As a child, it was as if I’d been shoved into a huge cathedral packed wall-to-wall with billions of people, and everybody was wearing a hat. Up on my tip-toes, straining to look out over the heads of the crowd, I saw a massive turbulent sea of hats of all shapes and colors.
Although the hats themselves were quite vivid, everyone’s face was blurred. Everyone in the crowd was proclaiming their hat to be the best hat to wear. They were all shouting, chanting and preaching at the same time, billions of loud voices, it was deafening. I slowly elbowed and pushed my way through the tightly-packed mob. As I passed each of them, they would turn and speak to me with their gospel, offering me a hat like their own to wear. Some tried to force their hats on me, reaching to place them on my head or shove them in my face. But to their frustration and anger I refused them all.
Not wearing a hat of any sort, by default places me in an opposing position to almost everyone else on the planet. Although I’m acting from my heart and good sense, my refusal to wear a hat means I am labeled a worthless and vile heathen, an agitator, troublemaker, heretic, pagan or infidel. There are those that would put me to death just for not wearing the right hat.
But I wasn’t born wearing a hat. I don’t have a need or desire to wear a hat.
This is such a loving thing to do to every newborn, bare-headed baby.
Photo credit: Thomson Reuters