Marriage is a lifelong skills test based on hearing. Whadya say? 

    As we entered the hearing clinic, I carried a sense of dread. When married folks argue, men often protest: “I didn’t hear you say that.’’

  That excuse might not win many arguments, but it sure has sturdy legs. The first cousin of that excuse – “I think my hearing is going bad’’ – also might be vaporized by the hearing exams we would undergo.

   These test results could have a big impact on our marriage of 41 years. Which spouse was going to be right – the retired metro editor or retired sports editor? Two journalists each value accuracy, truth and accountability. How would the Bickersons move forward?

     We disagree often. One of our friends dubbed us the Bickersons – a reference to the 1940s comedic verbal spats between radio actors Don Ameche and Frances Langford – because we frankly and immediately confront and resolve conflicts. No holds barred. These verbal boxing matches usually result in a draw, often with Mary lamenting: “You need to have your hearing tested.’’

   The hearing issue loomed large when we arrived at the clinic as a couple, but from entirely different emotional states. This conflict has existed since men started saying “I do.’’ Men like to think of themselves as stoic, resilient, generous and valiant – while I imagined Mary walked in with one thought on her mind – “You don’t listen.’’

We husbands carry a martyr complex. We want solutions, not a wave of emotions, when we confront a problem. Our pragmatic approach makes emotional responses seem tedious. When we disagree, we assign derogatory nicknames like She Who Must Be Obeyed, Micromanager and Captain Control.

   I walked in the clinic with a sense of dread. I regularly struggle to hear voices amid a lot of background noise at parties. I often nod my head but don’t respond because I can’t decipher what is being said. I absolutely do not relish the prospect of wearing hearing aids.

   It’s all about vanity. I see friends with hearing aids strapped to the temples of their eyeglasses and I see a sense of loss. I remember an old movie with an aging man holding an ear trumpet, straining to listen. I hate to admit I’m getting older.

   I’m not alone. About 15-16 percent of people my age wear hearing aids. However, of all the folks with hearing loss, only 30 percent are willing to wear hearing aids.

   At the clinic, the first question on the form stated: “When was the last time you had your hearing checked?’’

   How could I forget. I scribbled down “age 14.’’

    Fifty-four years ago, I was a high school freshman and my father, Morristown athletic director Fran Holleran, became irritated with me. He would say something or give me direction, and I, often lost in my own little world, would respond: “What?’’

   One morning, he had enough, and dispatched me to the school nurse’s office where Jean Perretta performed a hearing test. I passed.

   When I arrived 5 minutes late at the door for Algebra class, my teacher, Faye White, an immaculate classroom manager, stopped me in my tracks.

   “Where have you been, Mr. Holleran?’’ she said, waiting for a lame, teen-aged boy excuse.

    With the entire class listening, I had to tell the story of being ordered to the nurse’s office for saying “What?’’

   I turned with head down to slink away to my seat when she said something. She was not a teacher you ignored. I stopped, faced her and said, “What?’’

   The class couldn’t laugh long enough or loud enough.

   With all that baggage, I crossed the parking lot at HearUSA. Mary fired her final shot.

  “I think your selective hearing is getting in the way.’’

   It took about an hour for us to separately don the headphones, listen for the tones, respond to test voices, and review the results. We both tested within the normal range. The audiologist explained that age was the reason we struggled with low tones and background noise. Our hearing was fine. She suggested we adjust our TV audio settings and make eye contact with each other while talking to observe visual cues.

   I felt relieved but knew I had lost an arrow from my quiver. I couldn’t claim “my hearing is going bad.’’

   Darn, another draw.

    From the other side of the room, Mary asked why I was typing so furiously on my laptop.

   “I’m working on a column,’’ I responded, “about our hearing tests.’’

  She couldn’t resist. “What?’’

Morristown native Jim Holleran is a retired teacher and sports editor from Rochester. Reach him at jimholleran29@gmail.com or view past columns under “Reflections of River Rat’’ at https://hollerangetsitwrite.com/blog/