These hats have been hanging in my grandma’s old garage for the last 50 years.
Earlier this week, I went out for a walk towards my grams house. After sitting outside and chatting with her for awhile (she is perfectly cute and we have the best visits) I noticed my grampa’s hats lined up on nails in the garage, the exact same way they used to be when I was a kid. I couldn’t resist taking a picture, and was kind of awestruck, remembering how he would pick a certain hat to work out on the tractor in, or on his old truck or in the field. When he was done working, my little brother and I would still be playing in the garage, pretending we could drive that old Buick they had, or rolling around on that rolly thing he had for sliding under cars to change the oil. He would walk into the garage and take off his hat, hanging it up on that nail and there it would stay until he needed it again.
I miss him. He passed on in January, over a year ago, and I can still remember the smell of him, and the way he would laugh. I think he’d like this photo.