You don't have to listen to everything
After getting hearing aids four years ago, I spend a lot of time on 'Restaurant Mode'
I was 10 when my parents were concerned I had suffered some kind of hearing loss.
My mother made me an appointment with an audiologist at the Naval Hospital in Portsmouth, Virginia. He put me in a sound booth with headphones. I had to raise my right or left hand whenever I heard a beep or chime.
Of course, I passed the test.
I could hear fine. I just didn’t want to listen
The diagnosis? Selective hearing. (When you get married this is a gift, not an affliction.)
Still, it shook me up inside that tiny booth when I thought about the prospect of having to wear hearing aids in the fifth grade. In those days, they were about the size of a Matchbox car. I already wore glasses, and this would be yet another blow to my self-esteem.
I literally didn’t listen to my father when he warned me about listening to loud music when I was a teenager. I allowed Led Zeppelin and Grand Funk Railroad to rock my eardrums.
In college, I once volunteered to work on stage at a Marshall Tucker concert. It was like standing behind the planes on a giant aircraft carrier. I could feel the bass beneath my feet. I couldn’t hear for two days.
At the advice of my doctor, I went to get my hearing checked again when I was in my 30s. When she recommended hearing aids, I was still in denial. I was still a young man. What’s next? Geritol?
I kept kicking the can down the road until my ENT physician flat-out told me I couldn’t hear worth a s**t. He did not mince words.