Jimmy's Hat

I had the privilege of delivering a eulogy at my father's funeral last week. I had an impulse to wear one of his hats – a brown fedora. I don't know. I thought it would be a talisman or something. He always looked so dapper, and he was one of those people who can wear a hat and look good in it. I asked my step-mother if I could borrow one of Dad's hats for the funeral. She fetched his signature fedora from the front hall closet, I tried it on, and it was too small and slid up my head and looked ridiculous, so I thanked her, but no, it wouldn't work, I told her.

Then I decided to email my friend Jimmy. A couple of years ago I was at his house for dinner, and when I left, it was raining hard. He insisted on giving me a hat to wear since I didn't have one of my own or an umbrella. I got kind of lazy about returning the hat -- when I wore it, people would stop me on the street and say, "That's a great hat." After about a year, I brought it back to him. In some kind of mysterious, manipulative move, I left the house with not only the original hat, which was brown, but also one of Jimmy's black hats. The guilt eventually got to me. I found a hat store in Georgetown and I got the hat cleaned and blocked, and I returned it to Jimmy. My conscience was clear, plus I had a pretty cool, black hat.

But I hadn't brought it with me when I headed up to New York for my father's funeral. Jimmy was coming up a few days later. I emailed him and asked him to lend me a hat. "Black or brown?" he asked. "Either," I replied.


The day before the funeral I realized that a brown hat was what I associated with my father, not a black one. I texted Jimmy that morning, "If you're still at home, would you bring a brown hat? DON'T WORRY IF YOU'VE ALREADY LEFT." "Okay," he texted back.

That evening Jimmy walked into the funeral home with a big hatbox. He was grinning, and told me to make sure not to forget the medication he's also brought with him that he picked up from my pharmacist. During the course of the evening, my former husband (Jimmy's his best friend) told me that Jimmy was planning to give me the hat, but that it was supposed to be a surprise. I was touched, but I also felt slightly dirty, like I'd wheedled something out of someone.

The next day, I wore the beautiful, brown hat to the funeral and delivered my eulogy. Everyone loved the hat. It was perfect. It evoked the spirit of Dad. Later at the reception, Jimmy's wife, Lisa, said something to me about Jimmy having bought the hat for me. I was flabbergasted. This went beyond wheedling. This was like larceny.

Jimmy laughed and said, "I asked Lisa for her advice about whether to bring a black or brown hat, and she told me black. So I'm wearing this black hat up on the train, feeling like a damn funeral director or something, and then I get your text. So I get to my appointment and I ask where there's a hat store, and they say, 'You've got to go to Worth and Worth.' So I go there, and the guy shows me this hat and asks me if I want him to steam it. And I tell him it's not for me. 'You're buying a hat for someone else? Well, what's his size?' I answer, 'Well, I think she's about the same size as me.' So we find something that we think will work. I didn't want you to know I'd bought it because I didn't want you to feel guilty during the entire funeral."

So, that's the story of the hat. And now I have a hat.