My father made it one of his personal style choices, against then current fashion, never to wear a hat. He had one, put away in a hat box, which I think I saw once, but I never saw him wear it. He would jokingly complain that we were in for it now if we ever got stuck behind a man driving a car while wearing a hat. They were always slow-poke, bad “old man” type drivers. His other idisyncracy was never to wear closed shoes, except on those rare days Los Angeles rainstorms, but always wore sandals. Visiting the beatnik sort of sandal-maker’s shop carved into the cliffs below Pacific Palisades was a real adventure.
Now I am a man who wears a hat always outdoors, and even sometimes while driving, for the skin senitivity I created by so much sun exposure in my youth. And I must drive very slowly and cautiously, for the safety of all concerned. Funny to think I’ve turned into one of the guys my father used to make fun of…
