“Under the Brim” (Roxy)

Every photograph I have of my dad includes him with very little hair on his head or wearing some kind of hat. In the summertime, he wore a floppy fisherman style hat to protect his balding head from the sun. He always had it on when he worked in the yard or sat outside by the pool. It was beige and white and I must have felt like it was too plain because I decided to decorate it! 

Not my best choice, but lucky for me, it’s difficult to yell at someone with little blonde curls, big brown eyes, and a goofy grin. In fact, I don’t remember him raising his voice at all. I do remember my father puffing his cheeks and slowly releasing the air from his mouth while shaking his head from side to side in disbelief. In my own defense, the artwork was fantastic; I just chose the wrong canvas.

“Roxy, what... are... you... doing?!” he asked as he snatched his hat from my lap. 

I was about 3 years old when I took a Crayola to my dad’s favorite headcover.  By the time I was done red circles, blue swirls, green, orange and yellow lines brightened up his “boring” accessory. 

“Do you like it?” I asked.

 He did NOT like it, but luckily I did most of my decorating on the inside of Dad’s favorite hat. This must have been before “washables” were invented because those swirls and lines never came out despite my mom’s best efforts. Oh well, live and learn. Dad still wore the hat for years to come, I learned not to color on anything other than paper, and my parents had a cute story to tell their friends. 

When I reflect back to why I colored his hat, it wasn’t necessarily because I was a naughty kid. I genuinely tried to make my dad happy by making his favorite hat even prettier. As most kids do, I was just trying to get his attention and affection. And, as most kids do, I was always trying to please my parents and make them proud. When I was younger I showed them love with hugs, kisses, homemade crafts, and drawings. As I got older I looked to earn their affection by writing cards and poems, or showing off my talents by dancing, or playing sports. As long as my parents were proud, as long as I had their approval, I was content.

Ten years passed, and that old fisherman’s hat most likely got sold in a garage sale or tossed in a bag for Goodwill. I always remembered my father’s love of hats and my siblings wouldn’t let me forget about ruining his favorite one. The year before I entered high school, my mom and I traveled to London and Scotland with a group of dancers. When I wasn’t performing, and she wasn’t applauding, we were visiting the famous castles, riding double decker buses, and doing what Mom and I did best...shop! 

The split second I came across the patchy plaid cap with overlapping swatches of green, maroon, navy, and beige, I knew my father would LOVE it.  Here was my chance to make up for my mistake! The “London” hat was a completely different style than the fisherman’s hat. This hat was classy. 

Colorful enough to match everything, it had a style resembling a newsboy hat or a flat cap. I thought my dad could wear it in the cooler months to keep his head warm.  My mom thought the price was ridiculous! And it was, so I bought it with my own money. By “my own money” I mean, I gave her the strange and colorful currency I had left, begged for a loan, and paid her back later. It was not cheap, but it was worth every pound. And the “London” hat became an instant favorite of my Dad’s! He wore it daily, and if he ever wore a different hat someone questioned where it was.

24 years later, I found myself holding my father’s “London” hat after my sister cleaned all of his belongings out of his room in the nursing home. I’m typically not sentimental when it comes to tangible objects, but when Dad died this last September, that hat seemed to be more valuable than ever. It holds so much meaning and so many memories. Every time I look at that hat it takes me back to my dad’s face, specifically his blue eyes shining from underneath the brim.

My son, Grayden has the same blue eyes as my father. Same twinkle and all, so you can imagine how they sparkled and how I felt when Grayden came into the kitchen a few weeks ago with that “London” hat on his head. He already knew the answer before he asked me, “Mind if I wear Bumpa’s hat for my costume in the musical?” 

I shook my head from side to side most likely giving him the same look my dad gave me so long ago. It was as if my past and future reconnected, and I was somewhere in the middle just enjoying the moment. Of course I didn’t mind!  I thought my heart would burst and Grayden knew it. My son wanted to please his parents just like I did. 

Grayden had been rehearsing all summer to play one of the rowdy newspaper sellers who wore the old-time hats in the musical theater performance of Newsies. I LOVE THAT KID...And he ROCKED THAT HAT!

I was so excited about Grayden’s role, and it was even more special thinking of him wearing my dad’s hat. I made a big deal out of writing a Facebook post picturing Grayden in costume, mentioning how I was so proud because he would be wearing my father’s hat while tap dancing on stage for the first time. This was a big deal for him! He had never tapped before. I sort of thought wearing my dad’s hat might bring Grayden a little luck from above. Selfishly, I thought it might bring me a little peace from within. I pictured Grayden on stage singing, dancing, acting, and most importantly...wearing my dad’s hat. But when all was said and done, that’s not exactly how it played out. 

It’s difficult to be angry at someone with floppy blonde hair, shiny blue eyes, dimples to die for, and a heart of gold. 

But I lost it! 

My son could sense my meltdown brewing when I checked over his costume on opening night of the show. 

Boots? Check. 

Tap shoes? Check. 

Shirt, vest, khaki pants? Check. 

What I saw next made my stomach do a little flip. In the middle of his outfit, I noticed a scuffed up, foreign-looking, black leather hat and when I opened my mouth, I blurted, “What the Hell is this? Where’s Bumpa’s hat?” 

Grayden proceeded with caution.

“Ohhh, yeah...sorry Mom. I forgot to tell you. Umm... it doesn’t really fit.”

 “What!? What do you mean it doesn’t fit? I saw it on your head in the professional photos! You were wearing it around the house last week. What do you mean it doesn’t fit!? It TOTALLY fits!”

Lucky for me, Grayden was 15 and mature enough to realize I wasn’t spouting off out of anger directed at him. My (over) reaction was more likely due to the grief I still feel every time there is a performance my parents can’t attend, a game when they aren’t in the bleachers, or a grandparents day they miss at school. I grieve not just because I miss my parents, but because there are so many things my parents are missing that involve my children. Those feelings of loss never go away, and they often come out at the worst times, on some of my best people.  

In fact since my parents died, I often find myself testing those I love the most, metaphorically coloring in their favorite hats to see if they will love me anyway. Looking to replace that unconditional love I so desperately miss that was once given to me by my parents.  No strings attached! I’m also learning how important it is that I GIVE that same love and grace to others...specifically my own children.

“Mom, I’m sorry. I really wanted to wear Bumpa’s hat, but during dress rehearsal when I was jumping over chairs and lifting things over my head, it kept falling off. It’s just too big. (My son was right; my dad did have a rather large head!) 

Grayden continued, “I tried to make it work.I know how much you love the idea of me wearing it. Some of the ladies tried pinning it together to make it fit tighter around my head. I even let them try bobby pinning it to my hair, but nothing worked. I didn’t want to worry about it falling off during the performance, so I grabbed this black hat from the costume rack. It’s a perfect fit. I think it looks cool! Please don’t make a big deal out of this.”

He put on this strange new hat and he was right.  It was a perfect fit. He looked great! It wasn’t what I had expected, or even what I hoped for, but neither was his performance on stage...It was so much better! And I’m so so proud.

I have often said that no one loves and forgives you the way your parents do. But after this weekend, I think I was wrong.  I think maybe your children do too. I quickly learned that the act of wearing my dad’s hat during this play was not as important as the young man with the blue eyes under the brim.