Confessions of a Redhead

Just ask the girls of my high school’s field hockey team, they will tell you that my most distinguishing feature allows me to be seen all the way across the athletic complex. It is the reason I am stopped in public by envious middle aged women, Winnacunnet soccer fans who may have only seen me play once before, and bullies who no doubt fear the fact that I was born with a gift so rare, that only 2% of the United States population have it. It is the reason why all eyes are on me. Not to mention women of all ages find it extremely attractive, but I really shouldn’t brag. I am talking about my long fire-truck red locks of hair. My college essay is the one situation where having red hair will not help me stand out, but I firmly believe the impact growing up with it has had on me will do just that.
My mother who was adopted had red hair, so when I was born with natural red hair she felt a powerful connection to me she had not experienced with her adoptive family. As for my Dad’s side of the family, they are all tanned skin having been raised on sweltering Shelter Island, New York. Shelter Island has always been my favorite vacation spot, but when my cousins bolted outside to play, my mom would stop me dead in my tracks to make sure sunscreen was properly applied to my neck and face. For if it wasn’t I could develop melanoma which took the life of my great-grandmother at the young age of 40. It was clear to me at a young age that red hair was going to change my life forever.
When I got to high school I was back on the bottom of the food chain, and it seemed like I was the main course for every person who got a glimpse of my hair. Stick one redhead in a classroom of all blondes and brunettes and suddenly everyone thinks they are Jerry Seinfeld. On a daily basis I was told that I had no soul and that “my species” would soon go extinct.
Being redheaded is much more that amateurish nicknames and extra sunscreen. It is my dissimilarity that has allowed me to continue down...