My mother is and will be the only participant in this project of which I picked the hat out for. This may appear strange as it is of coarse the hat I will be wearing on my bald chemo head. But then, hey why not, she has been buying me socks and underwear for my entire life. What can I say? We just have a different kind of close relationship in this way. She is my mom after all.
I have had allot of questions about my new fledgling hat collection. Many people just want to get me a gift card so I can go buy myself a hat but this will simply not due. I need my friends to understand that this project for me is a deeper form of self exploration. One which transcends the material needs of my nature as a consumer. I do not want to go out and buy a hat collection because I believe that when I am wearing a hat from a friend it is in essence an extension of their personality. Their personality thus becoming much closer to me in a comforting way that I dearly need on some dark mornings. My fantastic hat collection becomes a beacon of support in this way of those whom love and care about my need to transcend beyond the menial metaphors of what it means to be a cancer patient.
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| Waiting for My Hairs Summertime Vacation: Its Going to Skip Town But I'm Not. |
Do you know Brett Thomas? He is the person I call my partner. To date, I have not given him a hat. There is no real need --there is a hat flood in our house, gates opened by the mailman looking for someone to sign for Bathomas the Magnificent. Some have arrived with long letters and tissue paper, some in unmarked boxes with no return address, some packed into a USPS mailing sleeve with a note made out of sharpie and cardboard. They come from all over the country. Take a look through the collection, try a few on: you can be anyone you want to be. There are velour and feminine hats, academic safari hats, and baseball hats that display silly phrases. There is a foam monkey hat and a felt fez. Grassy woven sun-hats and knitted hats. Each time a new package arrives, I learn about a new person from Brett's life. Its all in the hat. For each new hat, I'll ask Brett to tell me about the person who sent it. "Oh, it's a friend" is generally all that he says, and truthfully, that's all that needs saying. If I want to know about you, dear hat-sender, I'll look inside and under, sniffing out thrift store smell or the weight of a sweat stain around the inside of the brim. The hats can tell me about whether you like word puns, or if you read the Economist; whether you prefer circus or camouflage, coffee or tea.
ReplyDeleteI have yet to give Brett a hat. I'm not sure if I'm ready to, and really, its not urgent. If you take a look in our room, you'll see that there are two or three hats lying on the foot of our bed at any one time. It's a though Brett has tried out a handful of memories before deciding on one to walk out the door with. From my perspective, figuring out how to walk out the door is a big part of what cancer seems to be about. Its harder than you might think, but a good plan makes it possible. This is what I've seen Brett do: Step one: sort through the hats you've got. Step two: ask the world to make your memories rush into the mail slot like cartoon doves. Step Three: hang the memories up on the wall. Step Four: you know you are real, a real someone, some kind of someone, someone who can keep going.
I have yet to give Brett a hat. I've got my eyes open, though, and I do know a good one when I see it.