Jeff Baird is a natural Redhead, a career educator at the secondary and post-graduate level, and a self-proclaimed computer junkie. He has presented at numerous state and national technology conferences, and has published in the field of educational technology. He has now turned his energies toward publishing his humorous memoir, The World According to a Redhead, a book about all things Redhead. You can check out his Redhead Profiling blog atjeffbaird.blogspot.com, and his website at jeffbaird.net. He resides in the Lehigh Valley of Pennsylvania with his wife Mary, a Redheaded wannabe, true redheaded children, Ashley and Ryan, and their dog, Casey, an honorary Redhead.
A Redheaded Holiday:
Countdown to a Christmas Hug
Jeff Baird
Most people would not associate Redheads with the holiday spirit. In fact, many when asked about Redheads, would associate the hair color with stubbornness. (On that we can agree.) Still, I hope that this Redhead holiday tale will help others see that the festive color Red is associated with more than just Santa Claus.
Notwithstanding my robust Redheaded genes, it seems that I am somewhat deficient in other areas. As a result, I have a tendency to fall victim to some rather unusual illnesses. One particular holiday season had started off normally enough, but soon took a left turn into Looney Tunes Land.
A key character in this story is the Prince of Redheads, my own Redheaded son, Ryan, who saved my life not once, but twice. The first time he saved me occurred years earlier, during the saddest day in all my years. It was the day I received a phone call telling me that my dad had suddenly died of a heart attack. I was wracked with grief and, unfortunately, many miles away from my parents' home. I grabbed my young son and drove toward their home, with my wife to follow us shortly thereafter.
Along the way I had to pull into a rest stop, because my grief was overpowering me. Ryan was only four years old and too young to understand that I was falling apart. I didn’t know how I was going to live without my dad. As I sat there, absorbed in my pain, my son leaned over and gave me a gigantic hug. At that moment, he brought me back to the land of the living. My son will always get credit for pulling me through that fateful day and giving me a reason to go on.
The second time the Prince of Redheads saved my life was when he was twelve years old. It was the Christmas season and, as sometimes happens in the Northeast, a snowstorm dropped several inches of the white stuff in our area. This resulted in the magical Snow Day for students and teachers' alike. So, on one blustery afternoon, at the prodding of my son Ryan and his friend, we traveled to a nearby park. This park is noted for some prime winter activities, and could contract out to “St. Bernard’s R Us.”
Off went Ryan and his friend, careening down the hills with reckless abandon on their sleds. As the afternoon progressed, they began making fun of me for not partaking in the winter rituals. I didn't really appreciate the fact that my son was taunting me with "Your Mamma" jokes. He was at least smart enough not to make fun of my Redheadedness, since he is a Redhead himself. I believe he knew that I would go all "Chuckie" on his behind, if I heard even one Redhead joke, like "I'd rather be dead than Red in the head," or the ever popular "Carrot Top."
Feeling "My Mamma" being challenged, I succumbed to the pressure of sledding down Avalanche Ridge. I grabbed the nearest sled and sped towards the abyss. It took me about two seconds to wonder if this was a bad idea. My initial instincts proved to be correct as I plummeted toward an appointment with the “Red Cross.” To my regret, I did my best impersonation of the old opening of “ABC’s Wide World of Sports” –no, not the thrill of victory, but the agony of defeat, where the ski jumper flies off of the jump and crashes into the mountain and falls limp to the ground. In spite of my spectacular crashes, I still enjoyed the outing. However, when we left, I have to admit, I felt a wee bit sore in various muscles. I chalked it up to “I could have had a V8” in my morning routine.
It has always been my experience with being out of shape that the following day was the worst for muscle pain. Indeed, that next day, yours truly woke up one sore buckaroo. Refusing to give in to a little pain, I toughed it out and went to work. By mid-morning, however, I was feeling downright miserable. I had to put on a brave face for a meeting with my boss, but halfway through our meeting I started to really not feel well. I decided that it would probably be in my best interest to go home. I was still functioning under the impression that I was just old and out of shape and no longer able to hang with the "big boys," namely my beanpole of a Redheaded son.
As I tell you this story, I have to admit that I have no direct memory of the remainder of the day. So, for this part of the narrative I must rely on third party sources to tell my story. Thus began the Countdown to Santa!
