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Old 05-26-2013, 07:50 PM   #1
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Information please...

I saw this one quite a while back and loved it. Ran across it again today and decided to share for those who have not yet seen it. It's long but so very worth reading all of it.


INFORMATION PLEASE...

This story is unusually long for a post. I try to keep to shorter ones. You may have heard or read it before, I did, many years ago; but I really thought it was great, and would be a benefit to many of us to ponder. Enjoy!

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.

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 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. 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 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 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 inconsolable.

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 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 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 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 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 asked.

"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said. "Sally has 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 replied.

"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. Whose life have you touched today?

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Old 05-26-2013, 08:34 PM   #2
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It doesn't matter how many times I read a story like this, it still brings a smile to my face. Thanks for posting it!
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Old 05-26-2013, 11:48 PM   #3
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A smile and a tear!
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Old 05-30-2013, 06:31 PM   #4
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What a lovely story!
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Old 05-30-2013, 11:06 PM   #5
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mrs, i simultaneouly like and wonder about the agenda of your recent posts.

i can appreciate the sentiment having had a childhood before the (western) world became morose out of necessity, but today your parents eould be considered neglective, allowing a young child to be left alone, and have acces to tools.

times are a changin', and before anyone says for the worse, just stop and think about for whom.
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Old 05-31-2013, 12:08 AM   #6
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Aw heck, if my parents raised us now like they did then, they'd have lost us long ago...we lived through our childhood.
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Old 05-31-2013, 12:13 AM   #7
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yeah, i agree. i try so hard to let my boy live his childhood with as much freedom to experience things by himself as possible, so i've become a ninja dad. i'm watching, but he doesn't know i'm there.

hey, maybe i've just created a new term, ninja parents, rather than helicopter parents.
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Old 05-31-2013, 12:16 AM   #8
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Mom used to stand in the window and watch us walk across the huge field (there and back) to the gas station to buy Dad's cigarettes. All three of us went or no one went.
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Old 05-31-2013, 08:26 AM   #9
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Quote:
Originally Posted by buckytom View Post
mrs, i simultaneouly like and wonder about the agenda of your recent posts.
No agenda .. just things that strike me or make me remember way back when or simply make me go hmmmmm
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Old 05-31-2013, 08:28 AM   #10
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Originally Posted by PrincessFiona60 View Post
Mom used to stand in the window and watch us walk across the huge field (there and back) to the gas station to buy Dad's cigarettes. All three of us went or no one went.
Ha ! ... Oh wow .. I had forgotten that we also used to go to buy smokes for our parents. I think I was probably no more than 10 years old.
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