The headset Grandma was using during this adventure was actually kind of bulky, similar to what radio talk show hosts and DJs might wear while on the air. There was a little black receiver box with a small dial that could be adjusted so that Grandma could determine the volume of what she heard. The corded microphone plugged into the box, and the cord was long enough so that it could reach people across the table and down at the other end if they wanted to converse with Grandma without shouting at the top of their lungs. If she liked what you had to say, the dial was turned up. If she disagreed with you, the dial was turned down. If she felt you had nothing better to say, the headset just came off.
During this particular meal, words of a more thundering nature echoed within her ears. As our entire family was eating their dinner, my cousin Jeff decided to play a little trick on our grandmother. Unbeknownst to Grandma, Jeff had taken the microphone and had pulled it back to our table, which was just behind Grandma’s table--with 19 of us in the group, we were divided amongst two dining tables.
Grandma was sitting at her table with her back to us. Jeff and I were facing the same direction as Grandma at the other table, so we had a clear view of her backside and all of her activity. Jeff elbowed me in the ribs and said, “Watch this,” as he put the microphone close to his mouth and slowly said the words in a deep, clear, and highly commanding voice: “Kora. This is God. Go to the light. Go to the light.”
At first, it did not appear Grandma had heard this mandate. Jeff assured me he had turned up the volume on the box. Grandma was just too busy eating her meal. So, he firmly and confidently repeated his request: “Kora. I said this is God. Please go to the light. I have been waiting for you for a very long time. Go to the light.”
By this time, I was cracking up so hard that I had almost wet my pants, something Jeff’s sense of humor had always managed to make me do ever since we were little kids.