It’s a new day for my Sweet Al and I.
I made the proclamation that it’s unfair for Al to live in a world where he can’t see, hear or remember. We must bite the bullet and get him hearing aids and new glasses. I don’t know if the memory pills are working, either.
I made an appointment for Al to be tested for hearing aids. The day arrived. My Sweet Al returned with exciting news. “I passed the hearing test, I don’t need hearing aids.”
“What do you mean you passed the hearing test? You can’t hear. The test isn’t right.”
“I don’t know, that’s what the woman said. I only missed one word on each ear and I heard all the beeps. I did fall asleep once or twice leaning on the beeper.”
Heaven help me. I told the family, “Your daddy can hear, it’s a miracle. He passed the hearing test.”
“Daddy can hear? We don’t believe it.”
“That’s what I said; I don’t believe it, either.”
I read something which I hadn’t thought of before. In the Psalms, David says, “We wake up the dawn.” Believe it or not, it fits our dilemma. The life in us wakes up the day. The day doesn’t wake us up. Wow!
What does that mean in plain English? It means My Sweet Al might be sleeping and isn’t ready for the new day. He says he and his dog, Whiskey, are doing fine. He seems to have selective hearing and is satisfied in his state of being. Maybe I’ve got the problem. Are we not waking up the same day?
He thinks he can hear and see just fine. I maintain that, if he can see, why do I dig my fingers into the dash when he drives? If he can hear, why do I have to repeat everything three times? If he can remember, why does he forget everything I tell him?
Al doesn’t have any problem waking up to meet the day if he is calling in a turkey. He woke up before dawn four times this week. He took his trusty gun into the wilderness to shoot a turkey. He called up 15 turkeys. He said, “I was talking to them and they were talking to me. They didn’t see me. They came right up to me, 10 feet away, I tried for 10 minutes to put a beard on one of the turkeys, I couldn’t.”
I still maintain he can’t see. I talked to him in his currency. I said to him, “Ten feet away? Maybe the beard was there and you didn’t see it. You lost your chance for a turkey. We need to make an appointment for new glasses.”
I sent Al to the thrift store with a bag of clothes. He stewed all the way home. He came unglued when he reached the front door. He said that I had given away his Hawaiian shirts.
I told him, “Don’t you remember, you and the organizer cleaned your closet and you gave her permission to bag up your shirts? I was busy cleaning my own desk. I didn’t throw your things away.”
He called the store. He told the girl his wife had thrown away his shirts and he wanted them back. She promised she would pull them out of the sack and save them for him. Then he called our daughter and asked her to run by and pick up his shirts before anything happened to them. He still thinks I gave away his shirts.
Maybe I’m not seeing straight. If Al can see his Hawaiian shirts through a closed black sack, it is possible he can see better than I thought. Next time, I’m not taking any chances; I’m taking the bags to the thrift store myself.
Final brushstroke: When Al wants to go hunting before daylight, he doesn’t have any trouble waking up with the dawn. Maybe this new dawn we are waking up should be left alone and let old dogs sleep.
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