MY LITTLE #15
Join Date: Dec 2004
Location: Springfield, MO
Casino cash: $6259600
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I actually cried when I read this one. I know. I'm such a chick.
>The old phone
>
>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?
>
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