Jim Hopkins: Red alert - day of distress for ginger-tressed

"Hi, mom. I'm calling from the top of the world."
- 13-year-old Jordan Romero, shortly after scaling new heights

"I hate grown-ups and I love children."
- The Duchess of Dosh, shortly after plumbing new depths

And the Duchess has got a point, you'd have to say. Generally speaking, most of the time, except when they're screaming their heads off on aeroplanes or writing all over the brand new sofa with one of those indelible markers, children are more loveable than grown-ups.

Provided they never moan about their Christmas presents and don't tell you they're actually a bit agnostic about Santa after you've gone to the trouble of putting out Ginger Nuts for the reindeer, it is much easier to like most children than it is to feel an equivalent affection for the calamities they become.

Unless, of course, they're obnoxious 13-year-olds who've just done something completely unnecessary like climbing Mt Everest, then ringing Mom to brag about it!! (For pity's sake, are these brats surgically attached to their blasted cellphones? Do they ever stop txting, twittering or chattering?)

More to the point, how dare young Jordan Romero and others of his ilk - including that precocious yacht girl, Jessica Watson - openly boast about taking risks and being brave and doing daring stuff.

This is not how things are meant to be. Safety is paramount. Risks should be avoided. The young should know their proper place - a cosseted cocoon in which they're force-fed threats and fears, terrors and traumas. Counselling is their salvation, not adventure - or so the grown-ups say.

Little wonder that Jordan Romero was quickly brought down to earth with headlines like: 13-year-old climbs Everest but psychologists worry about impact.

"Jordan's a physically strong teenager who's like an unfinished Ferrari," said Michael Bradley, a teenage psychologist quoted in the Scotsman. "Most 13-year-olds don't have the wiring to make cognitive life-and-death decisions ... Teenagers have thin veneers that can easily crack from stress and lack the resilience of adults to bounce back from trauma."

Freely translated, young people haven't done as much as old people so they don't have the same understanding of themselves or the world. Best we keep our acned adventurers away from mountains and mountainous seas. Best we keep them in the cocoon, at home if needs be, especially on a day like today.

For today is a Red Litter day, when russet offspring fear the worst. It's a day of great distress for the ginger-tressed, with trauma's embrace just a hug away and horror lurking at hair's breadth length.

Needless to say, we are transfixed, not by Climb-a-Mountain Day or Sail-a-yacht-around the-World Day but rather Hug-a-Ginga Day. This is the day we debate, after the father of two Christchurch redheads roundly condemned its cruelty.

Stephen Simpson has publicly roasted the vege on The Edge Morning Madhouse show for promoting Hug-a-Ginga Day. His sons don't want to be hugged, he says, and certainly not because they have hair of a particular hue. They want to be left alone.

Any unsolicited hug is bullying, says Mr Simpson, who wants an end to hateful, hurtful Hug-a-Ginga Day. So lay off the redheads, you hear.

If you hug anybody today, hug a bald person, or someone pepper-grey. Squeeze a brunette by all means or even a lovely blonde (chance would be a fine thing!!) but don't hassle the gingas. Put 'em on a yacht, yes. Take 'em to Mt Everest, sure.

Give them a red-blooded adventure by all means, but no hugs.

Hugging is terrible. It's traumatic. Do the decent thing today. Put a bag over your head and ignore the whole damn world - in case you traumatise some redhead who hasn't climbed Everest yet!

That said, we could and should spare a thought, and a hug, for Fergie. She is, lest we forget, a redhead herself. She is a victim of hairism too, probably too traumatised to realise you don't ask people for half a mill to meet your ex.

So bring her over for a dinkum Kiwi hug, if only to remind her that we don't care too much for money, money can't buy you love.

But do it next week, for reasons the extinguished poet laureate, Sir Jam Hipkins, (honour pending) most lyrically explains:

Every lusty rusty Ginger
Is a carrot-topped humdinga
Sporting his hirsute locks of splendid red
Be they wafer thin or chubby
Be they uncle, aunt or hubby
Never stress the tress upon their ginger head
Never put them through the wringa
Never point a snooty finga
Give a hug instead if such should be your way
But here's one thing you must rememba
Hug in June, July, Decemba
But never hug on Hug-a-Ginga Day
It's a radio promotion
Just a shoddy, shabby notion
Done for ratings and to get The Edge ahead
So when you hug someone for fun
Then remember, everyone
You should do it on another day instead!!