Last year on a frigid afternoon in May, I laced up my running shoes, ready for another day of practice. Being a captain on the track team, I was also preparing to administer the daily workout to the rest of the team when I heard the frail voice of my 80-year-old coach summoning me. When I approached him, I immediately noticed there was a boy, who I had never seen before, standing beside him. The boy seemed like just another runner until he turned his head just a fraction of an inch. On him, I saw a plastic device spanning from his ear to the temporal side of his head. The boy, Mustafa, was hearing impaired. If a car stereo were blaring full volume, it would sound like a mere whisper to him. This made verbal communication nearly impossible,
