Hearing Roddy

     We didn't learn my little brother Roddy was hearing impaired until he was six years old.  A wave of retroactive shame washed over the family as we thought about all the times we had yelled at him or complained about his "not paying attention."  Hearing aids at that time, at least for little boys, were worn in a pocket strapped to the chest, with a long cord reaching to the earpiece.  It was an improvement, but primitive by modern standards.  About four years later, Rod received his first behind-the-ear hearing aid, which opened for him a whole new world of sounds.  Roddy had never before heard a toilet flush, and enjoyed it so much he spent part of that day flushing it over and over.  That was also the day he learned that the telephone made a sound even when it wasn't ringing or no one was talking on it.  He had never before heard the steady hum of the dial tone.  The first time he heard it, he pulled the hearing aid from his ear, handed it to me, and said, "Connie, listen."  His first impulse was to share this exciting new sound with me, who for all my 14 years had never given it a thought.  I remember it so well because that was the day Roddy began to hear--and I began to see.
     Here is a poetic look at the same story:

         Hearing Roddy

On the day Roddy exchanged
his better-than-nothing,
chest mounted, hearing aid
for the new
behind-the-ear model,
he heard, for the first time,
the toilet flush
the dial tone hum.

Excitement in his voice,
he handed me the earpiece
and said, "Connie, listen."
And, for the first time,
I really did.