My Daddy’s Hat

June 19, 2011


            It was very special.  It was always black.  It was always felt, usually a Stetson.  It had to be shaped just right.   It had to fit just right.  We kids were taught at a very young age that Daddy’s hat was always to be respected.  We dared not ever play with Daddy’s hat.  If we were privilege with the task of putting it in its special assigned place, it must be hung or placed just right so as not to misshape it or soil it, especially his Sunday hat. 

Daddy always had two hats.  One hat for church and going to town when he wore his good, unfaded Levi’s.  The other hat was for work no matter what he was doing on the ranch, riding horses checking the cattle or just doing the chores.  The church hat had a special place in Mama and Daddy’s bedroom.  The work hat always had a special hanger, many times a big nail, on the kitchen wall where it would be handy for putting on as he walked out the door.  Daddy never went outdoors without his hat.  Daddy was always a gentleman and removed his hat when he came in our house, anyone else’s house, church, or any other indoor meeting.  (Although I do not remember him removing his hat when he entered a store.) 

If we needed to locate Daddy in a crowd or in a distant pasture, we always looked for his black hat on top of his tall, lean, six-foot frame.  Daddy’s hat was part of his character.  It protected his thick brown hair that never turned gray even at age 87.  It shielded his twinkling brown eyes and slightly tanned face.  It shaded his favorite plaid shirts or Levi Jacket above his 501 Levi pants and black cowboy boots. 

Daddy’s hat reminds me of good, dependable, steady, moral living that came from Daddy’s unwavering faith in Jesus Christ as his eternal Savior.  His hat always went to church with him every Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday night; was hung in the church foyer as soon as he entered and stayed there until he walked out the door.  Next to his Bible, family, and some favorite horses (like Wagon, Jake, and Chip), Daddy’s hat was one of his most precious earthly possessions. 

That is why, when Mama asked me if I would like to have Daddy’s good Sunday hat after his death, I quickly said, “Yes” without hesitation and I will proudly wear it on those occasions when it is proper for a lady to wear a Black, Cowboy Hat.



I wrote this in 2001, the winter after my Daddy went to Heaven in July.  He was 3 weeks short of being 88 years old at the time of his death.  I am so thankful for his life and all the lives he influenced through the years.


Pat Moon



  I am a grandmother who started as an Independent GNLD Distributor in 1985 because of family health concerns. After experiencing positive results for several family members, I chose to share the products with other people. My confidence in the GNLD products has continued to grow because the products work. My goal is to help others have the BEST REAL HEALTH possible.


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Leave a Comment

{ 4 comments… read them below or add one }

1 Roslyn June 15, 2014 at 12:00 pm

What a wonderful story. Thanks for sharing your love and memory of your DAD and his hat. You look great in it too.


2 Pat Moon July 1, 2014 at 1:13 pm

Thanks, Roslyn. Glad you liked it.



3 Rose Kirkland June 20, 2011 at 6:46 am

Pat–I love this story.  It sounds just like my daddy and his hat.  We were never allowed to mess with his hats at all.  I wonder if this is a cowboy tradition out in the 'wild west' as we grew up.  I see the love that you have for his memory.  Great article.  Many blessings.


4 Pat Moon June 21, 2011 at 10:46 am

Rose, I am sure some of the ‘hat’ things were part of that era of cowboys. Thanks for the comment.


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