How I managed to safely find my way home is still a closely guarded state secret. I arrived home at 10:30 AM and my wife Mary asked me "Why are you home so early?"
"I don't know what you're talking about; I've always been a Redhead," I replied.
Upon which, Mary sent me to bed, checking on me throughout the day, listening to me mumble nonsensical and incoherent answers to her questions. After hearing me ask for some white paint because I was thirsty, she figured out what I was talking about, and ran to the store to “Get Milk.” She knew that it was my favorite drink and always helped me feel better.
By this time Prince Redhead had returned home from school and was assigned the role-reversal task of babysitting his dear old dad. When my wife returned, my son described to his mother the strange behavior of his father. He also told her that he felt she should call an ambulance and get me to a hospital, because his dad was acting very strange and didn't even recognize his own son.
In all fairness, our son has a sense of humor and is somewhat of a drama king. What Redhead isn't? He would routinely try to prank his parents in a perpetual April Fools Jokeathon. Thinking that this was just another joke, my wife checked on me, and decided this was just another one of his pranks. However, our son didn’t give up and stubbornly explained that Dad normally didn't go around peeing into various kitchen appliances. My wife finally realized that this was no joke and that yes, indeed, an ambulance was necessary. To this day I can't imagine how my son must have felt seeing his father act so strangely and not even recognizing him; he must have been frightened beyond belief. However, he toughed it out and made sure that his dad was ok. My son became a man that day.
So, my wife called an ambulance, and thus began my journey into the land of tag team wresting. My first glimpse of a memory of this event was in the emergency room. I must have watched a back-to-back marathon of the "World Wresting Federation, WWF” and thought I was going to audition for a starring role. Have you ever played tag team wresting? Usually there are teammates on a team; my team had only one member, me vs. many!
I took on the entire emergency room staff of doctors, nurses and attendants, and even my wife. I kid you not! I can "proudly" say that it took anywhere from six to ten power lifters to hold me down while I waged this epic battle. Eventually, they had to put me into a drug induced coma to calm me down. Sure, it was the only way that those pansies could get me down for the count. Well, let me tell you, I am training for a rematch and can’t wait to even the score, cuz right now it reads: Emergency Room Staff 1: Redheads 0.
Just you wait--IT IS SO ON!
I was eventually diagnosed with viral encephalitis, which is an inflammation of the brain. How so not cool is that? There were two aspects of this situation that were particularly frightening. The first was imagining what my family must have been going through. The pain and depths of fear that they must have felt during this now not-so–merry holiday season saddens me to this day. Remembering that Christmas was less than two weeks away, I can only imagine the anguish they felt watching me in this state of helpless madness. To this day, the doctors have only theories of what actually caused this bizarre episode of Howdy Dowdy meets Hulk Hogan. The doctors also can’t predict whether it will or will not return at some point in the future. Ho, Ho, Ho!
I was in a drug-induced coma. The doctors told my family that it would take weeks or months for me to regain consciousness and that they had no idea what was wrong with me. I don't know if these discussions took place in my presence but, for whatever reason, I miraculously regained consciousness that very day. I went the remainder of that day and into the night living the second aspect of this nightmare: frantically dealing with a tube down my throat and being strapped down to a hospital bed. I believe they were taking certain precautions to ascertain if any grudges were held or if anyone was demanding a rematch, based upon my previous anti-social behavior.
The dread that I felt was uncontrollable, and to make matters worse, I couldn’t even communicate my fear, unless you looked into my eyes and witnessed my desperate mental pleadings to release me from my bondage. By the end of the eighth day before Christmas, I was freed from my personal hell and able to walk to the bathroom with some minor assistance as I slowly re-introduced my mind to my body.
To borrow from a famous line, “I think; therefore I am." I can't explain it, but I recall someone saying that I would not be home for Christmas for a very long time. I was still weak as kitten, but I believe at that moment, I began to "think" myself to get better.
I started to harangue every nurse and every doctor, and anyone else who would listen to me, and tell them how I had recovered and demanded to go home in time to see Santa. I told them that if there were any tests they needed to run, they had better do them soon, ‘cuz I was going home soon. Little did they realize the stubbornness of the Redhead they were dealing with, but gradually they began to recognize my determination and slowly came around to my way of thinking.
