Welcome To The Bullpen
What's in a Hat
By Herold Ratliff
I’ve been wearing a hat since knee high to grandpa.
In my little world, a bare head was a flaw.
Growing up with brown felt, always on head.
I could roll the thing up, used for a pillow in bed.
Never without it, my constant companion.
Fighting bad guys with cap gun til the setting of sun.
A cowboy to be was my only dream.
And that old hat made that, much as anything.
Anytime a horseback would find me with cover
My lid pulled down tight, while the sun was a hover.
Learning to be a cowboy or man,
A good fittin hat was the start of that plan.
Men I looked up to, a hat they all wore,
My granddad was one I will always adore.
He wore many hats through out all of his years,
But an old cowboy hat, worn chasing them steers.
Never to forget while in my young age,
A momma cow getting after me, in all of her rage.
An old gray Stetson flying tween me and that cuss,
Thrown by my grandpa without raising a fuss.
My granddad is gone now, from this earth he has left,
But I bet up in heaven where we know there’s no theft,
Grandpa’s hat will always be,
Covering that bald head we no longer see.
Into adulthood I traveled, choosing an adrenaline game,
Riding bulls my father said, that I was insane.
For years at this time, a black hat I did sport,
My black cowboy hat, a cowboy crown of sort.
The years of insanity have long since past,
Priorities have changed at long, long last.
That black hat is still in the family to show,
My son now wears it, with a familiar glow.
So what’s in a hat? This question I ask.
Does the person it make, a cowboy with task.
Or is it a crown, the cowboy wears with such pride,
This question I can’t answer, but know in my mind,
A cowboy I am, a hat I do wear,
To those who don’t know or may not care,
The hat, it don’t make me or anyone else,
But wear it with honor, be true to yourself.
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