Grandpa Joe was losing his hearing. He’d mumble requests for more gravy, mistaking the TV for a talking parrot, and once, famously, tried to pay for groceries with a handful of marbles. So, his family decided to surprise him with a state-of-the-art hearing aid. The box was sleek, silver, and promised “crystal-clear audio.” Grandpa Joe, however, eyed it with suspicion.
“What’s this thingamajig?” he squinted, adjusting his spectacles.
“It’s a hearing aid, Grandpa,” his granddaughter Lily chirped, “It’ll help you hear better!”
He held it up to his ear, examining it like a suspicious space alien. “It looks like a fancy seashell,” he mumbled. He then turned it over, scrutinizing the tiny buttons. “And what does this little doohickey do?” he asked, poking a particularly small button.
Suddenly, the hearing aid blared a loud, operatic rendition of “La Cucaracha.” Grandpa Joe jumped a foot in the air, dropping the device. He stared at the now-silent device, his eyes wide.
“Well, I’ll be hornswoggled!” he exclaimed, a mischievous glint in his eye. “It’s a talkin’ seashell! And it sings opera! I’ll have to show this to Agnes next door; she’ll think I’ve got a pet mermaid!”
Lily burst out laughing. Grandpa Joe, clearly delighted with his new, surprisingly musical, “seashell,” grinned back. He didn’t hear the rest of the explanation about how the device worked, but he certainly heard – and enjoyed – the opera. From then on, every family gathering featured Grandpa Joe’s spontaneous, albeit slightly off-key, operatic interludes, thanks to his new “talking seashell.”
