Gingers need to be given respect

Kendra Hix

 “Hey you can’t do that! You’re a Ginger!”

 What the heck? I have orange hair. I’m not incapacitated or an invalid, or stupid.

When I was younger, Ginger was a girl from a television show, a vegetable (or a fruit, I’m not sure which), something you put in cookies and bread around the holidays. It wasn’t a person.

Now, a ginger is a person with orange hair. And if you have even the slightest orange tint, your so-called friends will tease you about it.

“You have no soul that’s why!” is common among my “friends.”

No, my friend, that is not why. I didn’t punch you because I’m a ginger. I punched you because you made me mad. I didn’t yell at you because my hair is leaking into the angry part of me. It’s because you said or did something I disagreed with. It had NOTHING to do with my hair color.

I imagine this sounds a little “angry,” and it’s not because I’m soulless or any other multitude of excuses that are due to “gingervitus.” It’s just because I’m angry. It’s not like I’m the only person on this planet who gets a little angry sometimes.

So us gingers must band together, creating a ginger army of the 1-2 percent of us that still exists, defending ourselves against the rude ginger haters of this world.

But you don’t have to hate us, or send us back to Scotland. Don’t believe the stereotypes; don’t kick us, cut our hair, or anything like that.

 Remember, we’re just like you. Our hair is merely brighter.