OTHER WORLDS TO
SING IN
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 and shiny receiver on the side of the box.
I was too little to reach the
telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my other 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 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
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 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 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 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 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 our
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."
"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 know what Sally meant. Never underestimate the impression you may make on others. Whose
life have you touched today? Why not pass
this on, like I just did.
Author
unknown