James’ mother’s purple bowler hat made a popping sound from atop his head as he jabbed a pencil repeatedly at the scattered bottles on the table. However only the small squarish green one would wobble slightly.

“What are you doing?” Edgar shouted. “It’s not a gun.”

Frustrated the old man snatched up the pencil and tossed it into a jar filled with pencils. Swishing his hand, the bottles leaped into the air and neatly aligned themselves on the shelf.

“I blame television,” he said adjusting his aged black and yellow checkered cap. Then hobbled out of the study.

“Wait, where are you going?” James said.

“That’s enough for today. I need to take a nap,” Edgar grumpily replied.

James scoffed and followed him into the living room.

“Every time I’m about to figure something out I… you… might as well be teaching myself.” He said and stopped out the front door and slammed the screened door behind him.

“Impatient,” muttered Edgar as he closed the door and lowered himself into his easy chair. Placing the checkered cap on the armrest next to him. Within moments he was asleep.

The front door opened quietly and James tip-toed in while eyeing the checkered cap. It began to slide off the armrest, and holding his breath, James leaped lightly to catch it by the brim. Edgar stirred as James placed his mother’s bowler on the armrest, but he didn’t wake up.

“At least for a while, I’ll will have a decent hat to practice with”, James thought.

The clock on the wall began to chime and he quickly left, closing the screen door as lightly as he could. Once outside, his smile shined like the sun and he kicked up his heels. The day had just begun.

He lifted the cap to put on his head then realized that he was holding his mother’s purple bowler. His Face glowed red enough to match his wiry hair. Throwing down the purple cap he stomped up and down on it.

He looked up and as if to mock him, the checkered cap was laying on the window sill, just inside.

He couldn’t take it anymore, and ran up the porch steps to find the door locked. He knocked with his whole fist.

“Open up. open up old man.”

Edgar opened the door. “What’s going on? Why are you shouting?”

“I want a decent lesson, and no more tricks!” James said.

“Tricks?” Edgar rubbed his balding head. “Where’s my cap?”

James pointed an angry finger at the window sill.

Edgar looked over James’ shoulder to see the crushed bowler in the driveway, and shook his head. “You still struggle grasp even the most basic concepts. It’s not about what you have, wands and caps and fancy moves. It’s about who you are. Your connections. Without that, then it’s just a hat.”

He looked at James’s frustration and felt pity. “Come back tomorrow. We’ll try again.” Then he closed the door.

Edgar took the cap from the window patting it affectionately. “He’s just a boy.”

Outside James picked up the bowler, which popped happily back into shape. He slammed it onto his head before walking down the bright city street. The bowler began to whistle loudly and let out puffs of fragrant purple smoke from under its brim. People starred, but he ignored them like he always did.