When I was younger, I noticed my hair color was unlike everyone else's. I would look around and saw others with black, brown, or perfect golden locks. My hair was strawberry blonde, golden with red tones. I felt ashamed of it. I couldn’t help but beg my mom to let me dye it on countless occasions. She would never let me do it. “Emma, people pay good money to have your hair and it is gorgeous,” she would explain to me. Me, being young and clueless, I wanted to change it to be like my friends, I wanted to be a blonde. I felt like a fish out of water, yet, most people I came into contact with mentioned my hair was beautiful and special. I didn’t see it. Entering junior high and the beginnings of high school, the term “ginger” began. Through the season of Summer, I would wear shorts just like everyone else on a typical scorching hot day. It wasn’t until a boy ridiculed me for my pasty white skin that I began to wear pants during the Summer, despite the temperature …show more content…
I should want to flaunt my hair and own it, but all I want to do is cover up my hair and never let it be known or seen that it is red. I want to have brown, black, blonde, purple, or even rainbow colored hair, anything but red. I want to fit in and feel like I belong without my hair singling me out. On a daily basis, I am told people would pay hundreds to have the color of my hair and how it’s impossible to get my hair color in a hair dye box. I’m told my hair is beautiful and my skin is flawless, like a painting in the Renaissance. Working as a cashier at Walmart, I encounter numerous customers and several of them always have to mention something about my hair. Compliments such as these makes me feel good, but not enough to want to keep my red hair. Throughout the years, my hair has become a curly, frizzy mess which causes me to dislike it more. I don’t see the beauty or rareness my hair