The hat changes everything

For my 49th birthday, I bought a Stetson cowboy hat at Glyn’s Western Wear on the square in Mount Pleasant. I gave $52.47 for it.

I hadn’t worn a cowboy hat since I was a teenager growing up in the outskirts of Dallas. The hat was a straw kind with a fancy feather band. I didn’t wear it long because I didn’t count myself as the Texas cowboy type. I didn’t wear boots, I didn’t say “fixin’” or “ya’ll.” Country music didn’t set my toes a’ tapping. I felt more urban, less rural, and my teenage and young-adult choices reflected that.

Thirty-some-odd years later, now living in East Texas, I find myself knee-deep in country and country ways, wanting to explore that which I have so long denied – that of being Texan. So I figured it was time to buy a hat. A cowboy hat. It just felt like the right thing to do.

The young girl took my money like nothing special was happening. She probably sold cowboy hats all day long. She looked bored. To me it was a big step. A step into the past, but also into the future.

It feels good wearing my new cowboy hat. Maybe with my next paycheck I'll buy me some boots.

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