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239 Oh, What a Beautiful Morning Iget up in the morning, look out the window at the rolling hills of the beckoning golf course, and begin to shave. I also begin to sing, splattering white foam on the mirror: Oh what a beautiful morning, Oh what a beautiful day, I’ve got a beautiful feeling Everything’s going my way . . . I have a dental appointment so I get into my car and no sooner do I park it when I look up into the eyes of a man in a pickup van. I get out of my car but notice the eyes of the man taking on a quizzical turn. I walk a few steps away wondering if the man is talking to me. By instinct, born of being deaf for over 40 years, I look around and sure enough the man is pointing his finger at my car. I had forgotten to take the keys and the motor was still running. This was not so bad. Not so bad compared to the time when I left it running until nearly a half tankful of gas was gone. It was not so embarrassing as the time when I made a purchase and, after paying for it, left it on the counter. There were quite a few eyes staring at me as the clerk ran my way and tapped me on the shoulder. I tried to imagine what he was saying during the brief episode: “Mister, mister, you forgot your package. For Christ’s sake, whatsammaterwithya?” And how many times have I forgotten to take the change, especially with the new dangfangled cash registers where change rushes down a shiny steel slide like bodies gliding down a curving slide into a swimming pool. My eyes make every attempt to take over where my ears cannot. At the waiting room of the dentist’s office a gorgeous lady was sitting nearby while I was attempting to read. I thought I noticed a movement on her part, and as quick as a six-shooter leaving its holster, I jerked my head in her direction. She was just scratching her nose. I have a bad habit The Deaf American (October 1973) 240 of looking at people two or three times to see if they are talking to me. That I do it more often with those of the opposite sex who happen to be shapely is, believe me, purely coincidental and unintentional. I felt relaxed in the dental chair because the hygienist had just the right shape of teeth and mouth for speechreading. I told her she should have been a teacher of the deaf. The dentist himself was the type I could speechread half of the time and the other half he would fill in with gesture or pantomime. He is much better than the barber who, at one time, when I told him I could not hear tried to talk to me by putting his mouth directly in my ear. Now, I had to go shopping. Such a simple excursion can be an adventure . Usually, I am singled out by someone to talk to. A housewife would commiserate with me about the high cost of meat and I would nod lamely, not knowing the specifics of her complaint. A toothless little boy would say something and I would just smile. Watching him go to another person and following his movements I saw that it was the restroom he wanted. At the checkout cashier line, the memory of the last time I was here flashed back. My son was with me and after we left the supermarket, he said the cashier was asking how you are and you did not even smile at all. I, a friendly and affectionate person, did not smile at all. This time I was ready. Before the total cost flashed on the register, sure enough he cashier opened her mouth. “I am fine.” I said. Her eyebrows lifted ever so slightly and I could have sworn I detected the traces of a giggle. Her mouth opened again and this time the words came out “loud” and clear: “Anything else?” You win some and lose some. It was not as bad as what happened at the restaurant. Nine and a half times out of ten the waitress would ask “Anything else?” before presenting the check. And nine and a half times I would say “No.” This time my hearing children were with me and all their faces...

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