My Father's Hat

My father's Hat-
Satori

fiction
edward w pritchard

My Father's hat was older than I am and I am well over 60 years old, but it wasn't until after some-one ask me about the bullet hole in the front near the brim that I found out how very old the hat really was. I also came to find out some facts about my Grandfather's father that I didn't know, nor do I think did my own Father knew and those insights made me appreciate my Father's hat more than ever.

The hat was leather, and sturdy and brown, and old in a solid respectful way and after I retired I wore it often, originally to keep my head warm in the Ohio winters, as I lost more and more of my hair, but over time the hat became a part of me and I felt comfortable and formidable with it on. Half a dozen times various members of my family had tried to throw the hat away over the years but I always managed to rescue it, sometimes miraculously. Eventually, I acted out of character in my household, and laid down the law about my hat, and after that I kept the hat in a place of honor at our house, and my family ceased their efforts to keep me from wearing my Father's hat. Twice at the gym where I worked out nearly everyday after my retirement, I had also lost the hat, and both times somehow it had turned up. Once the hat was safely in the lost and found, but once, after being missing for over a week, I finally conceded the hat was gone for good. The lady who checked membership cards at the desk, however, took matters into her hands and played sheriff, when she heard I was upset about losing the hat, for I was quite anxious without it. Methodically, she quizzed each member coming in or out from exercising until one day the hat suddenly re-appeared on the magazine table near the exercise bike where I customary worked up a sweat at.

After that last incident at the gym, I started to wear the hat even as I walked on the treadmill, or rode the stationary bike. A lot of the older regular members, who were like me retired and liked to stir up a little excitement, started calling me cowboy, and often joking about the hat. Since at heart, I am a shy type, I enjoyed the attention, and didn't mind the jokes at my expense about my old leather hat, and when I wore my hat seldom would someone pass me at the gym without a nod or at least a slight smile.

A few months ago, the young lady who works around the gym, who is attractive, and commands a crowd of us older guys when she is around, asked me about the small hole in the hat and one of my cronies said in jest "why it's a bullet hole [ my dear]". A few weeks later, another member, who I came to find out was a College Professor at the University, who had over heard the original bantering but not been involved, asked me to let him check out the hole in the hat, After a long careful look, he had suggested that the mystery hole was an entry hole of an arrow. Of course, at first I thought it was another joke, but my intuition told me the guy was sincere. He was a sort of loner, and not part of regular crowd at the gym, and I took him seriously. A few days later, since I have time on my hands in the day, I stopped at an archery range and the owner there confirmed, the Professors diagnosis. He said, although he was not 100% sure, that it sure looked to him like a hole made by a small tipped arrow traveling very fast when it entered the hat.

Naturally, my curiosity aroused, I took further steps to find out more about the hat. Looking back, on when my Father had initially given me the hat, I tried to remember everything my dad had ever told me about the old hat, including wondering back, straining to remember, if my Father had ever mentioned the hole.

I have never been one for genealogy. I didn't know or care previously anything about my ancestors much beyond my parents, but I became very dogged in my efforts to find out about the hole in the hat. Over the next year, I spent many pleasant hours playing detective and later historian and archeologist until I uncovered the hidden story about My Father's hat.

END of Part 1