The Hat

Perhaps it was BG Assistant Editor Jared Jernagan's photo on his blog. (No, I'm pretty sure that wasn't it.)

Maybe I just thought I'd look cool.

Whatever the reason, I bought a hat the other day -- a black, semi-casual hat with a brim wide enough to deflect rain and snow. It was an unavoidable concession to reality: my hair isn't as thick as it once was and, yes, much of our body heat escapes through the tops of our heads.

I trace my aversion to hats back to junior high school. We lived along a gravel road south of Reelsville where it was a bit of a walk to wait for the school bus. On winter mornings when the temperature was below freezing and the wind was howling, my mother would insist that I wear one of those goofy knit cloth hats pulled down over my ears.

She, of course, was saving me from pneumonia.

I, of course, was more concerned with the fact that when I got to school and pulled off the hat static electricity would keep my hair standing straight up until noon. No amount of combing, no amount of water would make it lie down.

There was no hope of attempting to look cool for hours.

I hadn't worn a hat since, but I headed off to buy one recently. Stalling around the hat display at a mall department store, I waited until no one was nearby. I selected a hat at random, quickly put in on and turned to the mirror. Somewhere a voice seemed to call, "Get the guns, Zeke. Them Hatfields is a lurkin' in the woods agin."

I tried another one. Remember Hoss Cartright? Enough said.

A third choice proved just as futile.

All I wanted was a simple, functional hat. One that wouldn't cause dogs to bark or mothers to move their children off the street.

Finally, the black one. Hey, not bad. Not bad at all.

I adjusted it carefully, lowering the brim to a level just above my eyes. The mirror, aided by my nearsightedness, seemed to echo the theme from "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly." Or was it "Hang 'em high"?

No matter. I obviously bore a more striking resemblance to Clint Eastwood than my ego could have imagined. "I'll take it!" I told the sales clerk.

I wore it home and, just as he always does, Sam the black Lab was waiting to greet me affectionately as I opened the door.

Grrrrrrr! Arf! Arf! Grrrrrrrr!

"Down, boy! Down!" It's me."

I'm pretty sure it was just Sam's way of kidding around. I think.

It snowed the next day so I wore the hat to the office, feeling really smug -- until I took it off.

Oh, man, not again! Static electricity!

I wonder if Clint Eastwood ever had to wait until noon to look cool.