David Rae and the Iconic Hat

Last night, I was walking home from a journey over to Tim Hortons where I finished a puppet script. I was wearing my new hat that I've had for a month when I had bought it for a night when I impersonated Neil Young at karaoke (It was a terrible impression undoubtedly). The hat was also going to double as Indiana Jones' fedora for a game I had concocted for camp based on the movies. It was going to be fantastic.

When I first wore the hat, I was initially uncomfortable wearing it around Nelson, but it grew on me. I liked it. It was a sweet hat. It was a cowboy's hat.

I was wearing it along with my black corduroy jacket and had my laptop bag slung over my shoulder (which, now that I think of it, is like a modern day version of the satchel that Indy had). As I walked down the street lamp lit streets of Prince Albert back to my billet's place, I noticed a probably high, young guy climbing on top of road construction equipment that was resting on the shut down side of one of the main streets of the town. I kept a cautious eye out for him and continued on my way. I turned the corner and knew that there was only four blocks back to my place. After walking down one block, I could hear the guy shouting at me to slow down over top of the music playing in my earphones.

I casually removed my earphones and put them away in my breast pocket and listened closely. As I continued along the second block, I scanned the dark trees of the Kinsmen Park to make sure no one else may be lurking. I could hear the guy get closer and continue to call for me to slow down. As I approached the end of the second block, I turned and faced him.

What comes next was one of the strangest conversations I've had. I supposed I don't talk to a lot of drugged individuals, but it takes on a special tinge of bizarro in the middle of the night all alone in the city with a federal penitentiary. I won't get into details, but it essentially went like this. He initially thought I was someone else, then talked about how he was in trouble, then he started to call out for people in the park (who weren't there). At this point, I told him I was not going to help him because he was making me super uncomfortable. I walked across the street and he followed. He claims that he just said that because he was afraid of guys coming after him or something. I understood he was trying a wide range of cons on me all at once. He pleads with me to take his shoe because it will save him from his dad who hates him because he's half-white. Yes, I typed all of that right.

In the middle of this conversation, my mind is thinking of my exit. I realize that I am only two blocks from home and that the girls from the team are there along with two young daughters of the house. I did not want him to know where I stayed. If this was just me, then who cares, he's not a threat to me, but there are the others. And this guy is unpredictable.

He clings to me and I keep breaking his grasp and claims that I will save him. I continue to let him know that I can't but he moves in cause he wants a hug.

For whatever reason I let him hug me.

Immediately, his hands move to grab my hat.

I quickly snatch it back from his shaky grip. He then begs me to give it to him.

My mind is still figuring out what the solution to this is. It jumps to the price tag of the hat and to use of it later in the summer. It jumps to the wisdom of running or fighting to thoughts of pacifism. And the one that hit the hardest was my thought of letting go of things.

This hat didn't matter. Maybe it would placate him. Maybe I need to let it go. So, I handed it over.

The guy takes on a more aggressive tone and tries to intimidate me with a monologue that sounds like it was written by the Ultimate Warrior using overly aggrandizing language of the heavens and the spirits and forces of nature and other improvised crock. I realized I made the wrong move. I gave him confidence. But I did not want violence to be my answer. Not over a hat.

I turn and start walking away telling him that he's got the hat and let me be. He preaches his monologue further like a Bond villain and as I plot my next move. Then a cop car flashes his lights. I approach the car and tell him the guy has my hat as the punk half-stumbled, half ran away.

The cop asks me, "Why don't you just take it back?" which was weird considering I am the cop here.

"I just want to get home."

"I can't really do anything, I've got another in the back already."

I tell him it's alright and head home watching to make sure the punk was not lurking around.

I tweeted about it and went to bed. The girls knew about it in the morning because of that and I kind of brushed the event off, giving minimal details. I really didn't want to hear the "I thought something like this would happen..." but I heard it anyway. The presumptive question was asked, "So, did losing that hat really bother you?" as though I were petty.

To a degree, yes, it bothers me. That hat cost a decent chunk of change and I barely had it for a month. We were going to need it later in the summer and so I couldn't just let the loss be done with, I will be throwing down money for a replacement. Yeah, it bothers me, but that is not the money or the hat itself that really bothers me.

I can't help but think that I have just enabled this guy further. I gave him the ability to terrorize people further. My pacifism has let him potentially harm people in the future. I didn't stand my ground like I could have and made him back down.

I have talked quite a bit, especially recently, about becoming the heroic version of yourself. Was I really doing that in that moment? I can't help but think that the reason I lost the hat of the hero, is because I am not one myself. This came at the end of a day where I felt like I kept failing. I didn't plan the day out right and I almost got the team in an accident. The cost of the hat and the style of the hat is not what ultimately bothers me about losing it, it's the idea that I failed to be the thing I want to be most. Hero. And the fact that the item I lost in the event is symbolic of a classic hero makes it hit that much harder.

Now, before you all get on the band wagon of "Suck it up Sally" or "You did the right thing" or "You shouldn't beat yourself up over it", I am aware that I am not defined by this event. But what it has me wondering is what does my heroic persona look like?

"I see a bad moon rising
I see trouble on the way
I see earthquakes and lightning
I see bad times today
Don't go round tonight,
Well, it's bound to take to take your life
There's a bad moon on the rise."
- "Bad Moon Rising" from the Creedence Clearwater Revival album "Green River"