Cowboy Hat Rick, Boston’s Chuck Norris
Because apparently I won’t do something unless I can cause a scene – consciously or subconsciously – after hitting the marathon nightmare jackpot with high humidity, no sun cover, and temperatures in the high 70s for an April race of which all training was done in sub-30 degree weather, yours truly finished but at the expense of heat stroke, prompting Rick to live out the main character all dads, men, and people in cowboy hats yearn for: Chuck Norris from “Walker, Texas Ranger”.
Dragging my semi-lifeless body out of an Irish sports bar in downtown Boston, Rick floored it on his trusty steed (a Chevy Tahoe with 400,000+ miles on it) to the ER, in what was the most perfect mashup of the western TV show and The Town, a manifestation of the silent power the cowboy hat has on someone who doesn’t necessarily need to be wearing one.
The cowboy hat has organically carved out a spot in Rick’s rotation of everyday civilian wear, which never ceases to make him the most curiously interesting person in the room when out from under the curved brim comes a Boston accent that rivals Robin Williams’ in Good Will Hunting. In keeping with the dawn of any good peculiar dad accessory, one day the accessory seems to appear without announcement, fanfare, or explanation. The accessory then begins to surface more frequently, with no discernible pattern or particular call-to-action. The accessory is given no acknowledgment by the dad, its presence as seemingly natural and essential as a limb. With this chosen accessory, dads obtain an almost saintly level of confidence, blowing past baseline awareness and hovering in an untouchable apex of utter unflappability.
No amount of beta blockers could get me to achieve “dad wearing odd accessory in a casual public situation” and that is something I will eternally envy.