Coincidentally the only hat I brought with me to Buffalo has a similar origin story to the one I wrote about yesterday, which my mother-in-law gave to me. When my high school friend, Amy, was in town back in the spring, she too presented me with a handmade cap. “I thought you would like this,” she explained, and I did.
“I made it for myself,” she continued, “but I hated it.”
I laughed and placed it on my head so that she could snap a photo. Afterwards, it sat out by itself, because all the winter gear had already been stored away for the season. And when I packed for this trip, the cold weather stuff was still in the attic, but for the gloves in the jacket pockets and my hand-me-down hat from Amy, so I put it on and headed north.
And I know that even though they didn’t start out that way, both hats were clearly meant for me.
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