Alby - Do You Hear What I Hear?

Do You Hear What I Hear?

“Al,” my mother said as Alby tried to relax in the chair. “AL!” she screamed when he didn’t answer right away.
“What is it, Pearl?” he replied, adjusting the volume on his state-of-the-art computerized hearing aids that, as he was fond of saying, weren’t worth the cost of a flea’s fart. “Why are you shouting?”
“Because you didn’t answer me the first time.”
“Pearl, just because I’ve got cancer doesn’t mean everything is going to change. I NEVER answer you the first time!”
“Your father has selective hearing,” my mother complained to me for the umpteenth time in my life.
Alby began losing his hearing when he was in his early thirties, the result of having had scarlet fever as a child. Although the loss was gradual, he eventually grew deaf in both ears and conversing with him was an effort at using controlled shouting as he read lips. Yet, I had no choice but to agree with Mom’s assessment that surely my father heard what he wanted and needed to hear.

“Dad, can you lend me a few bucks?” I’d ask often as a teenager.
“Kiss my what?” he’d reply.
“Seriously Dad, I need some money, I’m all out.”
“Gotta get these hearing aid batteries replaced. I can’t hear a word you’re saying.”
“I love you, Dad.”
“I love you, too Susie Q.”

Selective hearing at its finest.

“Okay, Mr. Rich, are you comfortable? I’ve begun the infusion and it’s going to take a few hours. Can I do anything for you?” Jenny asked. Such a loaded question to pose to a man like Alby; she had so much to learn!
“Well, let’s see,” Alby said and I could just see his green eyes getting that devilish look that always accompanied an off-color remark. “My wife is here so I can’t really say,” he whispered conspiratorially, “But I guess it wouldn’t matter anyway. After all, I’m eighty-three-years-old and most of my good parts are out of order and no longer in stock.”
Jenny laughed and I knew that Alby’s humor was probably a wonderful respite for her in a job that was filled with a lot of sadness and gloom.
“Well, if you think of something just holler and I’ll be right in,” she winked.
“Hey, Jenny,” Alby called as she was turning to leave the room.
“Yes?”
“I’ve got to tell you something.” Alby was quite the scalawag when he wanted to be. “Jenny,” he said slowly, “I’ve been sleeping with the same woman for almost sixty years…Just don’t tell my wife!”
We could hear Jenny laugh her way down the hall and Alby turned to me and said, “Susie Q, no matter how bad you feel, humor will remind you you’re still alive.”
He kicked back in the chair and we waited for the chemicals to begin their onslaught.