Appreciation for the value of speech

When I woke up Saturday morn and tried to utter a simple “Good Morning” to my wife, nothing came out of my mouth, but I was unfazed.

I had been battling a cold, or perhaps allergies, and apparently had developed a case of laryngitis. With nothing requiring verbosity on my agenda that day, again, I thought little of it. My wife, though, had a full plate, and left around noon, leaving me with some children to tend to for most of the evening.

It wasn’t an issue until: “Daddy, we’re hungry. What can you cook us?”

Being that their mother was gone, and everyone knows you must be able to speak to cook, and their mother was gone — “Nothing,” I scribbled on a napkin. “How about Dairy Queen?” Cheers all around for Dad!

Since it was a Saturday, I wasn’t wearing shoes, which prompted a trip to the drivethrough. The boys told me their orders — two kids’ chicken-strip meals. I then turned to repeat the order, opened my mouth, and … nothing. Oh, yeah, I can’t talk.

So I pulled my vehicle up a little, rolled down the back window, and motioned for the boys to make their own orders.

“I’ll have a six-piece chicken strip meal, a hamburger with nothing but ketchup, two Oreo Blizzards, one of those sundaes with M&Ms on it, covered in hot chocolate, a large Mountain Dew mixed with a little Cherry Coke.”

Gesturing frantically didn’t stop that order, or the next one.

When we returned home, I ended up eating most of what they didn’t eat. Then after they left to play at a friend’s house, the phone rang. My hearty “hello” didn’t register a decibel.

“Hello? I think I’ve reached Len’s answering machine,” said an old college friend on the line.

“I didn’t hear a beep, but if this is Len’s answering machine, I’m calling because I have a free Masters ticket for next year and wanted to see if he wanted to go. It’s for Thursday. Can’t believe I got them either. Anyway, call me back in an hour or two, because if I don’t hear from you, I’m going to have to take my brother-inlaw instead.”

I tried to text him from my cellphone, but he had called from a land line that didn’t accept texts. I emailed to no avail.

Suddenly, my “unfazed” approach to my condition had become “fazed.” I became seriously concerned about my ability to function if this laryngitis wasn’t temporary.

The next morning, uttering a simple “Good morning” to my wife brought a little more substance to my voice, relief, and a deeper appreciation for the spoken word.

Perhaps I should try to learn a little more sign language than only vulgar insults — just in case.