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| Hello, this beautiful story was sent to me and I thought it would be nice to share it with others. It really made me stop to think. |
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| When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in the neighborhood. I remember well 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 used to talk to it. Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful devise lived an amazing person, her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know. "Information Please" could suppy anybody's number and the correct time. My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbour. Amusing myself at the bench in the basement, I wacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was so terrible, but there didn't seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the at the stairway I thought, The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the foot stool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver and held it to my ear. "Information Please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head. A clear small 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?" "No," I relpied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts." "can you open your icebox?" she asked I said I could. "Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold ot to your finger, "said the voice. After that I called "InformationPlease" 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 chipmonk, that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruits and nuts. Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary died. I called "Information Please" and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things to soothe a child. But I was unconsoled. 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 the cage?" She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Sissy, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in." Somehow I felt better. Another day I was on the telephone. "Informaion Please" "Information," said the familiar voice. "How do you spell fix?" I asked. All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was 9 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 tall, 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 girl. A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half an hour 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 new 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 heeled by now." I laughed. "So it's really still 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 calls meant to me. I never had 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 passed away five weeks ago." Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Sissy?" "Yes." "Well, Sally left a message for you." The note said, Tell her I still say there are other worlds to sing in. She'll know what I mean." I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant. |
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| Never underestimate the impression you may make on others. Who's life have you touched today? |
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