going like through like puberty man, that makes him cool zoink scoob, oh no, it’s that slight hint of redness in his hair.
Words within when trying to convey the depth of pain and hurt I’ve overcome in the struggle we all face to find quality, so when those words twisted their knife in Rebecca’s mouth to the soul of who I am, I felt the fury the rage the exploding rage of revenge that I wanted say like that summer day with another little girl so long ago, but I’ve learnt to grow past the wound and hope that she discovers soon that even though my hair isn’t as red as some it’s not about what’s on my head it wether my hair is red in my heart. Thank you.
posted by Robbie Craig @ 11:28 AM
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