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My father's hats
My dad is never without a hat. It's not because of premature baldness. Nope, he's still got his black hair, albeit with a little more grey sprinkled throughout. And, it isn't because he's a die-hard cowboy. He's just as comfortable wearing his felt cowboy hat for special occasions as he is wearing a baseball cap touting his daughter's alma mater. And, like any farmer or rancher, he's got quite a collection including caps representing seeds, feeds, fertilizers, herbicides, pesticides, pharmaceuticals, and of course his daughter's workplace. What kind of a daughter would I be if I didn't get Dad a High Plains Journal cap? But, the most recognized bit of Dad's hat collection would be his summer straw hat. Every spring, for the past four decades, Dad and Mom have trekked to the local western wear store to peruse the shelves of straw hats in search of Dad's next "victim." Dad likes to start off his summer with a nice, clean, properly shaped straw hat. However, we all know that the trip home from the store will be the final time this hat sees an inkling of "clean" and its shaping will be questionable within a day or two. You see, Dad's summer hat is a multipurpose tool in his cowboy arsenal. It not only shades his face and his neck, but it's also great for swatting flies and moving a little air when used as a fan. He'll douse it in water to cool his head while raking hay, or wave it in the air when moving calves. It's no wonder then, by the second week, the hat's starting to show signs of wear. There are greasy fingerprints on the brim from when Dad had to fix the baler and the inside band is grimy with sweat from the Kansas humidity. The crown has a definite hoofprint from where it fell off his head while he was feeding cattle and it got trampled by an overly excited steer. Sadly, the fancy hat band is already missing in action. By July, Dad's summer hat has green tattoo ink splotches to add to the greasy fingerprints. The crown is no longer discernable, and the tattered remnants of the brim are crumpled in a mockery of its original shape. This hat has been driven over by pickup trucks and four-wheelers, sat on by the cow dog, and baled up in a square baler, yet Dad will still continue to wear it. He says it adds character, I say he looks like an aging Toby Keith. Right around the time of the state fair in September, it's deteriorated past the point of usefulness because now the crown has holes in it from when one of the 4-H lambs chewed on it while he was fixing their waterer. The brim is a shadow of its former self now, and all that's holding the whole thing together is the four pounds of Kansas dust imbedded in the straw weaving. Seed salesmen are following him like vultures with free caps promoting their wares and a saleslady at the mall asks him where he got his "designer" hat. Afterall, tattered is "in." Right about this time, Mom will start hiding Dad's ratty straw hat to keep him from wearing it in public. Nothing bothers my mother more than Dad's summer hat. As a rancher's wife, she's had to put up with a lot of dirty things over the years--countless calves spending the night in her kitchen keeping warm, muddy bootprints in her clean car, and never being on time for anything. But Dad's hat will set her off like a Roman candle--she just can't comprehend his attachment to something so ugly. Now, if you were to ask Dad why he doesn't just pitch this thing, or wear a baseball cap instead of a cowboy hat to work, he'll just laugh and tell you he likes his things "lived in." I have a suspicion, though, he does it just to see Mom's reaction. Jennifer Latzke can be reached by phone at 620-227-1807, or by e-mail at jlatzke@hpj.com. Date: 6/1/04
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