Hats – July 12, 2013

In this Texas sun and being outside a lot, I need to wear some kind of hat. Now I do not feel comfortable in one of those wide brimmed “cowboy” hats that many down here wear. An I will not, even as a joke, put on a sombrero, which is not uncommon. But a simple baseball cap, with a bill in the front to shade my eyes is ideal for me.

When Mary first got here and we had a little cash and not having a hat, I cleared it with her to get one for just about five dollars. A large blue star was front center and immediately I was assumed in the ranks of fans of the Dallas Cowboys. Not such a bad place to be, but I don’t follow football ( or any other sport team). But being quiet and a disposition to be agreeable (on matters of little importance) and bow to the expertise of self-proclaimed authorities, maintaining a satisfactory relationship within the community was relatively easy.

Now the Dallas Cowboys did not have a very good year and on New Year’s Day at a dinner for the homeless I was able to acquire a new hat, this one with the phrase “House the Homeless” on the front. But receiving the hat I was told I’d have to turn in my Dallas Cowboys hat. I think he was joking, but I responded with “Well, they aren’t doing anything this year” and laid my Cowboy’s hat on the desk. My new “homeless” hat was not the quality of the first, but it did have a bill and did the job of keeping the sun out of my eyes.  

Now not having clippers to regularly trim my beard, it was starting to grow out and it was not uncommon to be complimented on it. It was full and well-formed and gave the appearance of an Old Testament prophet or Santa Clause. It was not uncommon to hear “Hey, Santa Clause” from over-weight women in Wal-Mart, or ‘frat’ boys half-drunk wanting to impress some UT coed.

Now my hat was becoming well-worn and stained from the sweat of my head, my beard untrimmed, eventually grown out about eight inches, I was often addressed by younger, more polite street people as “Hey, Old timer”. Older, more mature businessmen, believe it or not, addressed me as “Sir”.  I often would forget what was written on the front of the hat, as I also am unconscious of my tattoos, which are also prominent and unmistakable. But occasionally, as I remembered, I realized I was unapologetically getting in the face of many who would rather I, and my like, were not there. I was a reminder that the system does not work for all. My demeanor fit the stereotype. I was not a drunkard or hopped up on drugs. I was able to survive on the streets, never being ticketed or arrested, but I was there and something didn’t fit … I didn’t fit. I didn’t fit the profile. Eventually, I lost that hat. It was no great loss, I should have thrown it away a long time before.

At a Thursday breakfast at the Presbyterian Church, shortly after Mary returned to Indiana, I was looking through a bunch of hats on a table and one kept my attention. It was corduroy, burgundy, with a large T in the center and slightly smaller A & M on each side of it. I knew immediately it was a Texas A and M cap, and it looked good, so I claimed it. Texas Agriculture and Mechanics, this is a college about 60 miles east and at one time a rival school to the University of Texas at Austin. I realized that if I wanted to get in someone’s face, this was the hat to do it.

Now beard was trimmed to a civil length, and except for the fact that I usually have a backpack on I do not appear “homeless”. I am approached regularly by “pan handlers”, but I set them straight as to the realities. Most simply ignore my brandishing the A&M. I really believe they are afraid of biting off more than they can chew, but there are several former A&M alumni that have expressed their appreciation, and amidst a community, not so distant, a respect for being bold, though I admit initially, ignorantly.