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Mom helps buy a hat

Mom helps buy a hat

Mom and her brothers, all seven of them, loved messing with people more than breathing. Those who inherited the Bob Hope, the tip of the ski slope seemed to excel at it. But those with Wilson’s noses were close seconds in that talent. Uncle LW could pull out his wallet in a restaurant and count his five dollar bills in a way that made you think he had a hundred dollars.

Mom must have forgotten that the day her brother, Cordon, asked her to help buy a hat for Grandpa. Those were the days when a man rarely went out without one of those Sinatra-style hats. Cordon and mom knew exactly where to shop. More importantly, they knew the size of Grandpa’s hat.

Mom and Cordon walked to the corner and took the city bus directly to Wright’s Men Store. They sold the best hats in town except maybe the miller’s. Wright’s was fine for most people.

They examined the seasonal display and chose the style and color that Grandpa wanted. That’s when the problem started. Cordon made the move for him, calling the store clerk to help finish the purchase.

The thing was, Cordon’s hat size was two sizes smaller than Grandpa’s. But he didn’t tell the vendors that, and he silenced Mom when she tried to intervene. Cordon pulled his hat over his eyes and ears as low as possible and said, “I like this one. Annie, what do you think?”

At the time, Mom was hiding behind the clothing racks as far away from the clutter as possible. The store clerk tried valiantly to get Cordon to try on a hat that would fit him. But Cordon did not budget. He insisted that the hat was perfect.

Mom’s family had an uncanny knack for saying anything to anyone with as straight a face as someone in the public defender’s office. It’s amazing that we didn’t need your services.

Yes, I said we. Those talents run strong and run deep in our Scotch-Irish blood. My husband, after nearly thirty years of marriage, says that he still doesn’t know when I’m lying. That’s just a fancy way of saying tease. (That skill came in handy when I was teaching. I had a class picnic every April 1st. I was the April Fool’s Day queen until my nephew overthrew the throne last year. My older brother taught him well.) .

Returning to Wright’s fine men’s shop, the assistant and even the owner finally stopped reasoning with Cordon. He proudly made the purchase from him. With his hat still firmly perched on his nose, he strutted out of the store, yelling aloud, “Has anyone seen my sister? A short redhead? She was right here.”

That was a long bus ride back to Worth Street.

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