Right? Wrong.

You know how disruptive it can be when the teenage girls in the back row forget that they are at church and start giggling uncontrollably.

Well, that's what happened at our church last Sunday.

My daughter Leah, and her mother were being very disruptive.

For a minute there, I thought that they might even be asked to leave.

Little background here:

Nearly two decades ago, a thingy, commonly known as a tumor, attacked my auditory nerve.

After surgery my ambulatory skills had to be relearned.

As well as other mundane abilities: talking, writing, eating with a fork.

However, nothing could be done about the hearing in my right ear.

It was totally annihilated. Gone. Zilch. Nothing.

The doctor told me, “Your right ear is gone. Protect your left ear at all costs.

So I do.

Wherever I go I have my trusty ear plug handy.

Concerts, movies, large crowds, parades, baseball games, anywhere there is a microphone, or a chance of more than one crying baby.

It's fairly easy to remember which ear works.

Right ear? Wrong!

Meanwhile back to the story.

We had settled into the service.

It looked as though Pastor was speaking.

Into the microphone!

Something was wrong. I couldn't hear him.

Leah tapped my shoulder.

I looked at her. Her mouth was moving but no sound.

I frowned, slightly annoyed.

How did she get on the wrong side?

She was so obviously speaking into the wrong ear.

I turned my whole body around so that my right ear was totally toward her.

Still nothing. Not her. Not the pastor.

What was going on?

The answer dawned on both of us at the same time.

I had adjusted the earplug too tightly. No sound got through.

In the confusion that ensued, I forgot the rule.

Right ear? Wrong!

We reacted in a mature, quiet manner for all of one second.

And then the incongruity of the situation bolted through us.



What little saintly decorum that we did have: left us.

She, okay we both began to giggle.

We covered our mouths with our hands.

And giggled some more.

We tried burying our faces in our winter jackets.

That made it worse.

Maybe from now on, we should just sit in separate sections.

At least until one of us manages to grow up.