On Ears

            I find ears fascinating.  They come in all sizes and shapes.  Elephants have huge ones, hounds floppy ones, birds tiny ones.  Even humans sport an interesting variety.  Some have long lobes, others none at all.  Some people have ears that stick out (like a taxi with its doors open, as the saying goes).  I’ve even known a man who could flap either one at will.  And then there’s the question we seniors all ask ourselves: why do our ears grow bigger as we age, while our other body parts shrink?

            I read somewhere that in colonial times some criminals had their ears nailed to a post as punishment.  I leave it to the reader to imagine how they freed themselves from such a predicament.  Think Van Gogh.

            Ear piercings have been around a long time.  Otzi the Iceman, who lived 5,000 years ago, had pierced ears.  So did Egyptian mummies.  And just about every civilization has pierced ears for decorative purposes.  Ours is no exception.  Claire’s, an ear-piercing service, holds the Guiness Book of Records for having pierced 85 million ears. That’s a lot of punctures.

            It used to be that women only pierced earlobes, but now they can go for the rook, helix, tragus, conch, daith, and auricle (we all know what they are, right?), as well as elaborate combinations.  Creativity is all the rage.

            Traditionally, and with rare exceptions like pirates, only women in this country wore earrings.  Until now.  Grown men as well as boys now sport studs and rings.  Some even try to outdo each other with gauging, the placing of ever-larger “gauges” in the ear lobe.  One of my grandsons tried gauging.  I’m glad he stopped before the point-of-no return, where the holes become permanent and disfiguring.

            For me, ears are meant to be functional, not decorative.  Unfortunately, my right ear has pretty much ceased to function as designed.  My wife insists I should go for a hearing aid, but I refuse.  There’s a certain advantage to being deaf in one ear.  I can “turn a deaf ear” to criticism, pretend I didn’t hear a question I prefer not to answer, or plead ignorance of requests to do something I’d rather not do. 

            Fortunately, my wife, who sits in the shotgun seat when I drive, has learned to scream quite audibly when I’m about to run a red light or cross in front of oncoming traffic.  Thank goodness I still have one good ear.