Yeah, I’ve reached 71, and that explains it some. Add much too much loud rock and roll in earlier years, dancing right in front of the speakers to sense the vibration in my chest, and together they explain my frequent, “Can you please repeat that?” Not quite bad enough for artificial ears, but enough to bother me some. I find myself copying my mom—when she didn’t hear what someone said, she’d smile and nod her head, praying she didn’t commit herself unknowingly. But …