Memory Lane

Being A Redhead … Being “Red”

So, when Black mentions Redhead Appreciation Day, I know it’s related to Red & Black and not her being “nice” and giving me a day off (or telling me that she appreciates me). And when she asks, “What is it like to be a redhead, Red?” part of me wants to reply, “What’s it like not to be a redhead?” because, for my entire life, I’ve been “Red.” (There’s a story there, but I’ll get to it later.) The honest answer is, well, I never thought about it, until now …


I know that redheads often have a reputation for being fiery and hot-tempered, but I managed to escape that characteristic. (Although it amuses me that many people make that assumption about me before they even get to know me.) Ironically, I’ve always preferred to blend in and not make any waves (good or bad). But being a redhead does tend to make you stand out in the crowd (unless, of course, you’re in Scotland or Ireland, in which case, being a redhead helps you blend in), and growing up, I just accepted the attention in my stride.

It never seemed to bother me. Not even when I lived in China, which was definitely an experience on so many fronts. But while many things were to be expected (and, to some degree, endured, but that’s another post for another day), being a redhead wasn’t something I thought about. Until the first time I went for a bike ride through the streets of Shanghai on a hot summer’s day,

Everyone was pointing at me. Was it because I was a Westerner on a bike? (This was in the 1990s, and I was part of the first wave of ex-pats in Shanghai.) Or maybe a woman alone? I know my pale skin and whiter than white legs weren’t anything special. Then I noticed that everyone was pointing at my hair. Being a redhead (especially with very long hair and before the days of bike helmets to hide it) in China meant I’d never escape being noticed.

Unfortunately, the other thing I’d never escape, like most fair skin people, especially redheads, is that my skin burns easily. Growing up, it was extremely frustrating as all my friends tanned (ok, this was in the days before we knew of the dangers of the sun), and I had only two color options – white and red (as in bright red!).

Then I started wondering whether being a redhead explains why I blush so easily (I can only imagine the research Black will send me, so I won’t mention it to her). Or whether it’s just a function of having such pale skin that makes it more noticeable. But just the thought of how easily I blush is embarrassing, which in turn causes me to blush. Which I guess makes me Red with a red face.

Interestingly, although I go by the nickname Red, I never knew of any other redheads called Red. Even my daughters, both redheads, have never been called Red. (Although they’d tell me that occasionally someone would call them “Ginger,” but each of them shut that down pretty quickly.) But being called Red has never bothered me, although it might be because of how my nickname originated.

Which is the story I alluded to earlier, and, of course, it’s all Black’s fault, so I’ll let her tell the story,

On the day my parents brought my sister home from the hospital, I quickly glanced at my new (and not entirely welcome) baby sister with her bright red hair, and immediately called her “Red.” To which my mother told me, and not in a kind motherly way, but instead rather emphatically, to NEVER call her that again. So, from that day forward, I never called her anything else.
Image by TrendObjects for iStock

Red isn’t sure that her extreme fear of driving when there’s a risk of high water qualifies as PTSD (and it all started with Black – scroll down for that story!), but she does understand how debilitating it can be (regardless of what triggers it).

What’s interesting is Black picks on Red for many things (that’s part of the job description of a big sister), but not about this because – getting past the stigma of PTSD is tough enough. It’s why National PTSD Awareness Month is so important – not only for those who have PTSD, but for everyone.



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I love the new The Eyewall newsletter that keeps an eye (pun intended) on tropical activity in the Atlantic Ocean, Caribbean Sea, and Gulf of Mexico.


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You definitely watch the weather more than I do. But, I know that is because you have an extreme “fear” (or however you want to describe it) of driving in heavy rain and potentially facing road flooding.


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Borderline terror. Thanks to you.


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Me? I thought I was the one who taught you what to do when encountering high water.
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Red's two Labradoodles

Photo taken by Red

May is National Pet Month, and it’s a bittersweet time for Red as she lost Moo (her black Labradoodle pictured above) just before the New Year. It’s the first time she’s been without a pet since Woof arrived (see below for original post from 2021, including the third “silly name”), and not a day goes by that she doesn’t miss the companionship and unconditional love. So, she tries to focus on all the wonderful memories, knowing that one day she’ll welcome another pet into her life …



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Well, this month marks 18 years since you changed my life, so I wanted to thank you. Again. For bringing such happiness into the lives of the girls and me, although some heartbreaking sadness, too. But there's nothing like unconditional love.


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OK, but can you tell me what you are talking about?


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Do you remember when I moved to Houston after living overseas, and we started going to the Hyatt Hill Country in San Antonio for Memorial Day weekend? You were married to Larry, and his girls were young, and Natasha and Sawyer were even younger. Well, in 2003 you asked me if it was OK if you got us a puppy.


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You had always talked about getting a dog but wanted to have children first. The timing seemed right, but given your allergies, the options were limited. Until I learned about a new breed, well technically a mixed breed, originally developed in Australia to be hypoallergenic guide dogs.


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I'll never forget you showing me photos of the most incredibly adorable dogs I'd ever seen. The fact Labradoodles were half standard poodle, which was what I had initially thought we'd get, and half Labrador Retriever was amazing. But only you could find the perfect dog from an article in a business magazine.
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Since today’s Christmas and Chanukah starts tonight, we want to wish you Happy Christmukkah (yes, it’s a real thing)! And we’re rerunning this Christmas story from Black’s childhood – not only because it’s one of Red’s favorites, but because believing in Santa can happen to anyone, even Black …

BLACK: I do not know at what age my Christmas memories began, but I do remember being very young and in awe of a very large – and very well decorated – Christmas tree in our family room. I even remember peeking down the stairs late one evening and seeing my mother standing extremely close to Santa Claus. OK, you might not find that an unusual memory, except my family is Jewish.

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