When I was ten years old, my mother made a denim cap, the type with several segments and a button on top, very fashionable at the time. She made it from scraps of denim, so that the colors were all subtly different, and there were pieces with a segment of pocket or a rivet. It was lined with red bandana material. The hat was 1970s cool. This hat below, basically, but in denim:
Much to my mother’s frustration, I couldn’t be parted from it. She made it, but neither she nor my dad wore hats. I fell in love with the hat, and if they didn’t want it, I did.
I didn’t wear the hat to school, but I wore it everywhere I could. It became my hat, even if it was a little big for me at first. My sister was quite tired of it. My parents asked if I was thinking of getting married in it.
The hat went to college with me. By then, it was starting to show wear. The elastic in the band gave out and the denim on the band was wearing thin. Yet it still came with me and I wore it, although I wore it less often. By graduate school, I wore it only occasionally, and the band was threadbare. I couldn’t bear to throw it out, but it was too worn to wear.
I finally threw it away when I moved to Maryville 24 years ago. The cap lasted 25 years, longer than expected for a garment. I have seen store-bought caps like it, but none of high enough quality or panache. It was a one-of-a-kind item, and I miss it sometimes.
Words Like Me 