There’s an old joke:
An elderly man with a hearing problem suddenly lost his hearing completely, so he immediately went to his doctor. After many failed attempts at communication, the doctor finally looked in the old man’s ear and discovered the problem. He asked his nurse for some forceps, and then used them to extract a suppository from the old man’s ear canal.
“Here’s the trouble,” the doctor told him, showing it to him.
“Oh, my goodness,” the old man replied. “What the heck did I do with my hearing aid?”
I told you last month that my father uses a hearing aid, sometimes to what he thinks is his advantage, but I've never told you how I found out.
Back when my beloved mother was still alive, I used to go over and join them for breakfast on Saturday mornings. My mother was an old-school cook, so for breakfast she would fry up some bacon, cook the eggs in the grease, and then refry some refried beans in what was left over.
It was delicious.
That’s what she would call a healthy breakfast, and--you know what?--there are some nutritionists who would agree with her. Dr. Robert Atkins is one. Vinnie Tortorich is another. I’ve heard him on the Adam Corolla podcast, and he says there’s nothing wrong with red meat and saturated fats. Grains and simple carbohydrates, on the other hand, are what’s making our nation fat. I can’t tell you what’s true, all I can say is we’re a pretty fat nation. Anyway...
"Go see if your father is awake," she told me one such Saturday. "Tell him his coffee is ready."
So I did.
I walked down to my parent's room and knocked on the door.
There was no answer.
So I knocked again.
Still no answer.
"Pop," I called out.
Nothing.
"Pop!"
Nothing.
"POP!"
Finally, he answered.
"What?" he yelled back.
"IT'S ME!"
"Who?"
"YOUR SON!"
"What do you want?"
"Are you awake?"
"What?"
"ARE YOU AWAKE?"
"You're talking to me, aren't you?"
My father, the comedian.
"MOM SAID TO TELL YOU YOUR COFFEE'S READY!"
"What?"
"MOM SAID TO TELL YOU YOUR COFFEE'S READY!"
"WHAT?"
"MOM SAID TO TELL YOU YOUR COFFEE'S READY!"
There was a pause.
"Come in," he ordered.
I guess, so he could hear me better.
I knew my father's hearing had been getting steadily worse for some time, just like my hearing is doing these days, but I had never had this kind of trouble conversing with him before.
When I opened the door and looked in, I saw why.
He was already fully dressed, and sitting on the bed with his legs over the side. I saw him reach into his nightstand and pull out two small devices that he put deep into his ears. I was surprised, to say the least.
"Pop?" I said.
"What?" he said back.
"How long have you had hearing aids?"
He thought about it.
"Oh, I've had them for a while now."
Now it was my time to think about it.
"Mom must be happy," I said, finally.
"About what?"
"That you've got hearing aids."
"Oh," he said, matter of factly, "I haven't told her yet."
"You haven't?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because," he said, in his don't-tell-your-mother tone, "I like hearing what she says about me when she thinks I can't hear."
If a deaf person swears, does their mother wash his hands with soap?
Find out at RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com, JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com, or @JimDuchene.
