Now Hear This Part Two

My brother and I used to visit my grandparents’ house every summer for weeks on end.  We would play, laugh, shout, swim, and run around outside.  There was even a time when we took Tarzan toys from McDonalds and played behind the bushes, squeezed between plant and house, pretending we were in a jungle.  We built so many memories with our grandparents and looked forward to every vacation we were able to spend with them.

One summer, my brother and I asked my grandfather why he had to wear hearing aids.  I don’t know if it was the first summer he got them, or if, as children, it was just the first summer that we noticed them.  We were on the stairs going down to the basement to play and he answered in his harsh, but teasing voice: “Because you two kids are too loud!”  My grandma scolded him for that.  She knew that we were too young to understand that he was kidding.  I know I believed him.  It was years before I realized the actual cause of his hearing loss was the fact that he had worked in the factory at Simplicity Mowers for over 30 years, putting things together in an environment that was constantly loud.  No amount of hearing protection could save his ears from 30 years of constant noise.

I finally told him, a year or two ago, that I had believed his joke for all those years.  We laughed about it and I hoped he didn’t feel bad.  Sometimes, behind his rough and tough exterior, I think he is one of the most thoughtful men I know.  He writes anniversary cards to my grandmother, even after fifty-one years of marriage.  Especially after 51 years of marriage.  When she is sick or has some sort of accident, he gets kind of quiet.  He’s attentive.

His eyes watered at the hospital during an emergency last year.  I have never seen him cry and don’t think he ever has.  But his eyes watered one day, and I knew that meant a great deal.  I feel bad when everyone is talking at once and he leans in, one ear forward, eyes squinted, trying to understand what is being said, trying to hear the person who is actually talking to him.  Then, we all stop and wait for one person to speak so the words don’t run together.

He has funny ears, and honestly, my ears resemble his.  They stick out funny on each side and are kind of large.  My four-year-old sister has these same ears as well.  When I put her hair up, I have to laugh, because one ear sticks out at a slightly different angle than the other.  Just like Grandpa.  I love it.

Like I mentioned earlier, I asked my brother what he thought of ears.  Well, Franklin didn’t give me the profound musician’s response that I thought he would give.  I thought, since he loved listening to music, playing and performing music, that he would connect that to the audience that he so enjoys.  Or at least to himself.  After all, he has come just shy of dedicating his life to music.  But no.  Instead, he tells me that he thinks of earwax and soft fuzzy ears.  Okay.  Fine.  He also mentioned extendable ears, which is a Harry Potter thing.  Thank you, Franklin.

I didn’t realize that I was going to write so much about ears.  I honestly didn’t think they were that interesting.  In reality, it’s not the ears that are so fascinating to me, as much as it’s the people dealing with their own issues with ears and hearing.  I have always had a soft spot in my heart for my grandfather and it has recently blossomed fully.  Maybe it’s the connections that I have with the people with their ears…

The room is quiet right now, my roommate off to class.  I hear people walking upstairs.  They are always walking.  Always stomping.  I can hear them, and it drives me crazy.  But then again, I can hear them.