I Am Not My Hair

By Jetsir

I am not my hair.

Well, of course I'm not my hair literally...that would be impossible (and kind of ridiculous).

In the figurative, philosophical sense, I'm not my hair. What I'm trying to get at is that I'm not like what my hair represents. In any way, shape or form. I'm not my hair.

...

Ok, I guess I should explain.

You see, my hair is super bushy and eats combs for breakfast, like my mum's (but don't tell her that, please). My hair is also so red it makes my head look like it's engulfed in flames, like my dad's.

Even though my hair looks like the perfect mix of my parents' hair, I'm nothing like the two of them.

My mum is amazingly smart. Like, wow. She knows everything. Everything. I don't know where she fits it all in her brain. She could read through an entire textbook just once, take a test on it two weeks later, and not get one question wrong. It's not just book smarts, she knows a lot of cool random stuff, too. Like how to get mud stains out of a quidditch jersey using nothing put a bar of soap and a slice of lemon. She's just awesome like that.

And Dad, well he's just so brave! The bravest man in the world! There was this one time when I was five and Uncle George was visiting and he thought it would be funny to scare Rosie and me by conjuring a giant spider to go after us. We both freaked out and started crying we were so scared. Then Dad just came up and stomped on it like it was nothing! Even though he was scared himself! He's brave like that, too, you know. He's not afraid to admit that he's afraid, and that's totally awesome.

And that's what I mean. I'm nothing like my parents.

I'm not smart at all. If it weren't for Rosie helping me with my work, I definitely wouldn't be passing my classes (if you call getting by by the skin of my teeth really passing...). I look at books and my mind goes numb, class is something to be dreaded, and the only things I look forward to at Hogwarts is the food, Hagrid, and this one Ravenclaw girl in the year above mine (but that's another story).

I'm also not very brave...to be honest I'm a big chicken. I'm scared of lots of things: spiders, flying, the Divinations teacher... lots and lots of things. When I get scared I freeze up and I'm totally useless. Honestly, it's completely lame, I can't even face my fears, and if I'm going to be completely truthful, I've actually cried a couple of times out of fear. Even now, at the manly age of 12, I've shed a few tears in the face of a particularly nasty-looking spider.

Maybe that explains why I was sorted into Hufflepuff...

Now do you see my point?

Now do you understand me and my comb-eating, fire-ball hair?

I may look a lot like my parents, but I'm nothing like them personality-wise.

I just wanted to set the record straight. I mean, everyone else around Hogwarts expects me to be some sort of brave super-genius that can tackle any obstacle.

But I'm not!

I'm Hugo Weasley, the not-so-smart, chicken of a Hufflepuff with a soft spot for pretty Ravenclaw girls.

I'm not my parents.

I'm not my hair.

I'm not what others expect me to be.

And I'm proud of who I am...I think...

A/N: Very rambly, but it's to be expected from a 12-year-old (I mean, you can't exactly expect him to be a master of the Enlish language, now can you?). I know I like it. It was partially inspired by the beautiful song "I am not my hair" by India Arie. Listen to it if you have the chance.