Chapter Twelve --- "The Old, Old Cap"
An ancient, stained and faded, gold-colored stocking cap lays on the kitchen bar in front of me just now, still a little damp from perspiration - an indication that it did its job well this morning. It is intricately woven with ultra-soft, multi-layered material, and generous in size. It looks tired, and although appearing to have seen it’s better days, it still has the singular ability to serve its intended purpose - equal to the day it walked out of the sporting goods store with me when I was still a pup - exactly fourteen years old. The round, fuzzy ball that used to grace the top, has dwindled to but a few strands—a mere tuft—having left tiny bits of itself in many different places. I’ve tried to replace the vintage cap on a number of occasions, but find that it is simply irreplaceable. All other stocking caps are too tight, or made of itchy material, or the wrong color or . . . whatever. I’m afraid this one is here to stay. I must say too, that on occasion the old ca
