Dad came home from the war, almost completely, deaf in both ears. Actually, it wasn't so bad when he was young, but it got worse with the years. He would sit with us, not really hearing what we talked about, but, subconsciously, catching the gist of the conversation. For example, if someone would mention: "We should repaint this room", in a few seconds dad would suddenly speak up: "I think, we should repaint this room!" One day, we were driving to the bank. I spoke Russian with my father. In that language, bank is pronounced as "". So, I told dad, in Russian, that we were going to the "". He asked: "Why are we going to the park?" "No, - the ", I said. "Park?" "!" "Park?" "!!" I began to feel the pulse throbbing in my temples. "Park?" "Bah-!!" voice from the back seat: "Mommy, didn't we just pass the ""?
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