Walking my daughter to school every day takes about one half an hour up and back. During that time, I get to listen to the screeching of car brakes, the rumble of the subway underground, the scraping of truck tires along the road, and the pounding of fearful hearts at rush hour. I’m privy to listening to the roar and rumble of the commuting crowd, the sneak previews of music coming through someone’s iPod, and the generous “sharing” of typically crap music coming out of massive bass speakers lodged in tiny Honda Civics.
Then I’ll hear, above the din, my daughter say something like this: “Dad, do you sil exot stracked streekly cranst?” And then I’ll ask her to repeat it and then repeat it again until I’m two inches away and I’ll get it and answer her.
Mayor Bloomberg has recently made noise pollution an important facet of his means of cleaning up New York City, and I’m all for it. The car alarms, however, are barely the problem. It’s the shiftless sounds pouring off the street, off the buildings, and into people’s ears that is deafening.
I think about what it would be like to not hear anything and whether the perennial noise in my ears would be stoned by the silence.