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My relationship with hats has been tricky over the years.

It all started as an infant.

Around six months old I was diagnosed with Craniosynostosis which, according to Google, is a condition in which one or more of the fibrous sutures in a young infant’s skull prematurely fuses by turning into bone, thereby changing the growth pattern of the skull.

In simpler terms, as I’ve been told my entire life, my soft spot closed too early.

It required a lengthy 12-hour operation and considerable recovery and was rare enough at the time that I believe I may be featured in a textbook somewhere.

Despite that, other than the occasional migraines that became less frequent as I got older and having to explain to anyone cutting my hair why I have a scar that goes from ear to ear, I’ve only had one lingering side effect from the whole ordeal: hats never seem to fit me right.

Or at least I never thought they did.

The surgery did what it was supposed to do, and I’m thankful to have had it because the effects of not correcting it can range from seizures to developmental delays and can in some cases be life threatening. But it did leave me with a large and slightly misshapen noggin.

No matter what kind of hat I tried on, it never sat right, and in a lot of cases, didn’t fit.

It wasn’t until a couple of years ago at a Brandi Carlile concert in Huntsville with some friends that I noticed a change.

We stood in line at the merch table to grab some souvenirs. It was our fourth time seeing Carlile in concert in various capacities. I had already gotten a T-shirt from a previous concert and already owned all of the music they were selling.

The only other item that seemed interesting was a hat. It was a red and white ball cap with a Brandi Carlile logo on the front of it. The concert was in the middle of the summer in the South, so I immediately put it on to catch some of the sweat from my forehead.

I’ve been wearing it most days since then. So much so that it’s debatable about whether the cap is still “white” or not. Maybe sort of an eggshell at this point.

Under that red and (not as) white cap there’s a story that I never cared to tell before, a scar that I’ve always hated to explain and was always embarrassed by.

But also under that cap is every memory I’ve ever gotten to make and the mind that’s processed every thought I’ve ever had and anything that I’ve said or written that was in any way noteworthy.

Hats don’t fit me any better than they ever have, but I’ve learned to be okay with that.

My red and (not as) white cap that I wear may lean slightly to one side, but it sits on top of the very essence of who I am.