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 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?"

"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 fruits 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 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."

"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.

The boy was eleven years old. The horse was a young stallion, a flaming pinto, whose spirit reflected the wildness of his ancestors. For weeks the boy had secretly brought grain to him during chore time, stroking and caressing his internal fire with small doses of kindness. The concept of time was evasive as the boy slipped into a oneness with the beast. He was the boy’s summer solace as he worked the school break away on his uncle’s farm, the corral his Garden of Eden. Day after day their fears of each other diminished. They began to understand and to communicate. The stallion allowed the boy liberties that no other dared. Horse would follow boy around the enclosure and listen as he poured out his inner thoughts. Somehow this "wild" stallion and the boy bonded. They communicated in a genteel and humane fashion. Communication was the bridge between them.

Whether we are working with animals or people, we need something to span the gap that separates our worlds. Living beings communicate with signals: verbal and non-verbal. Body language and oral communication expresses the same distinction, but there is more. Subtleties include tone of voice, facial expression, mood, types of words used, depth of feeling. Together this produces communication from the heart.

The boy experienced unspoken language of the heart. As his heart spoke, its message was enhanced by the movements of both the boy and the horse. Together they explored and built the bridge to join their separate worlds.

It would be nice to tell you that the horse and the boy went on to form a great friendship. Unfortunately, stories and life are not always what we hope they could be. An appropriately worried aunt watched the boy and the horse as the weeks went by, "It isn’t safe for that boy to be hanging around with that unbroken wild thing."

His uncle came after chores with a saddle in hand and told the boy to catch the young stallion, "It’s time he was broke." Obediently, the boy slipped the rope around his friend’s neck and led him from their garden of peace.

They never walked side-by-side again. The boy had broken their covenant and could not restore or heal the damaged trust. Their hearts no longer communicated the same message. The words he spoke no longer bridged the gap that separated their worlds.

I was that boy. This was one of many times in my life that I said or did something that would cause a rift in a relationship with an animal or person. Others are harmed by my mistakes committed and my omissions. My ignorance or insensitivity have tainted future encounters. Some relationships have been severed.

Slowly I am learning that all people and animals come from different backgrounds and experiences. To communicate we need to take time, to listen, watch, and discover how the individual interprets our words and actions. Jumping to conclusions almost guarantees misunderstandings and potential bridges broken. We are complex beings. The communication bridge that connects us involves intricate and delicate issues. We portray our hearts by our words, our tone of voice, volume, body language, facial expressions, and by how we listen with our hearts.

At the age of 11, I struggled with guilt over the betrayal of my friend the stallion. I felt for his terror. I could not face him and later never had the opportunity to rebuild our relationship.

We have children, relatives, neighbors, or colleagues with wild and tender hearts. If not used wisely, or words and actions (or silence and inactions) can injure. Let us build within ourselves a sensitivity that opens our eyes and gives us the power to restore. This sensitivity can allow the language of the heart to reach out, to quench fears, to soothe misunderstandings. Deeper than the frustrations we carry is another language, the language of the heart. Capture an opportunity today to listen with your heart and build a bridge.

Greg and Diane Olson present conferences and workshops using animals and stories to help people understand one another. They can be reached at Critters and Company, 612-427 3442. They are foster care providers with Hennepin County.

Some people are grown in healthy and fertile wombs under the care of a happy mother, born with a sunny disposition, raised under the care of wise and talented adults and grow up with limited set backs. These positive experiences set the stage for a belief in oneself and abilities. Like the little engine that could, a mountain becomes one “I think I can, I think I can” at a time, until the crest of the mountain is in view and the chant changes to “I know I can” until the goal is reached.

Optimists refuse to feel helpless and don’t give up when faced with seemingly impossible challenges. They expect to succeed, believe in themselves and remain positive. They are more likely to think of past successes and accomplishments and build on them. Their thinking words include: can, will, do, try, maybe, possible, usually, possibly, and perhaps.

The building blocks of optimism include:

• Trying

• Practicing

• Coming to terms with failure and success

• Planning for the best outcome

• Having the belief and confidence to try again.

Pessimists often sense a dispair of helplessness, the problem is too big, I can’t, it is hopeless. With each set back, life gets worse, their thinking words include: can’t, won’t, should, always, never, don’t.

Optimism is having the ability to expect the best out of life’s experiences. It means having hope and a strong belief and confidence to deal with life’s situations.

The world is not always a happy place, accidents occur, problems happen, life is not perfect. Goals are not always achieved, learning from trying is. What can an adult do to help move a pessimistic child toward a more optomistic outlook?

• Give encouragement - what were the thoughts that popped into your head when you thought you were losing that game? How did your thoughts help you change from losing into winner thinking? Help the child focus on helpful thoughts.

• Teach the child to make realistic appraisals - “I’m lousy at math” provides the adult to ask “What do you do well?”

• Be a positive role model, get rid of your own pessimism.

• View The Lion King, Free Willy, The Karate Kid, Chariots of Fire and talk about winning.

• Provide positive self-talk to the child who is learning a new task.

• Teach a new task in tiny, tiny steps and build upon success.

Optimism may not come naturally for everyone, but with practice we can help a child see the goodness and look on the bright side of life. We can help the child believe in his or her self. And soon you’ll see your little engineer thinking he/she can!