Like a bird crashing into a window, the question “Are you Mormon?” came out of nowhere. There were three more weeks left of working as a camp counselor, and I thought I had established myself pretty well with my campers, and my coworkers. It wasn't until that fateful Thursday that I realized I might not know how they saw me at all. So when my group leader, Rod, asked that question with a strange certainty, I was very confused.
“No,” I said, “Why?”
“Well, you're blonde.” He said like it was obvious. Like I should’ve expected that answer. I’ve heard the ‘dumb blondes’ stereotype and the ‘blondes have more fun’ (true) stereotype, but never once had I heard the one where all blondes are Mormons.
“I was gonna ask you $100 or ten minutes with Joseph Smith.”
“Oh,” I awkwardly chuckled. When I got home I Googled who Joseph Smith was.
The next day, I was talking with another counselor and she brought up the whole Mormon debacle. I learned some of my coworkers had been wondering if I was Mormon since training. Training was 6 weeks ago. Was that all they thought of me this whole summer? Every painful conversation with them, each day I worked with them…was this all they saw? If they thought I was Mormon because of my blondness, I can't imagine what other stereotypes they had placed me under.
The following week of camp rolled around and I assumed that was the last of it—but boy was I wrong. Rod and I were in an empty room discussing a camper when his friend walked in. After he dropped off some supplies, he headed for the door but stopped before the exit and turned towards me.
Smirking, the question “Are you Mormon?” escapes his lips.
How many people were in on this? I say no, and go back to talking when Rod says, “Are you sure?”
What do you mean by ‘Are you sure?’ Do you think I wouldn’t know? Like, my bad, I forgot, you're actually right! I am Mormon! Thanks for clearing that up!
I ask why they don’t believe me, and they say that I must be Mormon, because out of the three natural blonde people they know, two of them are Mormon. Well with that fantastic statistic, I guess they're right. I should start practicing my new introduction, ‘Hello, my name is Beth, and I’m a Mormon!’ Then, they started asking all these ludicrous questions to try to prove that I am a Mormon.
“How many siblings do you have?”
“Do you have plans of going to BYU?”
“What's your opinion on technology?”
“1 million dollars or one hour with Joseph Smith?” Wow, it's not like I haven't answered that one before, but since you increased the time with him, I guess I'll reveal my secret identity as Mormon, you idiots. I felt like an animal at a zoo with crazy tourists telling me to dance. Finally, after they were done entertaining themselves, I still denied it. They said I was lying.
Rod says, “Your name is Beth Burnett. You look like that.” What is that supposed to mean? Your name is Rod Kirov and you look like that. So who’s the real winner? I didn’t say that though. I wish I did.
I was about to walk out the door because I was getting that prickly sensation in my eyes and I knew I could not cry in front of them when Rod's friend said, “You have no eyebrows!”
Ouch. Everything became blurry in that moment as if I were peering through a foggy window at a life that once belonged to me. His words were a tape recorder, displaying all the times I was teased for my light hair, called grandma, called eyebrowless. I sat there in silence.
Just because my mom passed down the gene of “blondness” does not mean I am Mormon. Just because two-thirds of the natural blondes you know are Mormon, does not mean every blonde is Mormon. Just because you think I am lying about being Mormon, does not make me Mormon. Some people would consider you blonde. Are you Mormon Rod? Did you ask our four blonde campers if they were Mormon? Is Barbie Mormon? Maybe you should ask her. Oh wait, you don't need to, because apparently, every blonde person is Mormon.
Looking back on this summer, I realize that, for all their jokes and probing, my coworkers’ fixation on whether I was Mormon had little to do with me as a person because they barely knew me. It had everything to do with the stories they heard about Mormons. What they saw was a description of a stereotype—a blonde-haired, Mormon in denial—rather than who I actually am. With each condescending question and comment about my looks I realized that basing one's identity on stereotypes is very dangerous. My identity of being blonde was replaced by their single story of what a blonde girl “should” be.
In the end, they proved their idiocy and wrote some crude joke about me “not being Mormon” on a paper that happened to go to our bosses. Let's just say they won't be group leaders anymore. I guess we’ve learned that blondes really do have more fun, don't they?
Beth Burnett is an ambitious high school sophomore who currently spends her time in the clay room, studying for bio, hanging out with friends, or rewatching Gilmore Girls. She hopes to pursue a career that allows her to make a positive impact on people’s lives.
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