njjen3953
4th Level Orange Feather
- Joined
- Apr 18, 2001
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This story was posted on one of my yahoo groups. It is an adorable story.
Enjoy,
Jen
When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in
our neighborhood. I remember the polished, old case fastened to the
wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too
little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination
when my mother talked to it. Then I discovered that somewhere inside
the wonderful device lived an amazing person. Her name
was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know.
Information Please could supply anyone's number and the correct time.
My personal experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while
my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench
in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer, the pain was
terrible, but there seemed no point in crying because there was no
one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my
throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone!
Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the
landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held
it to my ear. "Information, please" I said into the mouthpiece just
above my head. A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my
ear. "Information." "I hurt my finger...." I wailed into the phone,
the tears came readily enough now that I had an audience."Isn't your
mother home?" came the question. "Nobody's home but me," I
blubbered. "Are you bleeding?" the voice asked. "No," I replied. "I
hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts.""Can you open the
icebox?" she asked. I said I could. "Then chip off a little bit of
ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice. After that, I
called "Information Please" for everything. I asked her for help with
my geography, and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me
with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the
park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts. Then, there was
the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called, Information Please,"
and told her the sad story. She listened, and then said things grown-
ups say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled. I asked her, "Why
is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all
families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a
cage?" She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said
quietly, "Paul always remember that there are other worlds to sing
in." Somehow I felt better. Another day I was on the
telephone, "Information Please." "Information," said in the now
familiar voice. "How do I spell fix?" I asked. All this took place in
a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was nine years old, we
moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very
much. "Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home
and I somehow never thought of trying the shiny new phone that sat on
the table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those
childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of
doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I
had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she
was to have spent her time on a little boy. A few years later, on my
way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about a half-
hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with
my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was
doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please."
Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so
well. "Information." I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself
saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?" There was a long
pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must
have healed by now." I laughed, "So it's really you," I said. "I
wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that
time?" "I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your call meant to
me. I never had any children and I used to look forward to your
calls." I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and
I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my
sister. "Please do", she said. "Just ask for Sally." Three months
later I was back in Seattle. A different voice
answered, "Information." I asked for Sally. "Are you a friend?" she
said. "Yes, a very old friend," I answered. "I'm sorry to have to
tell you this," she said. "Sally had been working part-time the last
few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago." Before I
could hang up she said, "Wait a minute, did you say your name was
Paul?" "Yes." I answered. "Well, Sally left a message for you. She
wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you." The note
said, "Tell him there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I
mean." I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant. Never
underestimate the impression you may make on others. Whose life have
you touched today?
Enjoy,
Jen
When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in
our neighborhood. I remember the polished, old case fastened to the
wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too
little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination
when my mother talked to it. Then I discovered that somewhere inside
the wonderful device lived an amazing person. Her name
was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know.
Information Please could supply anyone's number and the correct time.
My personal experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while
my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench
in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer, the pain was
terrible, but there seemed no point in crying because there was no
one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my
throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone!
Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the
landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held
it to my ear. "Information, please" I said into the mouthpiece just
above my head. A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my
ear. "Information." "I hurt my finger...." I wailed into the phone,
the tears came readily enough now that I had an audience."Isn't your
mother home?" came the question. "Nobody's home but me," I
blubbered. "Are you bleeding?" the voice asked. "No," I replied. "I
hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts.""Can you open the
icebox?" she asked. I said I could. "Then chip off a little bit of
ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice. After that, I
called "Information Please" for everything. I asked her for help with
my geography, and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me
with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the
park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts. Then, there was
the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called, Information Please,"
and told her the sad story. She listened, and then said things grown-
ups say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled. I asked her, "Why
is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all
families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a
cage?" She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said
quietly, "Paul always remember that there are other worlds to sing
in." Somehow I felt better. Another day I was on the
telephone, "Information Please." "Information," said in the now
familiar voice. "How do I spell fix?" I asked. All this took place in
a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was nine years old, we
moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very
much. "Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home
and I somehow never thought of trying the shiny new phone that sat on
the table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those
childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of
doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I
had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she
was to have spent her time on a little boy. A few years later, on my
way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about a half-
hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with
my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was
doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please."
Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so
well. "Information." I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself
saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?" There was a long
pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must
have healed by now." I laughed, "So it's really you," I said. "I
wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that
time?" "I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your call meant to
me. I never had any children and I used to look forward to your
calls." I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and
I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my
sister. "Please do", she said. "Just ask for Sally." Three months
later I was back in Seattle. A different voice
answered, "Information." I asked for Sally. "Are you a friend?" she
said. "Yes, a very old friend," I answered. "I'm sorry to have to
tell you this," she said. "Sally had been working part-time the last
few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago." Before I
could hang up she said, "Wait a minute, did you say your name was
Paul?" "Yes." I answered. "Well, Sally left a message for you. She
wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you." The note
said, "Tell him there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I
mean." I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant. Never
underestimate the impression you may make on others. Whose life have
you touched today?
