We women wear so many hats that evolve over the course of a lifespan. Daughter, sister, niece, friend, mom, aunt, grandma, wife, co-worker, boss, etc. Not that men don’t, of course they do. Son, brother, nephew, friend, father, uncle, grandpa, husband, co-worker, boss, etc. But since I am a woman, I simply relate better to the females of the world more than the males.
I’ve recently added a new hat to my repertoire: Mom. And, oh! What a hat. It’s gloriously colourful, wide-brimmed for shelter, sturdy for protection and usefulness, but the softest hammered leather to comfort. And of course, me being me, it’s neither perfectly fitting or rakishly set back. It’s a little big, perhaps jauntily sitting too far back on my head so the sun hits my eyes and I have to squint. Or sometimes pushes too far forward until it practically falls off. In both cases I can’t see a dang thing and I need to take a moment, a split second, and stop myself, in which case I will either fall behind the pack or make a left turn to join a new pack, and pull my hat back on properly.
Sometimes I won’t be able to put my hat on by myself. Someone else, someone kind, will help me. They might just reach out and fit my hat on properly, or they will scoop down and pluck it off the ground and hand it back to me. Sometimes I will ask for that help and sometimes I’ll resent it and feel ashamed that I can’t take care of my hat as well as the next person. But in that single, brief connection we will know each other and relate to each other by our hats, our Mom hats.
Out of all the hats that I’ve ever worn, this is by far the most amazing and complicated. I’ve only been wearing it for not quite 6 months and maybe I’ll grow into it, like my son will with all the hats he’s been given that don’t quite fit yet. I sure hope so, because it’s a beautiful hat to wear.