The doctors took me at my word and started to test me for every conceivable possibility. They of course told me it was routine in cases such as this, but I knew. They were getting their revenge for the Red storm that tore up their emergency room a few short days ago.
The highlight of these pokes and prodding’s was the Spinal Tap that was ordered for “precautionary measures.” The initial procedure was relatively painless as I endured the “slight pressure.” However, as in all matters, the worst was yet to come. The pain and queasiness shortly flooded over me and I believe actually delayed my recovery. Routine? Yeah Right!
I have no idea how I did this, whether it was preordained, or it wasn't my time yet, or my Redheaded DNA was winning the war that waged inside of me. I don't mean to make light of viral encephalitis. It was a huge obstacle to overcome. I don't know why, but I just didn't concentrate on that; I was stubbornly obsessed with the thought of being home with my loved ones on the most special of days. I just didn't care what anyone said or did, I was going home, end of story.
I have never seen so many stethoscopes at one time in my entire life. They were holding a doctors convention in my room while they chatted among themselves about all the positives and negatives of keeping me here versus letting me go home. They even occasionally asked my opinion. After much discussion they promised they would sleep on it and adopted the old parental mantra: “We’ll wait and see how things go!”
In my favor was the fact that I had a loving wife and family to go home to. I am here to tell you I am one lucky Redhead, because on Christmas Eve, of all days, I was kicked out, er, I mean discharged from the hospital. I feel confident in stating that based upon my adventures upon my arrival; the hospital was not prepared for the historic battle that would ensue if they denied me the chance to be home for A Christmas Story Movie Marathon.
Coming home on Christmas Eve was one of the most memorable events of my life, now that I was able to have memories again!
However, the memory that I will treasure for a lifetime is when I got home and I was able to look my son in the eyes and tell him his Dad was ok. I was able to return the love and courage that my son had shown me and gave to him my own special Christmas present: a gigantic hug of my own. He of course was probably thinking, yeah ok, but when is Santa going to deliver my Xbox?
As I remember back to this Twilight Zone episode in my life's journey, I am sure that, as a result of my visit to the hospital emergency room, I am now a case study in their training procedures. If you happen to be at a hospital around the holiday season and you hear “Code Red,”, you might want to pay close attention and take special care to listen if they are calling for a “Code Red” or a “Code Redhead,” because, believe me, it makes a difference. Right, Santa?
Jeff Baird is a career educator at the secondary and post graduate level, and a self-proclaimed computer junkie. He has presented at numerous state and national technology conferences, and has published in the field of educational technology. He now turns his energies to publishing his humorous memoir, “The World According to a Redhead,” a book about growing up and living life as a Redhead. His tales of Redheads can be found in the BWG’s Christmas Anthology, A Christmas Sampler: Sweet, Funny, and Strange Holiday Tales. In addition you can check out his Redhead Profiling blog at http://jeffbaird.blogspot.com and his website at www.jeffbaird.net .
He resides in the Lehigh Valley of Pennsylvania with his wife Mary, a Redheaded wannabe, true redheaded son Ryan, stepdaughter Ashley, and two dogs, Casey and MiMi.
His bio picture is a combination of wishful thinking and a fond farewell.
Redheads Are a Dog’s Best Friend
Jeff Baird
December, 2012
You’ve heard it a thousand times. “Are you a dog or a cat person?”
Most people land squarely into one of these categories and I am no exception. I am in the dog camp, with absolutely no room for doubt. (Did you notice that I phrased the question with the canine in the primary position?) I have been a dog lover all my life, had several breeds over the years, and loved them all, no matter what type or color they were. I was color blind and an equal opportunity dog lover, but I have to admit that I turned to the Red side when we purchased Murphy, our Golden Retriever.
My wife and I were looking for a new puppy and when we happened upon a dog farm we stopped by to take a look. There were multiple selections of many different breeds of dogs, but none caught our eye. We were about to leave when we noticed a corner that we had missed. As we wandered over to the pens, the puppies started yipping and jumping up and down, except for one little guy.
He just sat there and stared at us as we approached. Our attention at first was drawn to the dogs that were saying in puppy speak, “Take Me, Take Me,” but the more I watched the calm one, the more I was attracted to him. The tipping point was when my wife said to me “Pook," --she calls me Pook-- "look at his color hair, it is the exact match to your hair.” I knew then there was something special about this dog.
