The question I get asked most often as a mother is “oh my goodness, where did that red hair come from?” in reference to my youngest daughter, the only one of us who isn’t a boring brunette.
I wonder if it’s just a conversation piece or if people honestly don’t understand how genes work. The truth is that it came from me, which came from my dad, which came from his mom, etc., but people still look at me with unbelief, like I’ve stolen her from her rightful, unsuspecting, red-haired family.
To clear things up, if ever there was any doubt that the red-headed child who runs around here calling me mom is in fact mine, I overheard her yelling “CHANGE YOUR LIFE, MAN. And then, my gosh…change your clothes. Socks and sandals, come on.”
She also has my temper and ears, the poor thing.