By Joe Mussomeli

Music is another language that calls to my brother, Alex. Though he was born with hearing loss, he experiences music as more than just sounds, as something more beautiful. He sets his daily activities—painting, doing homework, or reading—to the melodies of either classical or popular music. 

Music for Alex, and for many others with hearing loss, is both a blessing and a curse. Sometimes loud music volumes, especially in crowded spaces, can be a distraction for him. This recently became apparent at dinner in a restaurant with our parents. At first, he appreciated everything about the restaurant: the delicious smells, the cheerful faces, and the lively music.  We talked amongst ourselves until problems arose for Alex. Alex struggles to hear what others say under ordinary circumstances, but in a loud restaurant, conversation is virtually impossible for him. 

Restaurants serve and are staffed by so many people in close quarters, all of whom are immersed in their own simultaneous conversations. Music creates another layer of sound on top of these many voices. In this environment, Alex is only able to hear a tornado of noises, all scrambled together, that do not make any sense to him. 

That evening at the restaurant, Alex desperately tried to make sense of what we were saying, but couldn’t. The noise was too loud and too much to bear. We tried to accommodate Alex by repeating our words or speaking closer to him. Unfortunately, as the evening went on, the restaurant got more crowded and the noises, including the music, grew louder.

Eventually, Alex couldn’t manage the noise anymore, so we left. When we got home, Alex sat in his room for hours before I eventually entered to ask if he was okay. He was unhappily replaying the experience in his head. He told me, “I was lost in a storm of noise, unable to find my way out.” 

I just sat there for a moment, unsure of how to respond, but I knew I had to say something. So, I asked Alex what he was going to do about his problem. Would he find a solution or simply refuse to go to another restaurant ever again? The choice was up to him. With that, Alex reflected, and eventually, an idea came to him: The Mini-Mic. 

The Mini-Mic is an assistive device Alex had previously used at school whenever he needed to hear others more clearly in crowded, noisy spaces. When someone speaks directly into the mic, the audio feeds into Alex’s hearing aid and cochlear implant. The mic had worked well in the classroom, so Alex figured that it could work successfully in a restaurant, too. After this realization, Alex was determined to give the restaurant another try.  

Nothing had changed at the restaurant, but Alex had. The crowded restaurant buzzed with loud chatter and music. Alex was not discouraged. As soon as we were seated, my mom placed the Mini-Mic on the table. Alex connected his implant and hearing aid to it, and then, he could hear everything. Just like everyone else, Alex was able to enjoy a meal and conversation at the same time. He was able to dine with us, talk with us, and laugh with us. And he was able to enjoy the music, playing vibrantly in the background.

Joe Mussomeli is an 11th-grade student who lives in Westport, CT. His younger brother, Alex, has been featured in Hearing Health magazine and is a participant in HHF’s “Faces of Hearing Loss” campaign.