Red Hair and Messy Braids
The girl who sat behind me in preschool was someone I’ll never forget. She had red hair that always looked like it had been kissed by the sun, and she wore it in messy braids — the kind of braids that looked like they were done in a hurry, but still managed to look perfect on her.
She didn’t seem like the type who cared too much about how others saw her. While most of us came to school all neat and tidy, dressed and prepared by our parents, she always had a carefree look. Even though her clothes were clean and her face always smiled brightly, those braids stood out. They were never quite even, a few strands always stuck out, and yet, somehow, they made her look even more special.
She wasn’t the best at spelling. In fact, she would often ask me how to spell simple words like “cat” or “sun.” But when it came to drawing, she was amazing. Her pictures were full of colour and imagination. Sometimes, she’d draw herself as a superhero flying across the sky with her braids fluttering like little red flags behind her. I used to think her drawings were better than any I’d seen in storybooks.
One day, our homeroom teacher gently offered to redo her hair. She said, “Let me fix your braids, sweetheart. Just for today.” The girl gave her a sweet smile but shook her head. She said something quietly, and the teacher simply nodded and smiled back. After that, no one ever asked to fix her hair again.
I was a curious kid — always asking questions. I wanted to know everything. So that day, during playtime, I went up to her and asked directly, “Why don’t you let the teacher redo your hair?”
She looked at me and said something that touched my heart and stayed with me even years later.
“My brother makes my hair every morning,” she said softly. “Our parents are always on business trips, so it’s mostly just me, my brother, and the housekeeper. One morning, he said he wanted to try braiding my hair. When he finished, he looked so proud. He had this big smile on his face. I felt really happy too. Since then, he always wants to do my hair before school. I know it’s not perfect, but if I let someone else fix it, he might feel sad. And I don’t want to make him sad. If my brother is happy, it’s okay if my braids are messy.”
I remember just standing there, not knowing what to say. Her words were so simple, but they held so much love. Even now, I don’t remember most of my other classmates from preschool, but I remember her clearly — the girl with the red hair and messy braids.
Preschool was a fun time. Life was simple, full of crayons, snacks, and afternoon naps. But that girl, her messy braids, and the love she carried for her brother — that’s what stayed with me the most. I truly hope she’s doing well, wherever she is.
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Christina K Sangma