The father of a good friend was hard of hearing after all the up close and personal gun blasts he had to endure during WWII. By the time he was in his sixties he was wearing hearing aids and reading the closed captioning.
I know my hearing is not quite as
sharp as it used to be. But I spent the war years, the Vietnam war
years, on Rush Street in Chicago.
Dancing next to a six foot speaker in the basement of a club back in
the sixties shut down my right ear for a few days after an especially
loud riff. I actually felt a kind of explosion on the right side of my
head when the music went AWOL. Not that I want to compare my experience
with combat, but there is a certain ironic twist to losing one's
hearing during the, uh, dating wars.
Now when I hear ringing I have to check first to see where it's coming
from before answering the door or my phone. And I notice that I've
taken to watching someone's lips while they speak -- especially my
Korean mechanic, although I don't think I could understand him anyway.
Luckily he gives me a computerized receipt so I can find out what he
did to my car.
I often keep the TV on while I work on the computer. That's when I
realized that what people say isn't what I hear. How do I know this?
A commercial came on for some entertainer who is coming to town. In a
voice that reflected the excitement and enthusiasm you might expect,
the TV announcer exclaimed that you could go to TICKET BASTARD to buy
your passes for the concert. But you better get there fast, because
they're almost sold out.
Yeah, TICKET BASTARD.