Column | The baseball caps that came before | Columns | Opinion | psucollegian.com

Ethan poses with the Nittany Lion Shrine in his University of Texas Austin hat, where he'll attend graduate school this fall.

Roughly two weeks ago, during the little downtime I had between classes and track practice, my roommate surprised me with an Amazon package from my mom. I had a hunch about what the box hid, but still shook and sized it up before opening it.

A few days before that moment, after many rejections and weeks where I can’t fully remember what happened, I received notice about my acceptance into the University of Texas at Austin’s Rhetoric and Writing program.

So, when I opened that package and saw a trademark burnt orange baseball cap with a white longhorn on the front, a feeling I haven’t felt in years, one that I still can’t fully accept or recognize, came over me — ease.

With my foreseeable future seemingly set, I proceeded to wear this cap so much that my friends asked me if I took it off between the times they saw me.

As I get older, I find myself wearing more hats. I think this change came about because of the associations I make with the few I treasure. Hats tell stories, and in my case, a progression through life. When I added my UT Austin cap to my collection, I realized this when the others caught my eye.

The white Navy Track & Field hat I bought for my brother years ago at a Naval Academy track camp and later accommodated after they began recruiting me to run. The one that gets me called an “imperialism simp” by grad students sprouted mold on its brim in Costa Rica’s humidity and almost caused me a panic attack at the prospect of losing it.

Before I returned to school for the spring semester, I left it in the laundry closet with a big note for my mom to see: “BLACK MOLD, PLEASE HELP.” Like most things, my mom fixed the problem without question, although she removed the giant yellow sweat stain on its top — the one that contradicted tightly folded sheets, ironed uniforms and “sir, yes, sirs.”

I never pursued Navy’s interest in me to run on its team, but I knew I wanted to run in college. To my mom’s dismay, I didn’t commit to a university until the last two weeks of high school because I had to choose between being a NARP (non-athletic regular person) at Pitt or an athlete at Monmouth University.

I thought I only needed a track to satisfy me, but I quickly realized Monmouth’s small size and the Division I demands didn’t work for me. However, I still tried to make it work.

In an attempt to convince myself, I bought a Monmouth flat-brim cap with a rope separating the brim from the hat. I proceeded to try and bend the brim in the style I desired without success.

Unfortunately, that purchase didn’t fill me with the school spirit I sought, and it now collects sun on my car’s dashboard, always in view.

I applied to Penn State within a handful of weeks at Monmouth. One weekend when I drove home — which I did every weekend after I submitted my application — my mom took me to Dick’s, where I picked out a PSU shirt that said, “Made in Pennsylvania” and a navy blue trucker cap with a white knit back and block letter “S” on the front.

At the time, I told my mom to hide these items in case Penn State denied me; but when my mom burst into my room one morning to tell me I got accepted, I wore that hat without shame.

This hat is my favorite. I’ve taken it to Greece, South Africa and Ireland, to the top of mountains and the Mediterranean Sea. It fits my fat head better than most hats and has a perfect fade that will only get better when I take it down to Texas to bake in the sun with me.

I haven’t worn it since the summer, seen by the fact it's buried under the other hats on my rack. I don’t want to forget the memories associated with my Penn State hat: Wearing it to track meets to seem more like a coach, the excitement my mom showed for me when she found out I got in — and her faith that I would.

My hats house stories that flow through me whenever I put them on and look in the mirror. While I may not wear my Penn State hat much in Austin, I’m not ready to hang it up indefinitely.

However, I’m confident all of my hats will keep their value well into the future, even if they sit on my shelf more than my head, because the memories associated with my headwear have more importance to me than the shade or style they provide.

They remind me of the defining moments in my life, the people who believed in me when I didn’t and the decisions that led me to wear my Texas hat religiously.

I’ve since given wearing the Penn State hat a break and know which one will take its place for the time being. After all, I still have plenty of time to fill it with more Penn State memories — ones that will make Texas more homey — before I leave.

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