The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

Ginger.

So, now the rampant spread of stupidity has gone even further.

'Kick A Ginger Day' has sprung up in Western Canada, and has apparently been an issue in England as well. You might ask, 'what the hell is kicking ginger all about?', given that it's quickly turning holiday time and gingerbread cookies would be most unpalatable with bruised ginger. Well, it's about kicking and abusing people with red hair. Seriously. Somehow, it has become a good idea, fun even, to physically attack people based on the coppery strands on their heads. Add it to the list of things which could land you on your back with a barrage of clenched fists coming your way: skin colour, religious beliefs, weight, height or sexual preferences. Now, we're hitting a new low, I think. What's next? Lynching people with green eyes?

While I almost understand the emergence of redhead prejudice in England (once upon a time, Ireland traditionally had the greatest percentage of red-haired people and during the time of English oppression the Irish were seen as ethnically inferior), the sudden spring of anti-copper sentiment makes little or no sense in a country which is built on blending ethnicities. Of course, Winston Churchill was regarded as a fairly important British figure, and he was a redhead. I would have liked to have seen anyone kick his ass in the spirit of ginger-kicking.

So yes, I have gone from being a full-fledged copper-crusted lassie to a strawberry-blonde/cornflake sort of girl, and I have always wished the former back. I see it as uniquely beautiful, the red hair, and I always take second glances of appreciation at passing redheads as they move down the street, unaware of me. I once purchased a notecard set in a museum shop of famous redhead paintings and thought about framing each one so that I'd be surrounded by the passion of them. I adore it, yearn for the colour of my southern region to bleed back into the hair follicles in the northern, and often play with the idea of seeing a professional colourist who might be able to bring back the fire from my youth.

My child was born with a head of deep red hair, and the flame of it has given way to the soft gleam of blonde. She says her hair is full 'of gold', and it is, really, but there is still the glint of copper in there, and I always look for it. My nephew is what I'd call 'carrot-topped', but I say it with admiration and affection. It's gorgeous and distinctive, and while I'm certain he'll take a little heat for it as he moves on years, he has the temper of redhead and I sincerely hope he uses it whenever anyone raises their foot in a threatening way.

If I were 'redder', and if anyone tried to kick me for sport, I would come back at them with my fists, no problem. A group would be harder, but I've the temper and perseverence to seek each one out separately, after the fact, with the intention of doing all sorts of damage to them. Though the hair is no longer categorically red, the temper remains and the refusal to let things go would always stoke the fire.

I'm fairly sick of people dreaming up reasons to hurt one another. Whenever you take a step back from it, and try to see it from an alien perspective, you can't help but shake your head and wonder how the hell the human race got this far.