Losing my hair

"Stop that!", Katie demanded laughingly. She was driving me to an appointment with the audiologist (I had temporarily lost some hearing, and they wanted to set a baseline), and I had pulled a clump of hair out of my head and showed it to her. I do this periodically because I know it freaks her out, and it's fun to watch.

When I was growing up, hair was a very big deal. For the longest time, I had been forced by my parents to wear a crew cut, which was cruel and unusual punishment in the 60's. As soon as I could, I started growing my hair, and I didn't stop until a run-in with the laws made me. At that point I had beautiful light brown hair falling to my mid-chest.

Now my hair's falling out. I don't really care about this, other than several practical concerns. First, of all, how much is going to fall out, and in what pattern. I don't want to end up with some mutant hairstyle. I think that I will shave it all off first. Second, I am assured by my cancer buddy Frank that my chemo therapy drug, Cisplatin, makes you more susceptible to sunburn. Now Frank has a wonderful, swarthy Mediterranean complexion. If he burned under Cisplatin, I am going to crisp like a french fry left in the fryer too long.

I am going to need a hat.

I hate hats. I actively avoid wearing hats, even in the wintertime. Mostly this is because of my large, Charlie Brown style head. One of my fondest moments from high school was when the senior class adviser was measuring me for cap and gown for graduation. She announced, soto voce, to the entire senior class "Peter, you have the biggest head in the class." Hilarity ensued.

Anyway, it is next to impossible to find a hat that actually fits. With baseball caps, I am always flying on a wing and a prayer, the size expander on the last notch, grimly holding on for dear life. They are always too tight, making my head feel like Tony Soprano has it in a vise.

The average hat is also either way too dressy or way too banal. I like a slouch-brim fedora; they make me feel like Humphrey Bogart. But they look incredibly stupid with jeans and a flannel shirt, my typical uniform de jure. Baseball caps are typically insipid. I do not want to provide a free billboard to some person, place or thing.

What to do, what to do, what to do-waka-do?

I called Frank and asked him to get  in touch with Natalie, his daughter  who is an officer in the Air Force. She flys on AWACS. As such, I am betting that she runs into all different kinds of units. I asked Frank to ask Natalie to find a unit baseball cap from an unusual unit in the Air Force. I can't wait to see what she finds.

I just hope it fits