I was not sure if I heard him correctly. A friend mentioned that his daughter asked him to drive a trailer full of drums for her. Who needs that much boom? 

It turns out that his grandson was part of a performance for hard of hearing children, and pounding reaches those ears better than softer instruments can. 

It tickled me to imagine the scenario. I have myself experienced hearing loss, having endured a dozen surgeries over the years. The last one was remarkably successful, and today my hearing lands in the normal range. But I remember the feeling of being detached from the sounds everyone else could hear. 

There are other ways we try to cross the imaginary barriers between us. When a traveling choir sings internationally, the foreign words are carried along by music. Art is not hindered by language differences, and can speak to anyone willing to observe. Dancing has no translation conflicts. Nature's message is not hindered by any tongue. 

What I find charming about my friend's effort, is the inconvenience of it all. How awkward was it to load up kits and cymbals, which will inevitably fall over and crash? Yet something I cannot name outranked the trouble. Offering a concert for a room full of children who are routinely left out mattered. 

Maybe I can up my game for reaching out to someone whose ears may work, but their inner barriers leave them feeling alone.