Family Matters: Family's selective hearing proves baffling

By Ka'ohua Lucas

"You want to go to Tahiti?" my dad asked in a voice several decibels above normal.

"No, Dad," I shouted back. "I asked if you want some tea?"

Dad was intent on restoring an antique clock that had stopped ticking. Parts were spread out on the dining room table as he fiddled with the chiming mechanism.

I leaned over to my mom and whispered, "Gee! Dad's getting kind of kuli (deaf), yeah?"

"I'm not kuli," he responded, continuing to fiddle with the clock's tiny gears. "I can hear you perfectly."

Hawaiian scholar and author Mary Kawena Pukui makes reference to a kuli uwouwo or bellowing deaf person in her book, " O'lelo No'eau."

This wise saying refers to someone who speaks louder than necessary because of his own inability to hear. In my dad's case, it was an issue of selective hearing.

What's fascinating is how this same "disorder" has affected the men in my family.

"Boys," I remind them. "Do not forget to do your chores. They must be done before you do anything else."

"Uh-huh, yeah OK, Mom," the 12-year-old says, eyes glued to the football game on TV.

An hour goes by, and I see the two of them outside tossing around the football.

"Excuse me," I holler. "Didn't I ask you two to do your chores before doing anything else?"

"What?" he says, in astonishment. "We didn't hear you."

In some medical guides, hearing loss in children can be attributed to a condition called "glue ear" or fluid in the ear. One indication of it is: "Your child seems to ignore your questions and/or turns up the volume of the television."

I'm wondering if my husband has a case of it. He certainly has the symptoms. His TV volume is always 20 decibels above normal. And he rarely responds to my questions.

In fact, I was so concerned about his possible hearing loss that I suggested he make an appointment to see an ear, nose and throat specialist.

"So, how did it go?" I ask afterwards, while he was sprawled on the living room floor, watching the History Channel.

"Hui, Dad," I call out. "What did the ENT say?"

"What? I'm sorry. I didn't hear you."

"What did your ENT say?"

"Oh," he says, eyes still on the TV. "The doctor told me that prolonged exposure to noise — especially if it's high-pitched — can damage over time the lining of the ear."

"And?" I prompt.

"And certain tones can cause hearing loss."

"Tones? What kinds of tones?"

My husband, deadly serious, rolls over and looks at me.

"He asked if my wife has a high-pitched tone, and I said yes. He told me that if I was exposed to this level over several years, I may have permanently damaged my hearing."

"Are you for real?"

He rolls back over to the TV set and lets out a hearty laugh. "Yeah, I'm for real."

I've decided that I, too, have a hearing disorder. It's called occupational hearing loss.

When my boys ask, "Mom, why didn't you buy the Klondike bars we asked for?" I'll have to say, "Sorry. I didn't hear you."

Ka'ohua Lucas is a mother of three and holds a master's degree in education curriculum and instruction. Reach her at: Family Matters, 'Ohana Section, The Advertiser, P.O. Box 3110, Honolulu, HI 96802; or by e-mail at ohana@honoluluadvertiser.com; or fax 525-8055.