Re: A touching story!
- Oh, that is a really, really touching story! Thank you Anita, I loved
--- In Sri_Chinmoy_Inspiration@yahoogroups.com, anitabusic
> Here is another one of those touching stories that will bring tearsin
> into your eyes, and make you feel more loving than before.
> Wishing you all love and joy,
> * * *
> Information Please
> When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones
> our neighborhood. I remember well the polished old case fastened tomyself
> 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 device lived
> an amazing person - her name was "Information Please" and there was
> nothing she did not know.
> "Information Please" could supply 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 neighbor. Amusing
> at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with ahead.
> hammer. The pain was 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 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
> A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my
> ear. "Information." "I hurt my finger. . ." I wailed into the
> The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.have
> "Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
> "Nobody's home but me." I blubbered.
> "Are you bleeding?" "No," I replied. "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 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 fruits and
> 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 grown-ups say to soothe a
> child. But I was un-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
> sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly,calls."
> "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 the now
> familiar voice. "How do you spell fix?" I asked.
> All this took place in a small t own 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 boy. A few years later, on my way
> west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half an
> 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 wel
> l, "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 still you,' I said.
> "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that
> "I wonder", she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me.
> I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your
> I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I
> if I could call her again when I came back to visit myanswered.
> 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 v ery old friend," I
> "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." "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 I still say 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.
> - Author unknown