Loss of Voice

My advancing age always seems most apparent on Sundays due to the abuse I tend to inflict on myself the day before. Yesterday was no exception. I played too many sets of tennis followed by an afternoon of screaming at the television while my team lost yet another close game. This, combined with too much food and drink made me a slow moving fortysomething this morning.

As the warm water rejuvenated my tired, listless body, the sound and tempo of my bathroom karaoke usually rises with the steam on the mirror. However, today was different.

I couldn't sing. Heck, I couldn’t even speak. I lost my voice, and I was upset.

I’m a guy. I need my voice. I have things to say and an eager collection of family and friends who thrive on hearing what I pontificate.

I also pride myself on not dwelling on things I can not control. So I moved on with my day.

I decided to not even inform my wife and kids of my predicament.

I dressed, grabbed a quick bite of breakfast and took my usual spot behind the wheel in the van for our weekly mad dash for church. I enjoyed my oldies music on the radio while my wife applied her lipstick and provided an update on the ongoing neighborhood drama while I smiled and nodded with each new revelation. The kids seemed enthralled with their phones.

I have never been much of a singer in church anyway, and we really didn’t have the time to discuss the sermon with the pastor on the way out the door. I gave him a quick handshake and a reassuring nod instead. He didn’t seem to mind.

I spent the time at my son’s afternoon soccer game with an entirely different posture. Rather than barking out orders to my son and assisting the referee in making their calls, I sat quietly while my wife gabbed with the other soccer moms. Instead of the usual post-game lecture to my growing boy as to how his game might be improved, all he got was a hug and smile. He didn’t seem to mind.

When lunchtime finally came, I knew my secret would finally be revealed. I really wasn’t in the mood for another lecture about how how need to take better care of myself. I knew my smiling and nodding wouldn’t carry me much longer. But alas, with some improvised sign language, I finally revealed to the family my infliction.

Surprisingly, my family wasn’t upset. In fact, they got a nice little chuckle over my predicament. My wife showed some mock concern, but she couldn't hide a slight bit of glee.

They each had the desire to mention that they DID, in fact, notice a difference in me. My son thought I was a lot quieter at the game. My daughter was delighted that I didn’t give her grief for being the last one in the car (once again!) this morning. My wife thought that I was extra sweet today and was pleased how I listened to her stories without displaying the need to interject my thoughts on the matter.

My evening was enjoyed in my favorite chair sipping tea with honey (my mother-in-laws remedy for most inflictions) while enjoying a book that I started months ago. Without a voice, I didn’t feel much use to my family anyways.

I rose from my chair only to climb the stairs to tuck the kids in bed.

I wasn’t able to share any wisdom with them. They didn’t catch any grief for the condition of their rooms. They were about to start a new week and I always look forward to giving them some new pointers on life. On relationships. On the importance of hard work and discipline.

A simple hug and kiss was all I was able to offer them that night.

They didn’t seem to mind.