Red Hair & Rick Rack Teeth

From childhood, I have struggled with being different. Perhaps every child feels this way at some point. One of my earliest memories dates back to first grade-- a middle child, I had a difficult transition going to school. I felt lost, alone and beset with anxieties. My fair skin and carrot-colored hair set me apart from the other children. And the hair was not only fiery, but curly and red. Every day in preparation for school, Mom would dip a comb in Jean Nate cologne and try to coax my curls into pigtails or braids. Adding to the frizzy locks were a light dusting of freckles and two partially empty spaces where my front teeth used to be. Where there'd once been tiny pearls, two ragged teeth inched their way down toward my lip.



One day Dad came home from work and found me crying at the kitchen table... not just sniffling and snuffling, all out wailing. My heart was broken. At recess that day, a couple of the little boys began taunting me about my hair. I was strong and brave about it, until I hit the front door. Not long after that, Dad walked in and using his most consoling tone, inquired, "What on earth has happened?" Flinging my wet and weeping self into his arms I said, "Oh Daddy, I am never going to have any friends because of this dumb old red hair and these stupid rick rack teeth!"



There it was, the terrible truth. I had met the enemy, it was genetic, and there was not a thing that I could do about it.



Later, this little incident took on mythological proportions in our family. The story was told and retold with much hooting and hollering... always, there was a little pinch in my spirit when I heard the laughter. But, this is how I came to be called Rick Rack.



The years have polished that little person from tip to toe. She learned to conform to the standards of what the world calls acceptable. But somewhere inside, that same little girl sits with head held in the temple of her hand and weeps for being other.