Miscellaneous - http://maxpages.com/starfire7s/HOW_DO_YOU_SPELL

"Information Please"

When I was quite young, my father had one of the first
telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well the polished
old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on

the side of the box was too little to reach the telephone,

but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked on

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 myself at the tool bench in
the basement, I whacked my finger with a 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 foot stool 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. Now the tears came readily.

"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

really hurts!"

"Can you open your icebox?" she asked.

"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.
Iasked 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, 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 have sensed my deep

concern, for she said quietly,

"Paul, always remember-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 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 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 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 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 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 past the lump in my throat.

"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 other!

Starfire7s@aol.com

Smile......Jesus love you!

Starfire7s@aol.com

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Page Updated Sat Jan 2, 1999 2:19am EST