CHARACTERISATION OF A HAT:
It was showing obvious signs of aging and had grown pale and wan since the first time it had proudly perused the streets of Sophiatown from just under two-metres up. In spite of its appearance, and twenty years after its first outing, the trilby still exuded this self-same confidence when perched atop Terence’s head.
Its dark felt was no longer as soft as it had been on the first day it had experienced the thrill of the fresh, cold, winter-morning air on its crown. A deep inhalation of its well worn shape invoked the memories of a life well-lived. Its narrow brim, now faded and worn, had been imprinted with the tips of its owners’ fingers – constantly seeking, constantly worrying, constantly wanting assurances.
As if on cue, Terence smoothly took the trilby’s rim between thumb and forefinger, seeking its approval of what he was about to do. He was in fact seeking the assurance and approval of the original wearer, a man who had placed this self-same trilby on Terence’s youthful head, tweaked his chubby cheeks and promised him, that one day, with the help of this magic trilby, he would conquer the world.
He had seen the man only once, on the day that his life had changed forever. As he had stood on the dusty streets of Meadowlands, Terence had believed that man’s promise, and gratefully accepted his gift. His fierce determination to conquer the world had seen the trilby take on its own unique sense of being and place in his life.
Today, proud as a peacock and with the knowledge that it was a lifer, the twenty-year old’s jaunty attitude put paid to any thoughts that it was a has-been. It was a proud symbol of how one small action by a passer-by, could change the path of a young South African with seemingly no prospects.
But its job was not done yet.