Howard Maxwell is a man in tune with his times.  When his four-year-old daughter, Melinda, acquired a fixation for “The Three Little Pigs” and demanded that he read it to her night after night, he knew he had to do something.  So Mr. Maxwell tape-recorded the story.  When Melinda next asked for it, he simply switched on the playback.  Then he taught Melinda to rewind the tape and get it ready for the next listening. 

Well, Melinda was pleased with this for awhile, but about a week later she pushed her tattered and torn storybook of  “The Three Little Pigs” into her father’s hand and asked him to read it.

“Now, honey,” he said, “you know where the tape recorder is and you know how to work it.”

“Yes, I know,” interrupted Melinda, “but I can’t sit on its lap.”

In this impersonal world of gadgets and machines, automation and efficiency, we long for the personal touch that can come only as we give ourselves in caring love to each other.