Hats

I was watching a movie tonight while eating dinner and scene near the end showed them burying one of the main characters. While I have mostly gotten over that bothering me, for some reason I looked up and saw the hats we have on the top of one of our cabinets in the living room.

These hats once belonged to my dad, Lee Galloway, and two belonged to our son Joseph Galloway. Why is it that we as a family decided that those hats were important and we should save them when other items were given away or thrown out after their deaths? These are not special hats; dad’s is a straw hat that is bent and dirty, showing the many years of wear. Joe’s are black felt, covered in dust and shaped as he liked to wear them.

While considering what to write about when I was looking at them I came up with the main reason that we keep them. It’s partially about the fact that hats have always been can continue to be, important to us. It’s also partly that we considered my dad a true cowboy and that hat is a key element in that lifestyle. A hat that not only kept him cool and protected from the sun in the summer, but one that was removed before entering any house and most buildings, one that was at least touched if not tipped when meeting a woman on the street.

            Joe was not a cowboy in the same way that dad was, but he did associate with the more modern version of a cowboy. The manners of greeting people, the desire to do what was right even it was not the easiest or the most fun, the basic way of life that he thought was right.

            Since Joe was never able to meet my dad, and I’m not a cowboy, and I’m not sure he had ever spent more than a few minutes riding a horse, I’m not sure where he picked up this way of thinking.

            Perhaps my dad was more of an influence on my own life and thus on Joe’s than I thought? All of this deep thinking from looking at 3 dusty hats on the top of a cabinet. Must be time to head to the shop where I can work on not thinking about either of them for a few minutes.

            For those few that have taken the time to read this, what is the key to your memories of loved ones? Is it a dusty old cowboy hat? Let me know.