TOUCH SOMEONE'S LIFE TODAY
(It will give you the Greatest Feeling)
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
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 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 unconsoled. 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 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." "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?
SMILE