“What’re we doing again?” he presents this frequently asked question as I bring up pending plans for G’s birthday celebration down in Bloomington. “We went over this!” I tease, waiting to repeat the information for a third or fourth time. “Ugh, just tell me!” Selective hearing is a trait he, his brother, and father all have in common. You could be sitting next to S with a cigarette lighter in hand, mention a gas leak, and get nothing – maybe that’s an exaggeration, but it’s humorous nonetheless. The manifestation of quick, mischievous panic is the usual expression displayed when he tunes back into our conversations; sharing nothing but wide eyes and a smile. Softening to his plea, I administer a small dose of guilt with one of my very own frequently asked questions. “You didn’t hear anything I just said, did you?” And the beat goes on.
