Ignore the Early Indicators

The other day, I was out walking with my lunchtime exercise pal (for regular readers, the Worm Girl) when we had occasion to cross paths with three different redheaded men. Of the bright orange and freckles variety.

“Must be a ginger convention,” I quipped.

She laughed, then my newly on-the-market friend commented “You know, I can’t explain why, but I’ve never been attracted to redheaded men. There’s no good reason, it just doesn’t work for me.”

I replied, “Yeah, me too. Though I know why. When I was in elementary school, I went to school with a ginger kid. He had a lot of troubles with wetting his pants. I felt so bad for the guy. He was a nice kid, but he used to make puddles everywhere.”

We walked for a while longer. Then I said “you know, I should look him up. I wonder what he’s up to these days.”

“He’s probably a CEO and incredibly rich,” my friend said, and I agreed.

So that night I went online to look up my old schoolmate from my formative years. The pants wetter.

Well. He’s not a CEO. It’s better.

He’s a pretty darn successful race car driver. His posted record is awesome and now he owns a racing company with his parents.

Guess we all pegged that kid wrong didn’t we?

Which makes me think about all of my friends with young kids who struggle with the weird culture of mommies that insist on comparing “my little Tommy” to other kids. They always make sure you know that their kid is better than yours.

It’s evil and it’s wrong and it makes me UTTERLY mad. You have no idea how many mom-friends I’ve had to talk down because of this nasty culture.

One might think that my school chum was a less-than kid because of his bladder issues.

Since confession is good for the soul, I’ll admit I was the class nose picker. When the teacher got boring, the treasures of the nostrils seemed far more interesting. I’m not proud of it and I took a lot of guff in first and second grades for it.

At close to forty years later, I think it can be said that I turned out pretty well too.

Power to the pants wetters and the nose pickers and that kid that barfed on the school field trip and then no one wanted to hang out with him. They are your future race car drivers and CEO’s or just your average soul with a decent job and a good spouse who does her best to be a good member of society.

Blessed are the weirdos, for we shall inherit the earth….right after we’re done skeeving everyone out.








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Karen Fayeth

Comments

  • Lynn

    Hahaha! The redhead I grew up with was a total pants-wetter also! Up to grade 4 he would hide in the back of the room and make puddles. (And why did every field trip have a barfer???)

    I know about those moms. As a person with no kids I’m an easy target for bragfests. I have no frame of reference, lol! Thankfully, my close friends are pretty normal moms and have pretty normal kids.

    • Karen Fayeth

      Lynn – Wow, maybe it’s a redhead bladder thing? How funny!

      And yes, every field trip had the barfer. Thankfully that was never me. Whew! Dodged that bullet!! :)

  • Ur Bro

    Come to Malaysia. Publicly digging in your nose is a national pass time here.

    • Karen Fayeth

      Big bro – Awesome-O! Do they also hack and spit? As I was told by my friend of Chinese descent, “we believe better out than kept inside”.

      Oooookaaaay.

  • Beth

    In college I went out with two redhead guys and they were both jerks (to put it mildly; I can’t use the words I’d rather use to describe them) and I swore off redheads forever. But two of my nephews are redheads and they’ve turned into great young men.

    • Karen Fayeth

      Beth – Yeah I’ve heard the redheads are jerks thing too. Not really experienced it.

      Glad to know there are a couple good ‘uns in the world!! :)

  • Alan

    To me, the scariest kind of bully was the red-head bully. There was a kid in my school that looked like the bully from “A Christmas Story.” For some reason, he just seemed extra crazy from the garden-variety bully.

    Also, at a public pool one prepubescent summer, I remember seeing a ginger teenage pool patron and being both fascinated and repulsed that his armpit hair was just as red as the hair on his head.

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