Hats
As Mike, a cashier at Wheatsville, handed me a can of black beans I looked up past his grin to behold the end to a long search. It was crushed and mangled and the blue cotton had been crudely splatter painted by the sun, but it was none other than the perfect replacement hat.
My previous “normal guy” hat served me well for many years. It was just the right level of normal to get me through airports, police stations and other places requiring discretion with my culturally conflicting hair. It was also dear to my heart, as the logo on the front came from Enchanted Rock, a natural area near Austin revered by native americans and modern rock climbers alike. A wiry French speaking Tahitian man wears it now. After spending a night drinking on the beach with him, he gave me some amazing pearl pieces he’d pulled from the ocean and hand carved himself. I wanted to give him something of value to me.
Mike found his hat under a seat in the back of an Austin bus. He ran it through the washer and up onto his head where it had now been sitting long enough to have its own cowlicks. The patch on the front was circular and read, “City of Austin – Founded 1839″ in light blue letters around a yellow and red shield. It was crude. It was simple. It was about my favorite place on the earth.
Sadly, he didn’t have many leads on finding another one of these gems and so began a quest, one of many in the collection of ongoing quests and missions that carry me through life. It wasn’t until about a year later, working as a theater manager for the SxSW Film Festival, that I saw the hat again. I immediately abandoned my post to run across the convention center and grab the man lucky enough to be attached to it. He worked for the Austin Department of Public Works, maintainers of my city and the secret source of the hats that are blue. While he at first feared for his life, after hearing my impassioned plea he said, “hell, I’ve got another one in my locker. I’ll just give it to you.”
When he returned I told him that I wasn’t going to pay him, and at even the suggestion he held up his hands. Instead I wanted to give him something equally cool. My wallet had carried a treasure for six months, waiting for the right moment. I pulled out the crisp two dollar bill and gave it to him.
That exchange, the fact that he gave me the hat as a gift, is part of what makes it so valuable. It’s a thread woven into the cotton that hugs my head and rests gently above my ears in reminder of the simple kindness of the people of Austin, the city who’s name it bears, the city I love.
My dad’s father died when my dad was still a teenager. It was a fact that, as children, was so puzzling and mysterious and incomprehensible that we simply couldn’t grasp it. He was never overly willing to talk about it. He told us that it had made him sad and nothing more.
One day while poking around his closet I found an amazing old felt fedora and begged him to let me use it in the high school play. We were doing a production of The Sting and even with a couple of paint drops around the edges, it was perfect. That’s when I learned that it was the last thing he owned that had belonged to his father. When he at last acquiesced, I was extremely nervous that something might happen to it. Now I’m even happier that something did: it picked up another story, another thread, another piece of what makes things like old hats so magical. I’m glad that my new hat is well on its way.
[ed: It should be noted that the blue hat is, in fact, one of two normal guy hats I have. The other went with me to India and can be seen here. It has a Mad Penguin logo on the front, and is probably the coolest gift my sister has ever given me!]
