𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐡, 𝐈’𝐦 𝐌𝐂𝟏𝐑. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐆𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐚 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭?

By Bob Deakin

(Photo: Me at 9, me last summer)

I’m a recovering redhead, faded to sandy in my 20s, and holding on to the last bastion of color now. Let's call it gray-sandy.

I dealt with all the stereotypes as a kid: temperamental and mischievous, with a veneer of innocence; a well-crafted one.

I wasn’t bullied, but I wasn’t checking off conquests with the ladies either.

One redhead stereotype is sensitivity to cold. Check. Grew up in the north, live in the south. A cold breeze goes through me like a jet through clouds.

Another distinguishing quality: Tolerance to anesthesia. Bingo!

I’ve had enough dental work for five people, thanks to ice hockey and ice cream. I’ve had the same dentist for a decade and still politely warn them each time to triple down on the novocaine.

Surgery? Same deal with anesthesia. I say it every time, and no one believes me every time. Then they see me rehearsing drum fills on the chair in the operating room while everyone else is in a coma.

A fun fact I spotted on the 𝐺𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑡 site is that in Poland, if you pass three redheads in a row, you will win the state lottery. Field trip?

Redheaded women get a different shake. To their credit, the stereotype is wilder, sexier, and more volatile. I don’t accuse; I merely observe my research.

Some of you redheads seem to revel in these distinguishing traits, like my redheaded cousins. The Disney film 𝐵𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒 comes to mind.

I’m jealous. No one ever accused me of being wild or volatile, but I’m one of you, if in name only.

Our little secret.

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