It was a battle of an epic nature. Two immovable forces pitted against each other. Neither willing to budge or give an inch.

On one side was the queen of the English department. A professor who had been teaching at the university for 342 years who was as conservative, stoic and stubborn as you would expect of a someone with her experience … and tenure.

On the other side was me, a long-haired hippie wannabe who incessantly wore John Lennon-style glasses, listened to The Doors and The Grateful Dead, and proudly wore a lapel pin stating “Question Everything.”

I had joined eight or nine classmates on a trip to the Petit Jean Mountains in Arkansas for some reader’s theatre conference where all I remember was performing Dr. Seuss books and basically goofing off at a nice resort on the university dime.

I had gone despite the presence of Professor Queen Bee, mistakenly believing the other professor joining us, who I truly connected with, would provide adequate interference to help avoid any major conflicts.

But like two immovable forces, Professor Queen Bee and I were destined to clash. She despised the fact I embodied traits of the new “liberal arts” student the university was trying to attract and I resented the fact she represented the staunch conservative nature I had gladly escaped from my own childhood home.

After I graciously ignored a few snide remarks from her about my shoulder-length hair, I thought we were going to make it home without any major fights.

I was wrong. We were somewhere in south Missouri on the way home and stopped at a Cracker Barrell-type restaurant for dinner.

About 30 minutes from the restaurant, Professor Queen Bee fired the first shot.

“Nobody in this van better be thinking they are going to wear a hat at the dinner table,” she said with her eyes fixed on me and my Jack Buck-autographed St. Louis Cardinal hat firmly entrenched on my noggin, where it sat every hour I was awake.

Surely she’s kidding, I thought as I ignored that remark as well.

As well pulled in the parking lot, she made it explicitly clear.

“Nope. The university isn’t paying for anyone’s dinner who is wearing a hat, that’s for sure,” she said, this time with her back turned, but plenty loud enough for everyone to hear.

Now with all my classmates, and the second professor with a terrified look staring at me as we entered the restaurant, I made up my mind.

As I looked around the room packed with Southern Missourians and Northern Arkansans sitting at tables, I quickly realized I was with my people. There were sure a whole lot more hat, overall, flannel shirts and t-shirts a little or a lot too small being worn in there than whatever Professor Queen Bee deemed “appropriate.”

So I stayed behind the group and requested a table for one.

I was making my stand. Or my sit I guess. Whatever, I was wearing my hat and I would pay for my own meal to do it.

I think even realized in the minute that I had more money than sense or maturity, which is saying a lot, because I was a broke college student.

But I also realized in the moment that the same was true of Professor Queen Bee, and I wasn’t going to let her win.

I thought of Professor Queen Bee and that immature, stubborn, disrespectful hippie-wanna-be last week when I read the story of the International Chess Champion, Magnus Carlsen.

Playing in a World Championship event last week, Carlsen withdrew from the event after refusing to change out of his blue jeans.

Apparently, despite the presence of a sports coat and collared shirt, the jeans were a violation of a dress code and Carlsen had a choice: change or withdraw.

So naturally, he stiffened his resolve and said to heck with you, I’m taking my Rook and I’m going to my Castle (that’s a really bad chess pun, for those of you unfamiliar with the game. Just groan at it, trust me.)

As I mentioned Carlsen is a champion 12 times over. That’s a big deal. So when he gets mad, people pay attention. Imagine the NFL telling Patrick Mahomes he had to straighten his hair or he couldn’t play in the Super Bowl. The effect was the same.

So three days after Carlsen flipped the chess federation the metaphorical bird, they had a change of heart, and rules.

Check and mate. The Chess Grandmaster had won and he was back at the tables, wearing his precious blue jeans.

Much like a hat at the table or jeans in a chess tournament, this concept of articles of clothing devoid of words or hateful symbols creating disrespect is an entirely subjective and man-made construct.

If wearing a hat outside isn’t disrespectful, why is it inside? Traditionally, hats were only worn outside, and as such, if you were wearing one at the dinner table, it could indicate you weren’t fully committed to being there or engaging the rest of the party.

But in a society where the ball cap has become an allday staple, is that really still true. Does a hat really prevent you from engaging others at the dinner table? Of course not.

Now a cell phone? That’s a different story.

And it’s the same with blue jeans. Are they really disrespectful, especially in the environment of a chess tournament? Chess is nothing more than a board game on steroids. This isn’t something hallowed or sacred, like a religious ceremony.

And even then, in today’s society, I see a lot of preachers wearing blue jeans at the altar, as do many of their attending parishoners.

It’s been more than 30 years since I proudly ate that protest meal in solitude and I have somewhat grown to regret it. I’m glad I stood up for what I believed in, but I question whether I should have. If given the opportunity today, I would probably show Professor Queen Bee the respect her experience had earned her, even if I disagreed.

It was just a hat after all.

And as a parent, I’ve become more conservative as well, to the point of imposing a no-hat rule at the dinner table, although not so much because I believe they are disrespectful. They aren’t. But I do believe children need structure and boundaries, and we have several at the dinner table, including no hats, phones, toys or elbows on the table, a prayer before eating and asking permission to get down.

And while I won’t wear jeans to church, I certainly would to a chess tournament, if I were good enough to play in one.

Gregory Orear is the General Manager of the Lincoln County Journal, Troy Free Press and Elsberry Democrat. One thing he always wondered is if the no-hat at the dinner table applies to a picnic table, outside. If you know the answer, he can be contacted at gorear@cherryroad.com.