Being a redhead in my formative years was a challenge. Hearing the teasing from the other children: "I’d rather be dead than Red” or “Carrot Top” led to a lowering of my self-esteem. I recognized early on that the term carrot top was an appropriate description, because I in fact did have bright orange hair. However, as I grew into a tall, gangly redhead, the orange hair faded and softened into the beautiful shade of red that now adorns the top of my head. Sadly, if I continue to lose my hair at the current rate, I will have to relinquish my claim to fame, my "Redness." Woe is me, what is to become of me? I will have to live vicariously through my children, both Redheads and my wife, a Redhead wannabe.
It is uncanny how much in common that Murphy and I are in regards to appearance and temperament and, strangely enough, boo-boo’s. Yes you heard me: Boo Boo’s. We were both suffering from a Boo Boo, on the same knee. A few years ago, Murphy was running around in our back yard and cut the corner of a gate too close and ran into the metal post at full speed with his left knee. Needless to say this hurt a great deal and caused an immediate and noticeable limp in his hind quarters. He was in great pain when we took him to the vet to discover that he had torn the ligaments in the knee and would require surgery to fix the damage.
The price tag for all the pre- and post-operative procedures ultimately totaled around a thousand dollars. This was real sticker shock but keeping Murphy from pain was worth it. I understood that this was a dog, but this dog was special to me. So with little fanfare but a great deal of thought we opted to have the surgery and optimistically awaited the return of our big puppy dog. He returned home the next day with a big cast on his left leg, unable to do anything but lay down and look glassy eyed. It took a few days before he was able to stand and attempt something that looked like walking.
At that point, we began a losing battle to keep the cast on and to keep him from walking or running or using the stairs. Any of this attempted too soon would re-injure the leg. This was especially difficult as I had just had my knee operated on and was now wearing a big wrap around my own knee. What a pair of Redheads we were.
We must have been a little lax because Murphy chewed through the cast and somehow managed to chew away his stitches, necessitating a second surgery on his knee. We went through the battle a second time, but this time we were hyper vigilant as we doggy-sat our beloved big “Redhead.” They have contests sponsored by local newspapers for pet owners that have bonded with their pets and start to look like one another. (I can still kick myself--with my good leg that is--that we didn’t make the rounds on the look-alike circuit. What a haul we would have made.) I am happy to say that the score after the second round was Canine: 1 and Humans: 1, and Murphy recovered to be able to chase squirrels to his heart’s content.
Murphy was so gentle that he once carried three baby rabbits in his mouth for about an hour - not to eat them but to protect them. My wife Mary was outside in our backyard and heard a tiny yelp. When she looked around, she couldn't find the source of the noise. She went inside and brought Murphy inside and, sure enough, heard the noise again. But again, she couldn’t find the source. This happened several times and really spooked her. She thought that maybe I was gas lighting her -like I would ever do something that sneaky and underhanded?
Mary finally narrowed the sound down to Murphy, and thought he was hurt and whimpering in pain. She heard the sound again, coming out of his mouth but his mouth remained closed. She heard the sound one final time and opened Murphy's mouth. Now, I ask you, how many dogs would open their mouths with food in it, let alone little animals in their mouth? Not many, Murphy opened his mouth wide to show three baby bunnies in those jolly jowls and let Mary take them out one at a time to put them into a shoe box. I dare you to show me a dog that would do this. Go ahead, make my day. How can you not love a dog like this?
This is a spot-on match to me, as my wife will tell you. You could pet me all you wanted and I wouldn't say no. I wouldn't, however, continue to lick you, as Murphy did. At some things, even I draw the line. For many years our Golden Retriever and our mixed-breed Terrier and Poodle (Terripoo), Casey, kept up a torrid romance that forced us to often tell them to get a room as they took oral grooming to an all-time high. Casey was a hussy with Murphy, sidling up to him when he was laying down with an “I've got a headache" look. She would come up to nudge Murphy's head with her muzzle. If Murphy is even a millisecond slow in opening the his jaws, Casey would escalate the nudging till it reached a crescendo similar to a firefighter using the Jaws of Life to pry open a locked door. Casey then inserted her whole head into Murphy’s wide open jowls and licked the insides of his mouth until Murphy’s jaws got tired and he asked for a reprieve, at which time Casey would trot off.
