Anyone over the age of 60 or so understands that consequences come with longevity.

It affects us in varying ways to varying extents, but broadly considered, the most common casualties are hair, teeth, skin, height, flexibility, vision and hearing.

A lot of these things you can cover up. Wigs and hair coloring conceal balding and hair that has turned gray or white. Implants or dentures replace lost teeth. Depending on the cause, loss of vision can be corrected by surgery or glasses/contact lenses. Regular exercise and stretching through Pilates, Yoga, Tai Chi and stretching improve flexibility.

I will be 67 in a few months, and my aging inventory is probably normal.

My hair turned from brown to gray/white in my early 40s. No balding, though. I still have a full, thick head of hair.

I’ve been wearing reading glasses for about 15 years now, starting at low strength (1.25 or so) and moving up the scale as I aged. Today, my reading glasses are 3.25 strength.

I’ve lost a couple of teeth, well below the average of 11 teeth lost at my age.

None of the changes have affected my personality or temperament.

Until about a month ago.

People are noticing that I am far less amiable in conversation than I used to be.

Before then, I was far more inclined to smile, nod agreeably and keep my responses short and vague.

This change isn’t linked to any psychological or cognitive change: I just couldn’t hear what people were saying.

I was not surprised that this should happen to me. My mother’s side of the family was famous for being “deaf as a doorknob” as they aged.

It’s embarrassing to be hearing-challenged. You can only say, “huh?” so often. To disguise loss of hearing, you become more non-committal. You nod in agreement, because you have no idea what the hell they are saying and don’t want to say anything that prolongs the discussion and exposes your flaw.

Someone could say, “Your dad was a cross-dressing serial killer and a Democrat,” and I would smile and nod in tacit agreement.

I had discovered a great truth: You can have a decent argument with someone who won’t listen, but it is impossible to debate someone who can’t hear.

I wasn’t always so understanding. In fact, I once was part of a prank played on someone with hearing loss, a prank that had first been used back in the 1950s.

In my case, it happened about 25 years ago when I was the sports editor in Phoenix, and I often joined the scrum of reporters who met with Buck Showalter, the manager of the Arizona Diamondbacks, an hour before first pitch.

Among that group of eight or nine reporters was an older fellow (about my age now, I suspect), who was near deaf and almost totally reliant on hearing aids. I’ll call him Joe.

One day, when Joe was late to join the rest of us for our pregame talk with Showalter, I mentioned the old prank and how it worked. We agreed to pretend to ask Showalter questions and he would pretend to answer. So, when Joe joined us, he saw our mouths moving as if asking questions and Showalter’s mouth moving in response. At one point, we feigned surprise and scribbled furiously in our notebooks as if Showalter had revealed some startling new information, like maybe Randy Johnson had torn his rotator cuff.

Not one word was uttered, of course.

Joe leaned in closer and closer, trying to hear the discussion. After a while, he stepped away and began fiddling with his hearing aids, first by adjusting them while they were in his ears, then by taking them out and shaking them and banging them in his palm, cursing beneath his breath. Nothing worked.

Joe gave up. He stood there ashen-faced and silent – terrified that he had missed some big revelation – until, on cue, we suddenly began speaking aloud. You could see the relief wash over his face.

We laughed ourselves silly as soon as we were away from Joe.

Last month, I bought hearing aids and while I’m still adjusting to them, I hear a lot more clearly and, as a result, don’t have to nod pleasantly when someone is speaking.

But if you want to prank me, you know how.

I’ve got it coming.

Slim Smith is a columnist and feature writer for The Dispatch. His email address is [email protected].

Slim Smith is a columnist and feature writer for The Dispatch. His email address is [email protected].