I can hear you

In my family, I am legendary for my hearing.  I hear everything.  For most of my life, I had the memory to back-up what I heard.  But I digress....

Growing up, I was the child seen, but not heard.  I was painfully shy, and easily blended into the background.  If you wanted info, though, I was the one to come to.  I have a natural need to know, and the easiest way to know is to listen.

My bedroom was the first one down the hall from the living room.  My dad is hard of hearing, which means he talks LOUDLY, making it that much easier for me to hear.  Many nights I lay awake, listening to him and mom talk, trying to hear something interesting.  One memorable conversation was following mom's trip to the gynecologist.  Dad was convinced that simply because the doctor was a man, he was turned on by giving pelvic exams.  Now, I was young enough to not really understand what a gynecologist was, but wise enough to get that mom thought my dad's concerns were silly.

I also discovered that the duct work in the kitchen directly connected to the heating vent in my bedroom.  When my parents wanted to discuss something they didn't want me to hear, they would talk in the kitchen after I went to bed.  Epic fail on their part!  Oh the things I heard through that vent.

Mom and dad visited this past weekend.  While riding in the car, mom was talking to me from the back seat.  Dad was convinced no one was interested (listening) in what she was talking about.  Until I answered.  "See," she said.  "She heard me."  "She always did hear everything," my dad said.

It's nice to know at least one part of my body isn't failing me.