Even from his earliest days with us, he would smile to show his love. I awoke every morning with his nose in my face as he waited for me to get up and let him outside. Sometimes I hit the snooze bar on my alarm clock and he came back each time the buzzer went off. I think this loving gesture will stay with me the rest of my life. Waking up to that love is special and always brought a smile to my face no matter how tired I was or what my day was shaping up to be.
However, we began to see signs as he grew older of more serious knee problems, and we tried to prepare for the inevitable. For about a year as his hind quarters continued to deteriorate. We kept watching and praying that he was not in severe pain, and that we were not being selfish in keeping him with us. There was little warning when the actual time came and caught us off guard: his back legs completely gave out under him. We agonized for 24 hours as we lay with him praying to God that he would recover, slowly realizing that the time had come to say farewell to our beloved companion.
The love and comfort that Murphy gave to us is a treasured memory that we will hold near and dear to our hearts. I knew when I needed it most he would give me one of his smiles, and playfully, but oh so gently, take my hand into his mouth and pull me around the room. Both Mary and I were able to pet and hug him and make sure that his last moments on earth were filled with love. But to be truthful, our love paled in comparison to the love he showed our family.
You may be wondering what has caused this stroll down canine memory lane. We have been contemplating an addition to our family and have been trying to decide what kind of dog we want to share our home with. I’ll be honest with you, we have been so fortunate with all of our dogs. They have been a pleasure to share our lives with, and have given us endless hours of joy. In my heart of hearts I want another Golden Retriever, but I hesitate because I don’t want to tarnish or be disloyal to the memory of our special "Redhead" Murphy. My family is pushing for a cream-colored Golden. I had never heard of them. Cream? However, my Red prejudice is rearing its ugly head, because I’d rather be Red than, well you get the idea. Whatever, we choose, I know we will love them, because Redheads are loyal and will always be a dog's best friend.
The
Top Ten
Redheads
Jeff Baird
December, 2012
10. The Flash: Anyone who wears a Red suit is Aces in my book. It doesn’t hurt that it was my nickname as a child. In addition, The Flash is The Big Bang Theory’s character Sheldon Cooper’s favorite superhero; hence he is mine as well.
9. Red Skelton: The Red Skelton Comedy Hour was a staple in our house for many years. His character “Freddie the Freeloader” made me laugh and cry at the same time.
8. Gates McFadden: Much to the chagrin of my wife, I had the hot’s for Star Trek: The Next Generation’s character Dr. Beverly Crusher. Relax all, we have mutual agreements that we have a lifetime exemption should the opportunity ever presents itself: Gates for yours truly and singer Alan Jackson for my wife. Compromise is good!
7. Bill Walton: Best Redheaded Athlete Ever. It’s insane how agile this 6’11” gangly redhead was. He starred for UCLA basketball and ended his career with the Boston Celtics. You can dream can’t you?
6. Carol Burnett: The Carol Burnett show was a treasure; her laugh was infectious. She also had Tim Conway in what has to be the best comedy bit in “The Dentist” skits.
5. Chuck Norris: Chuck was a great athlete in his own right, but the values he portrayed in his hit TV show, Walker, Texas Ranger, have stayed with me. Watching him kick the stuffing out of the bad guys was very cathartic.
4. Andy Reid: Philadelphia Eagles’ fans have been lucky to have Andy’s guiding hand over the years. True we haven’t won a Super Bowl, but his success can’t be disputed. As far as I am concerned we should stay the course. My deepest sympathies on the recent loss of his son. God Speed
3. Maureen O’Hara: My Irish lass. Featured in both of my favorite John Wayne movies: The Quiet Man and McClintock. I fall in love again with her every St. Pats Day when I watch The Quiet Man.
2. Allison Janney: Lead character in my favorite TV drama: The West Wing. The tall redhead jokes and references to Big Bird bring back fond memories of my childhood.
1. Murphy: Beloved Golden Retriever, his hair was the golden redhead that everybody dreams of having. A dog of a lifetime, a kindred spirit passed away. I’ll wait for you on the big canal park in the sky.