I never sang for my father either

I am, believe it or not, a communication expert. I've
been a professional writer since 1998. I've won
awards, gained acclaim and, daring hubris, I have
fans. What frustrates me endlessly is that no matter
what I accomplish in writing, I cannot communicate
with my own father.

Here's why. He's deaf. Now, I don't mean he's deaf and
uses sign language to communicate. I don't mean he's
deaf and uses a hearing aid. I mean he can't hear
normal conversation, his hearing gets worse all the
time and he refuses to do anything about it. In
addition to that, he doesn't really listen and hears
only what he wants to hear any way.

My father is like that guy in "Memento." It's like he
can't remember anything except some faulty tidbit he
gleaned God knows how long ago and hangs onto because
that is all he understands. Now imagine the guy in
"Memento" was deaf, didn't speak English, was a bigot,
wore blinders and thought it was perpetually 1954 and
that would be my dad ... pretty much.

My dad is convinced that "me and him don't get along
too good" even though that really isn't the case. We
don't talk because he can't hear. He's never home,
can't hear the phone when it rings and half the time
can't understand the messages you leave on the
machine. He lives a half hour away which is too far
for drop-ins and he only likes to drop-in unexpectedly
because he doesn't like to use the phone and doesn't
like to call people to see if it's cool if he comes
over. I also hate it when people just drop by because
I am never prepared for company. I gotta put some
pants on and clean the toilet, hide the porn and
vacuum the lady bugs up off the floor.

I wrote my father a play, a real "I Never Sang for my
Father" kind of play that illustrated with some skill
and, unfortunately for me, subtlety in mapping out the
change I felt for my father over the last decade or so
a I came to terms with our mutual inability to
communicate with each other. Pretty much everybody got
it and if anythin, I was afraid it was to God damn
obvious.

My dad said, "It was all right." And that was all he
ever said to me. Of course, he took offense that the
whole play wasn't just some guy standing up there
saying, "I love my daddy, I love my daddy, I love my
daddy." In that event, he probably would have said it
was "totally gay."

Oddly enough, he thinks he gets along with my sister
really well even though they don't talk either. He is
able to stop by her house without calling first only
because she doesn't tell him not to. She might not be
home, but when she is, she is always dressed. He plays
with her kids and ignores her and that's fine with
her. She has always been happy to let him ignore her
and pretend that everything's cool. Me, I don't hide
my frustration well. I'm disgusted by the fact that
old dad likes to get sympathy -- from people whose
business it isn't -- by telling them that he and his
only begotten son don't get along.

He refuses to get a hearing aid because he once bought
a cheap piece of crap from a traveling salesman in
1986. I know what you're thinking. A traveling
salesman in 1986? Of course the guy was operating some
kind of con job on him. He never came back to check up
on him like he was supposed to and the thing didn't
work good at all. He refuses to get a hearing aid
because of this and all of his relationships suffer
because of it.

Ignoring the fact that he clearly got ripped off, it's
21 years later. Technology has advanced immeasurably.
Hearing aids are more than amplifiers today, they
address nerve damage and can make it possible for
people to lead normal lives. To deny that to yourself
is just crazy.