I first wore the hat at the age of two
in a picture my mother took.
It swallowed my head- its immense size;
an adult's hat on a child's head.
My grandfather wore the hat around the 1950's-
when it was stylish. It fit him funny
we always laugh about the way it sat
on top of his head.
When off it came, a part of him was left inside and stayed for years as it sat alone in the top of his closet.
When I grew bigger, I lifted the hat from it's lonely perch.
Now it fit me-the brown hat hugging my head snugly but not too tight.
And all of a sudden, I left the place where the hat and my grandfather were for years.
But when I wear the hat, part of Pa infuses me.
His love and laughter spring to life
and make me into a man such as he.
And neither hats nor grandfathers are forever...
But I'll wear the hat, and I'll keep that part of him
left so many years ago.
And when he's gone, there will be a man
who laughs like him, and walks like him, and cares like him.
Still wearing his Pa's hat.