|19 x 25.7 x 3 cm|
My Great Uncle George was my favorite relative to visit when I was a kid. George lived in Vermont in a white house on a hill with a garage full of awesome crap to rummage through. One day, as a baseball obsessed 8-year old, I eagerly asked him if he still had his mitt from when he was a kid.
"Ayup," he answered, as his right fist fell with a slap into the rough and thick cushion of his left palm.
This was his hat.