Since this is a story that has led to a fair few tears ( see comments on the original post) I thought a few others might enjoy shedding theirs.
The Black Telephone…
When I was a young boy, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood..
I remember 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 anyone’s number and the correct time.
My personal experience with the genie-in-a-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 seemed no point in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy.
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