My dad’s old cowboy hat sits, perched high in my living room, atop the glass curio cabinet where I keep my life totems. My life so far, at least. The hat is Size 7 ½ medium. It’s 100 percent cotton corduroy. The color? Rugged bay brown.
The day I gave him that Christmas gift, my dad had been sober for years. After he tore into the crinkled newsprint wrapping, his black eyes lit up like a little kid’s. Continue reading “Elvis, My Dad, and Macho Music Miracles”