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Zaidy's Hearing Aid

Ages 6-9 | Story and 9 activities

Every Sunday, Meir's family goes to Zaidy's apartment for lunch.

Zaidy lives on the fourth floor of a building with a creaky elevator. He has a big armchair by the window, a cabinet full of old books, and a tin of butter cookies that always seems to be half full.

But lately, something is different. Zaidy doesn't laugh at the jokes. He nods at the wrong times. When Meir asks him a question, he says, "What's that?" and cups his hand behind his ear.

"Zaidy, do you want a cookie?" Meir says.

"A what?"

"A COOKIE!"

"No need to yell," says Zaidy. "I'm not deaf."

Meir's face turns red. He doesn't mean to be rude. He just wants to be heard.

At lunch, everyone talks at once. Meir's big sister is telling a story about her class trip. Meir's father is laughing. Zaidy sits quietly with a small smile, but his eyes keep drifting from face to face. He looks like someone standing outside a window, seeing the party but not hearing a word of it.

Meir feels a pang in his chest. He remembers how Zaidy used to tell stories at this table. About the little town where he grew up, and the time he climbed a roof, and the horse that wouldn't move.

"Mommy," Meir whispers in the kitchen, "what's wrong with Zaidy?"

"His ears aren't working the way they used to," says Mommy. "He got a hearing aid last week, but it's hard for him to get used to. Sometimes he takes it out."

"Why?"

"Because everything sounds loud and strange. The dishes clinking, the voices all at once. It's tiring."

Meir thinks about the table. He's been so busy talking that he's never thought about how it sounds to Zaidy.

When they sit back down, Meir leans forward and looks right at Zaidy. "Zaidy," he says slowly and clearly, not loudly, "will you tell me the story about the horse?"

Zaidy's face brightens. He tilts his head. "The horse? You want to hear about the horse?"

"Yes, please."

Zaidy puts his hand on his chest, reaches up, and adjusts something behind his ear. "Well, this horse was named Moshka. And he had a mind of his own."

Meir listens with his whole body. He watches Zaidy's lips and his hands. When Zaidy slows down, Meir says, "And then what happened?"

"Ah," says Zaidy. "I'm getting to that."

By the end of the story, Meir is laughing so hard that his stomach hurts. Zaidy has told it with all the voices, a high one for the farmer's wife, a growl for the horse.

When he finishes, he wipes his eyes. "You listened well," he says. "It's not easy. Most people forget to look at me when they speak."

"I'll remember," says Meir.

After lunch, Meir helps Zaidy find his glasses. He sits beside him on the couch and points to pictures in an old photo album. He speaks in a low, steady voice, and he waits for answers.

Zaidy finds his glasses on the windowsill, right where he left them, and they both laugh at how long they looked.

When it is time to leave, Zaidy squeezes his shoulder. "Next Sunday, I'll tell you about the roof."

"Can't wait," says Meir.

In the elevator, he decides he'll make a little card, drawn with big letters: Face Zaidy. Slow. Clear. He'll put it on the fridge at home, so everyone can remember.