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Grumpy side of 60
Papau’s new earrings
By Bob Robinson
Last fall I had a tough time hearing my students. Kindergartners and
first graders especially.
“Mr. Rob… in… s…”
“What did you say? Speak up, sweety.”
“I have to… (fade out)”
I had to lean down close and turn my ear toward the student. That
usually worked, but not always.
I didn’t really understand it. I mean when I was a kid nobody ever had
any trouble hearing me. Or anyone else in my class for that matter.
Have kids changed that much or have I just gotten old. Don’t answer
that.
Then there’s college.
In a public speaking class my job is to get students to “project.” The
problem comes when I tell a student he or she (usually she) has to
speak louder and everyone in the class tells me they can hear her fine.
When a student is trying to learn to speak in a “public” voice, I often
get trailing off or just a plain soft. Some students are really
soft-spoken.
Since I challenge college students to challenge me, they are
comfortable with speaking their minds. Some of them, anyway. Once when
I told a student to speak up, a couple of them piped up “we can hear
her fine.” I thought they were taking advantage… covering for their
classmate. So I trailed my voice off in the middle of a sentence.
“Did you hear that?”
“Yes.” Laughter.
“Okay. What did I say?”
They told me.
Oops.
I figured I’d better get my ears checked. I believe the phrase the
technician used was “have you ever heard the term ‘use it or lose it?’
What took you so long?”
Evidently I was skirting with ‘it’s too late’ in a couple of
frequencies, but overall I needed major help if I was going to continue
teaching. Or hearing. So I bit the bullet.
Damned expensive bullets if you ask me.
A week later I had my new ‘ears.’ I don’t have that many vanities but I
guess hearing is one of them. I don’t have hearing aids; I have new
ears.
I’m not sure my Edison students were too thrilled that they no longer
had an excuse for speaking softly or trailing off in my Public Speaking
classes.
I’ve run across a few adults who immediately notice when something is
different, but not nearly as many as with a group or 5- or 6-year olds.
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“In your ears!”
“Oh, those. They’re my new ears. My old ears weren’t working too well.”
They laughed.
“You can’t have new ears,” they said, giggling. “You have big ears just
like my grandpa… those are old ears, not new ears!”
“Sure I can. They are brand new. Now I can hear you better.”
Sometimes. I think some of them even started speaking more softly. Go
figure.
My granddaughter, 3-year-old Bella, also noticed something new and
different when she came to stay with us for the weekend.
“What are those, Papau?” she asked.
“My new ears, sweety.”
“You have earrings?”
“No. Not earrings. They are new ears to help me hear you better.”
She nodded knowingly.
“I have new earrings, too.” She pointed to the shiny bauble in one of
her earlobes.
“Does it help you hear?”
She looked at me questioningly, like I’d insulted her. “I can hear
fine,” she said.
“That’s right. You don’t need new ears, so you have earrings. These are
called hearing aids. They help me hear. I call them my new ears.”
“Okay,” she said, so softly that I could barely hear her.
When Nana came into the room, she said excitedly, “Nana, Nana, Papau
has new earrings, but they aren’t pretty like mine.”
Published courtesy of the
Early Bird
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