The old hat

In my hands, I held the battered straw hat, holes torn in a couple of places.

For a solid block of time, I studied it, having taken it down from the fireplace mantle.

I choked up.

It probably cost no more than a quarter yet Oscar Cannon, no doubt, wore it for half a century or more.

That’s how our mountain people were: you used something completely up or fixed it if it broke.

My Great-Uncle Oscar is an…