Hearing loss has its advantages at home

I'm pretty much deaf now. The male ear can withstand only so many gripes, accusations, hissy fits and requests for cash before the eardrum itself -- like a tiny silk pizza -- just implodes on itself.

My left eardrum went the other day. First, there was a giant sucking sound -- well, actually, that was me eating lunch. Then immediately after that, the eardrum disappeared in a gust of pleas for homework help.

"Hey, Dad."

"Hey what?"

"What's another word for thesaurus?" was the last thing I remember hearing.

Now I am half deaf and never happier. In fact, I look forward to the day when the other eardrum implodes, and I'll never have to listen to another TV report about Chris Brown.

The only thing I'll miss, I figure, is the warm personal exchanges that often go on in our house, resonant as the Lord's Prayer.

"I DON'T HAVE TIME NOW, OK? OK!!!!" is the most common refrain lately, voiced by one of the wee children after being asked to perform some simple chore.


They couldn't be more willing to help, but they're busy, see? Really busy.

Still, I'm of the mind that a kid should keep up the bedroom and not treat the family car like a stinkin' closet.

Jeeesh, the things I find in their mother's minivan. Hair bows and nail clippers, ticket stubs and salad forks. Lacrosse sticks. Makeup brushes. Pizza crust dating to the Crimean War. Altoids. Lots of sticky coins. Study guides for "Hamlet."

Evidently, there is an entire family living in our car. They enter at night, have parties, book club meetings and yoga class. Judging by what they leave behind, they are exceptionally well-groomed.

"Could there be," I ask my wife, "people living in our car?"

"Huh?" she says.

See, she's deaf too. Actually, Posh hears only what she wants to hear, which is nothing except my sweet and constant declarations of love, which come twice annually (if you count her birthday).

In fact, I believe all parents eventually go deaf, just to survive. Because to acknowledge every petty grievance and catfight would make you completely crazy. Better a silent world. Better an Amish Mardi Gras.

That doesn't mean I tune out everything, no way. The other day, I heard Posh mutter "pervert" because I accidentally clicked on some late-night HBO show that featured the naked human form. It wasn't gratuitous or gross, nothing like that.

The show was called "Boobs, Thighs and Butts," one of those thought-provoking dramas that our premium cable package offers over and over again. As luck would have it, Posh walks in at the exact moment I happen to click on "Boobs, Thighs and Butts." The chances of this eventually happening are approximately 1 to 1.