Archive for May, 2008


Lately I’ve been enjoying getting ouside now that it’s spring.  I have been walking in my neighborhood and also on my lunch breaks while at work.  I love the way the air smells on a warm day after a good rain.   

What’s bothering me is the comments people make.  I know they’ve said something, but I can’t hear what.  Often they will say something from across the street, or while they’re working in their own yards, so they are too far away for me to see their lips and tongue very well.  I know from experience if I tell them I’m deaf, they will only shout louder.  Which won’t help.  Because I speak, it’s hard for others to grasp the fact that my hearing is really THAT bad.  When I’m in my own neighborhood I don’t even wear my hearing aids while out walking.  They get too sweaty and itchy.  I hate them.

I suppose I could stop, walk over to whoever said something and tell them my life hearing history, but these are people I may never see again.  On my lunch hour I’m pressed for time, and I’m trying to get a good twenty minute walk in.  In my own neighborhood, without my hearing aids, it would be virtually impossible to carry on any kind of conversation with a random person whose voice I’m unfamiliar with, unless I’m close enough to really study their lips.  This would mean stopping what I’m doing, crossing the street or getting up close to a stranger in their own yard.  It’s just not something I want to do.  So I usually smile and go on my way. 

Of course I don’t know what they’ve said and that bothers me.  Maybe it wasn’t friendly, or maybe they’ve asked a question.  So the smile would be inappropriate and I would appear weird or rude. 

I remember years ago when I used to run, I could still hear people from across the street.  It was fun.  I met people that way. 

Sometimes, I miss that easy exchange with neighbors and people on the street.  This is the crux of late-deafness.  Being social once required no effort.  Someone said something and you’d hollar back.  Now I have to stop and explain, “Sorry I’m deaf, what did you say?  Let me come a little closer so I can see your lips. . .” and after that the joke has faded.  I walk away feeling I’ve shared something inappropriately personal with a virtual stranger.  It’s an awkward moment.  The other person was only aiming for a little bit of good-natured banter.  I’ve never figured out how to handle this gracefully. 

The Ipod Generation – My responsibility?

Every weekday I take a commute bus from my home in Stockton (CA) that drops me off in downtown Sacramento – from there I take a city bus to my actual work site.

A lot of young folks who are clearly high-school or college students ride the same bus I do (not surprising). I’ve repeatedly felt a quiet angst seeing that more often than not, they’re “plugged in”. Ipods and similar knock-offs adorn their ears. Sometimes even *I* can hear their music (I’m too deaf to know what it is, but I can hear it).

Beautiful children, sucked in by corporate driven conformity – that’s how I see them. And I just sit there and grieve for the future I believe they’re setting themselves up for. A future like my now, with much of my social life extinguished by the inability to have a simple conversation. Sure, I’ve found many ways to cope and communicate, but it’s always a struggle for both parties. Kids automatically think they’re invincible. I know – I was one once.

Sometimes I think I should say something, but then I wonder – what if these kids (let’s face it, they’re riding the bus) can’t even care about the future, because they see none? I know that the future has to be an even scarier prospect right now than I had it as a kid (under a steadfast threat of nuclear holocaust – which seems to be rearing its ugly head again). Our kids now have no guarantee of even achieving the “American Dream” or the lifestyle it promises. And I’ll say it – it is we (or our corporate peers, at least) who have robbed our children of their rightful future.

So it is, that one of these days, I probably *will* say something to one of my heart-wrenchingly young and beautiful (male or female, just the same) co-riders. I know it’s “hip” and I know you like the music (which I’m about finished grieving the loss of), and I know it makes you feel “part of”. Same feelings I had. Just know that you *could* live to be 49 (me) or older, and yes, you could lose it. Cherish it – care for it! That would be my only message.

Paul S – AKA: LifeWrecked

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