"R" is for Redhead

Julia shook her head at Cal.  "I’m married to an adolescent."
 

"That's because you married an adolescent," Cal replied. "Not too smart, if you ask me, Professor."

"I don't ask you.  I admit it wasn't my most MENSA moment, but I needed someone who could work on a Volkswagen and open jars."

"Uh-huh... Son," Cal said, glancing sideways at Jay, "I’d never tell you not to marry a redhead, but I’d definitely advise you to go in with both eyes open," whereupon Julia gave him a good whack upside the head.

.....

It was 1987 and I was standing outside my senior English classroom at North High School with my girlfriend Robin before the bell rang, when my teacher, Mrs. Gaede (who, incidentally, is tied for First Place in my personal Teacher Hall of Fame) walked up to the door.  She suddenly stopped and looked us over, shook her head in bemused wonder and said "My, your family certainly has a predilection for redheads."

Let's turn back the clock another twenty three years.  My Dad, with whom I share a first name, was a North High graduate.  Not only did Mrs. Gaede teach at North High when he attended, he also did yardwork and odd jobs for her, and she remembered his redhead girlfriend from then. (Fortunately, hers was an interim position, and Dad married my redhead Mom, whom he met at Bakersfield College.  They just celebrated their forty-fifth anniversary.)  So yeah, Mrs. Gaede definitely had a point.

Our song?  Lady in Red, of course.

I met my own redhead girlfriend my sophomore and her freshman year at a Tuesday night band practice, but honestly, it didn't register very strongly with me at the time.  She seemed kind of goofy, but that's about it.  It wasn't until the next year that I fell for her, hard, at a County Honor Band practice.  There she was, under the lights on the other end of the stage, and BAM, I was smitten with the proverbial ton of bricks, yea, verily.  It took three months of concerted effort to convince her that I was The Guy.

Now I didn't mention it before, but at that first inconsequential meeting, the night air was damp and chilly, and Robin was wearing this ridiculous nylon windbreaker with the hood cinched tight around her face.  Note that there was no electricity when her red hair was covered, but when it was lit up by the stage lights I was zapped like Ben Franklin's kite.  Coincidence?  The gentle reader may dismiss it as such, but I'm not willing to.  Of course, there were other things, like her beauty, her vivacity, her faith, her inner glow, her nuttiness and her independent streak.  But never discount the redness.

Whatever it was, it was something.  We've been married for nigh on twenty-three years now, and my redhead and I have been through ups and downs, thin and flush, laughter and sorrow.  It's common for redheads to lose their red as time goes by, and she's no exception, now being more of a reddish, brownish blonde.  She hates it.  Nothing against blondes, I don't think, she's just always liked being a redhead, in a proud, defiant way.  Most redhead women know they're special.  Now she just requires a little help from magical hair guy David (two hours north in Fresno!) to maintain it.

But I don't care.  While it's true I have a thing for red hair, I'll always have a thing for one particular redhead, even when her hair is white.