Hats, Hats, Hats

Some people have hair. Thick, shiny, full-bodied head cover that they can run a comb through.

Some lucky stiffs even get to have beautiful babes run their long, finely-manicured fingers through their hair. But not me. My head is hair-challenged. Little or none of the stuff on top. Not yet a shiny chrome dome. Plenty on the face, just sparse on top.

Now I'm not bitter. It has been coming for a long time. They say you get your hair, or lack thereof, from your maternal grandfather. I should have paid more attention to those old family photos.

I have a solution to the problem. I wear hats. Lots and lots of hats. Baseball hats most of the time.

I have hats from my favorite teams (baseball, basketball, football, and racing), places I've visited, places friends have visited, military services, automotive parts sponsorships, schools I attended, schools I didn't attend, and companies I've worked for...just to name a few.

They inhabit boxes in the garage, fill closet shelves, hang behind closet doors and on the kitchen wall, lying around here and there. I keep spares in the car and at work, just in case.

Some are signed. Some are grease and oil-stained. One even still has the price tag hanging on it. But the most amazing thing of all is that if anyone has noticed, no one has ever said, that I seldom wear the same hat for more than a few days at a time.

So if you ever have to get me a present, but don't have any idea what to buy, I think you'll now have a good idea of what to get me.