The Hat Thing

When I was young, we wore a cowboy hat for one reason--to keep the sun from our faces and ears. I lived during a time when old farmers started to see the negative effects of too much sun on their ears, nose and face.

We wore straw hats, not fancy by any means--just simple straw hats.

Now my grandchildren enjoy cowboy hats, and as long as they're younger than 9 or 10, I have no problem with the whole scenario.

Jack already had a hat he used whenever we went on trips. He used it for a similar reason that I did at one time. When the afternoon sun began coming through the window during any road trip, he would put it on and lower the brim to shield his eyes from the brightness of the day, especially at dusk.

I'm not thrilled about the whole Wyatt Earp thing of shooting at each other, even if it is through the barrel of a forefinger. Like gift giving, it's the thought that counts--except this time the message has a negative vibe.

Sometimes, however, I forget that I had toy guns. I had a toy rifle that looked like a lever action Winchester. It was along the lines of Wild West rifle, but it shot caps. There was also this plastic projectile.

I always kept close track of my things, but those tiny bullets seemed to go missing, especially after I fired them at someone like my sisters or another adult in the family.

There was this cool Colt pistol I had too. They called it a "Fanner Fifty." It went with the rifle, and it shot projectiles too. I grew up in the days when safety was not a factor when it came to building toys. The only credential that was important was their value in terms of being a great plaything. Nothing else mattered.

We finally found a hat in my Jetta for Jack, a paper In-And-Out Burger hat. For me and Jack, there's nothing like a good burger, and even if it has nothing to do with cowboys and the whole mystical thing about the West, it still is a great hat.

Anna loved her hat too. Picking it out was a bit more complicated. First, she found a pink one. It was bright pink, the shade of that horrific over-the-counter medicine.

She picked out a second one, and it was incredibly classy, and within five minutes, she found Justin cowboy boots that matched. I almost went for it.

I fell under the spell of my princess. My eyes glazed, my mind froze, my hands seized the tiny white boots designed with pink fringe. Then my Annie brought me back to reality. A $50 pair of boots is a stupid thing to do, when a child's feet grow so quickly. I put them done.

My Annie didn't have to slap me or anything. In an instant, my little Anna's captivating smile and Bambi eyes no longer had power over me. Her brain control powers makes Obi-Wan look like an amateur. Not even that powerful old Jedi could have exerted the power over me that my priceless princess did.

But there's always another year and another visit.

A time will come when my Anna will not have feet that grow so quickly. And she will get a matching hat and boots, as long as she is under the age of 10.

I don't do cowboy stuff.

But my nephew did show me some boots that I probably will get for myself. I guess there's a bit of cowboy inside me still, even if I don't have to worry about keeping the sun from my ears.