Daddy's Hats (In Honor of Father's Day)

In the corner of my living room, my family history hangs on a hat rack.  Five generations, from my grandmother to my granddaughter.  

My father's hats are my favorite.  He is the only family member who has two hats in my collection.

One is his crimson Shriner's fez.  He joined the Shriners because it was a good venue for business connections, but as years went by Shriners became more than just a group of business associates.  One of their subgroups, the Caravaneers, planned the annual Shrine parade, and he enthusiastically joined in the fun.  He devoted much time to raising funds for Shriners' support for disabled and burned children, never imagining that someday I would become of those burn victims when my dress caught fire from a gas heater.

His other hat is the one he wore every day, a soft brown fedora.  I never learned why he felt most comfortable in hats, but I always associated him with them, and when he died, I asked for the hat he'd worn to the hospital.  He was my hero, and that is the most personal memory I have of him.