The Incessant Questions and Comments About My Son’s Red Hair Are Relentless, and Often Unkind

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One sunny afternoon, while strolling through the park with my son, a cyclist zoomed past and hollered, “Look at that carrot top!” I almost retorted with the fact that carrot tops are green, but he was gone in a flash. Even if he had heard me, I doubt my comeback would have landed any better than when I tried it back in school, which is to say, not at all.

Every outing with my son leads to a stream of unsolicited remarks about his stunning, curly red hair. The comments can be downright rude and thoughtless. “He’ll be a handful!” “That redhead is going to cause trouble.” “They say redheads have no souls.” But the most irritating remarks come disguised as questions: “Where did he get that red hair?”

My hair, while a different shade, was red enough to attract teasing in my youth. At first, whenever strangers approached us, my partner would give a pointed look at my hair, hoping to deflect the comments. This tactic proved ineffective, and as a last resort, he jokingly stated, “Me, of course,” which didn’t help either. Eventually, he started giving mini-lessons on genetics, explaining, “It’s all in the chromosomes.” My response was simpler: “Both of us. It’s a recessive gene!”

Despite our attempts, the question persisted, prompting me to share family anecdotes: “It’s the same color as my mom’s was as a child. He resembles her baby photos!” This seemed to satisfy people’s curiosity, even if it didn’t address the underlying issue—they needed to rationalize how my son could have such different hair from his parents.

However, I find myself uncomfortable with these explanations. I don’t want to justify my son’s hair with a family history. Teaching genetics while navigating the grocery store with a 3-year-old is not ideal. Sometimes I fantasize about simply saying “my lover” and walking away, but while that would be satisfying for me, it wouldn’t teach my child how to engage with the world.

The discomfort stems from the realization that I shouldn’t be the one responding. In Red: A History of the Redhead, author Jackie Colliss Harvey highlights the core issue: “Growing up as a redhead, it sometimes felt as if the last person my red hair belonged to was me—the person from whose scalp it sprang.”

These comments are never directed at my son; they’re about him. When strangers call him “carrot top” or joke about his soul, they act as if he isn’t present. If only they would express their admiration instead, saying, “I love your curly red hair.” Strangely, I can’t recall anyone outside our family offering that compliment.

Now that my son can engage in conversation, I’ve been letting him respond for himself. His answer is a testament to a child’s creativity: “No, it’s green.” Depending on his mood and how many times he’s been asked that day, he delivers it with varying tones—from playful to defiant.

This response is ideal, as it firmly asserts his identity and insists that people engage with him directly. Most adults play along, saying, “Yes, it’s a lovely green color.” His quip has even sparked a few concerned comments about colorblindness, which is quite amusing given that he can name every color in sight as we walk through the store.

Ultimately, he then claims his hair has turned blue.

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In summary, the comments surrounding my son’s red hair are relentless and often insensitive. As he grows and learns to respond to these interactions, I hope he embraces his uniqueness and teaches others to appreciate it as well.