In a town far away on top of a hill,
Lived people so narrow, judgmental, and shrill.
They decided on high that all hair should be brown.
They decided for everyone who lived in their town.
“To live here,” they cried, “brown hair is a must.
Brown hair is just right, all others are bust.
If other than brown is just who you are,
Then you must leave. Depart! Go very far!
For we won’t have people who don’t look like us.
Brown is what’s right. Our rules. It is thus!”
In one of the families, young Trent was born third.
In a family so big and so famous was heard,
A cry of great grief like someone had died,
The aunts and uncles and parents all cried.
Young Trent, their treasure, though brown hair expected,
Was born blond, a towhead, a child rejected.
Though cute and adorable, smart with eyes wide,
His parents knew that his hair had to hide.
If the neighbors and townspeople had any doubt,
That Trent was not brown-haired, the family was out.
From the day he could crawl, Trent’s hair was dyed brown.
This gave them permission to live in this town.
His parents feared someday that blond hair would show,
Because hair on a kid never ceases to grow.
Each Saturday night as the bath waters ran,
A small dab of brown came out of the can,
To cover those roots of the hair that kept growing,
Like a lawn after rain that needed some mowing.
And so it was thus, each day spent in “hair-hiding,”
In plain sight, with a hat, and some dye so complying.
And all seemed as okay, no foul and no harm,
Until one day, that day, there came cause for alarm.
That day, at the mirror, young Trent stood there staring,
At brown hair AND blond hair – so great, and so glaring.
He’d been told his whole life about hair not so brown,
These people were gross, not fit for their town.
He realized that day he was different than most.
He was blond, not brown-haired. He’s handsome, not gross.
He called to his parents to share his great joy
He was different – unique – not an average boy.
He loved this about him. It gave him great pride.
He was different indeed. He had nothing to hide.
We are each born great, we’re remarkable art.
We are perfect, unique, not a kind of half-start.
We can’t change who we are. That’s a great thing.
We are who we are; it’s our hard-wiring.
His parents warned, they cautioned and cried.
“Being different isn’t easy, so please Trent just hide.
Let’s dye your hair brown so you fit and blend in.
Let’s get the brown back so life’s safe as it’s been.”
But Trent just said, “No!” on that major day.
“Born different, born right,” is just what he’d say.
“Born blond, not brown-haired, is how I exist.
Being true to myself is what I insist.”
“For someone much greater thought I should be,
A towhead, a blond, not a fake brown-haired me.
Who are these others, with comments to make?
I am who I am. God made no mistake.”
The hair dying stopped on that fateful day.
Pretending was done on the 18th of May.
Proud to be done with the hair-dying story,
Trent wanted his real life, a life of grand glory.
A life that was honest and open and clear,
A life to be lived without hiding or fear.
Trent marched to school with hair like the sun.
The gold in it shone, like threads that been spun,
But support did not happen, not a moment or second.
It didn’t work out as he thought or had reckoned.
They taunted and teased, chased, hit and called nay!
It changed all his friends in only one day.
Chased into the woods, with mean words attacking.
Trent stayed hiding there ‘til daylight went packing.
He hid in the dark and was sobbing with fear,
That someone who hated his hair could be near.
“How could this all matter?” He wondered. He cried.
“How could being different make others despise?
I have no control of the color of my hair,
Born with it dark or born with it fair.
Like our gender, or height, preference or skin tone
We get what we get, it’s really our own.
For down deep I’m still me, the same me I have been.
Down deep, I’m still Trent, their classmate and friend.”
“How can I live in a me that’s not real?
Who can pretend and not really feel?
Who cares if my hair is dark or it’s light.
I say for me, what’s wrong and what’s right.”
And in that tough moment, a moment of fear,
Young Trent saw a stranger, approaching, quite near.
A man with a beard, long, thick and so white;
A smile so warm, so kind and so bright.
“What brings you to woods, so dark and so deep?
The old man continued, “And can cause you to weep?”
Trent shared his sad story in every detail.
The old man just listened and grew very pale.
He waited ‘til young Trent was all about finished,
Did not interrupt, critique, or diminish
The sadness, the pain, the hurt so disarming
That someone so young could find life so alarming.
Once Trent had recounted his unhappy story,
The old man responded with strength and with glory.
His words were bold, his lessons were wise.
Trent listened intently for ways to devise,
A way to be happy when others all yack.
To be strong and courageous when others attack.
Stay tuned for the rest of Trent’s story!
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Has trying to 
The wise man was brilliant and very aware.
