Excerpt:
          It's the first thing I remember — two years old, huffing along the short, stubby legs, trying to keep up with Uhmmah's heels clicking against the pavement. Empty paper cups skittered along the curb, sheets of newspaper fluttered around parking meters. Steel and concrete buildings shot up into blue sky. A gust of wind sweeping down the street left us shivering into our scarves, dust and grit needling our eyes. Suddenly my head felt lighter, and I blinked up to see my hat rising above us.

          "Oh!" cried Uhmmah, throwing her hand up after it, but the little brown acorn top she'd knitted was already out of reach. Our necks bent back, we watched it climb higher and higher, quickly a small dot, then gone over a distant roof. We gaped at the empty space where it had vanished, as if someone might throw it back. When no one did, I turned to Uhmmah to see what I should do. She looked down at tme a raised her brows with a smile. I raised my brows, too, but my mouth stayed "Oh!"

"It's gone!" she said, her dark brown eyes as wide as the "Oh!" of my mouth, and then she shook her head and laughed until she noticed I wasn't laughing with her. She leaned down to tighten my scarf and kissed her nose to mine. "Don't you worry," she said. "I'll get you another one."

          And she would. I've got all these embarrassing pictures to prove it. Bright red cowboy hats, things with puffy white pom-poms on top, caps with earflaps. Early on you could see the importance headgear would play in my life.