Head of the Family

His hat hangs on a peg in my hallway. It’s not the Stetson he wore on special occasions. This one has sweat marks, and a small spot of oil. It’s the one he wore every day as he mowed lawns, drove to the sale barn, or any time he went out the door. He never left the house  bare-headed, never wore a baseball cap. The hat was as much a part of the man as was the activity that marked each of my dad’s busy days.

Today would have been my father’s birthday and if he were here, I’d bake his favorite pie–coconut cream. He was born at the turn of the last century and sometimes I wonder if he would recognize the world we live in today. He loved horses and was much more at home on the back of a horse than driving a car but drive he did. His children used to remark that he had one speed in town or on the highway and he didn’t believe much in using brakes or shifting gears unless it was absolutely necessary.

When I think of Dad, which is often, I think of strength, honor, truthfulness. Anybody who knew Bob Day knew that his handshake was as good as a written contract and he wasn’t one for mincing words. However, he could make his point without cursing.  I never heard my dad use foul language nor tell a questionable joke and I never heard him shout at anybody, including his children.

Hospitality was a creed he lived by. He welcomed family and friends into his and Mom’s home. He enjoyed playing checkers and I don’t know of anybody who ever beat him at that game. And horseshoes–well, if the weather was good and his visitor was up to it, he got out his horse shoes, they went  to the side yard and soon metal shoes rang against metal stobs in a serious game of pitching for ringers. 

One of my favorite memories is coming to their house through the back door and finding him and Mom standing in the hall, watching me come in, smiles on their faces as they waited for me. They were always glad to see me, always. If my visit was too short, Dad would say, “Did you come after a coal of fire?”

I don’t need the hat as a reminder of the man who wore it. I have plenty of memories without it but somehow it is comforting. Although he wore it when he was out-of-doors, the minute he came in, off came the hat. He hung it behind the front door. He took off his hat when he entered any building. It was a sign of respect to do so. Back in his day, a man touched his hat or sometimes took it off when he met a woman. But at funerals, weddings, when he saw a funeral procession or the American flag go past, he took off his hat and held it. Never ever did he wear it inside a building and if one of his sons or grandsons  forgot to remove their head-piece inside, he’d remind them of that oversight.

I still have the hat and I’ll keep it but I sure miss the man who wore it–Happy Birthday, Dad.