I have a lucky hat. Yes, that’s right. I know someone will tell me that as Christians we don’t believe in luck, but I have a lucky hat. It’s a blue Phillies hat pictured here on the day when daughter was born. The “P” is green because it is an “Irish” hat with a shamrock on the back. Why blue? I’m not even sure. But it’s my lucky hat nonetheless.
I’ve worn it on good days–when my daughter was born, when the Phillies won the World Series that same year, to the championship parade down Broad Street, the day my son was born, and so forth.
It’s been with me–in New Orleans twice, Disney World, and every day places. It’s gone from clean to dirty to smelly.
I’ve worn it on bad days–the day I was “let go” from my youth pastor job, the day the Phillies lost the World Series, and even when I went to the game 6 loss to the Giants this past Saturday.
Yes, my lucky hat has been there for the good and bad, and some would suggest that the bad days show that my hat is not so lucky after all. To them, I would not recant that my faded-blue-Irish-shamrock-Phillies hat is my lucky hat.
Some would say, “Evan, your wife has been there for those times too.” To them I would respond, “Well, I can’t wear my wife on my head, can I?” So, even after all the disappointment, I will not throw out my lucky hat or tell it that “you are just a normal run-of-the-mill hat.” And yes, there are days where you don’t perform; and, yes, there are days when I dislike the outcome; and, yes, there are times when you are in a slump and drag everyone down with you; and, yes, there are days when you get beat by inferior, West coast, little league, long haired, black-bearded, impostor “lucky hats.” There are days where you pull through, and that’s why you will henceforth and forever be “my lucky hat.”