Pat Ritter. Books

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'Greatest OMR Stories' - Page 17:

Nothing Is Not Like It Seems

Being an avid viewer of a great television show, 'The Good Doctor'; for those who came in late the main character is Doctor Shaun Murphy who is a registered surgeon with autism and savant syndrome.
Doctor Shaun Murphy paces his way through life where nothing is not like it seems. His mind superior to anyone else including his chief surgeon. His direct communication with others doesn't endure him to make friends easily. Apart from his good friend Doctor Aaron Glassman who is the President of the hospital, his co-worker Doctor Claire Browne, including his neighbour, Lea he finds making friends difficult.
Nothing is not like it seems springs out of my mind when viewing this programme. Most clever ingenuity to the writers and producers to 'put something out into television land' to endure audiences from across the world. Since 'The Good Doctor' commenced I have viewed each episode. Final episode for season will leave my mind reflect on nothing is not like it seems.
Two Australian television programmes hold my interest. 'Doctor Doctor' plus 'A Secret Daughter'. Both these programmes don't outweigh 'Home and Away' which I am an avid viewer nightly. Apart from sport, nothing else I need to keep my interest. Since 1988 the television programme 'Home and Away' commenced I've seen almost each episode.
My reason for being so obsessed with this programme is because of my children. At the time 'Home and Away' joined us in our loungeroom my children were teenagers. Being an astute father, I wanted to join my teenage children to keep an eye on what they viewed. Nothing is not like it seems. Since this time, I've viewed each episode of 'Home and Away'.
My teenage children have grown to adults; have their own teenage children. We keep abreast of the programme by discussing happenings in the show whilst enjoying one another's company on a Saturday morning at morning tea time. They still can't understand how after so many years we as a family can sit down to discuss the happenings of 'Home and Away'. Nothing is not like it seems.
What did we do before television? Listen to the radio or wireless. I remember my grade 7 school teacher telling us when television entered our loungeroom, 'this will be the failing of our society'. How true her words should reflect on society since those years in grade 7. Nothing is not like it seems.
Perhaps if my teacher in grade 7 should still be alive, what would her words to us students be now in the present. Nothing is not like it seems, she may say. Particularly iPhone, computers, tablets, iPad with other devises. Her head would explode with how these devises have failed our society.
Once we've become accustomed with these latest gadgets of society, yes, I agree with my school teacher in grade 7, society has failed. On the other hand, how, technology has helped society to fail. Almost everyone has a mobile phone of some type. Have a look about when you visit your local coffee shop how many customers have their mobile phone in front of them, pressing buttons, listening to music, reading. Nothing is not like it seems.
Word count: 541
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'Greatest OMR Stories' - Page 18:

Now For Something Completely Different

My first grandchild born in 1999 with three more born to this present day. My role as a grandparent completely threw my way of parenting. Often other grandparents tell their story of being able to ‘hand the child’ back to their parents after they did their duty.
Being present shortly after the birth of my first grandchild my sub-conscious mind told me to stand back, leave room for the parents to take control. This sense of control leaving me with reservations of ‘not being wanted’ which was not the case. This moment I learned an invaluable lesson to ‘let go’, not to take control. When my other grandchildren arrived by the stork, I’d learnt to stand back, allow the parents to take the spot light.
Now for something completely different. My second grandchild is five years old. Grade one at the local school. My son tells him to ‘go to Poppy to do his homework’. Taylor arrives on my doorstep with his homework, ‘Dad says you will help me with my homework.’ With his words echoing through my mind I nod my head pointing for him to take a seat at the table. After opening his homework book, he points out numbers he needs to write beside after understanding which word each number represents.
Immediately, my mind races back to when I am Taylor’s age. My grandmother seated beside me showing how to break words into syllables. Eighteen is the first word he needed to recognize. I take the pencil from his hand, drew a line after eight, explain how the word is broken into two with the letters spelling eight, then teen to make eighteen. He has no idea how to understand what I did.
That didn’t work, I reminded myself silently. Let’s try another way. I say to Taylor at the same time pointing my finger to each letter, ‘read each letter as I point to them.’ Taylor repeats each letter finishing with the correct number. ‘Good boy.’ I finished. I placed my finger over the word and number, ‘repeat spelling the number with the number.’ I requested.
Shaking his head, ‘I can’t Poppy.’
‘Okay. We’ll try something else.’ I took away my finger to display the letting and number. ‘Repeat the letters and number.’ I asked him. Looking at the lettering he repeated the letters, instead of identifying the letter ‘i’ he replaced with ‘l’.
‘How do you identify the letter ‘i’?’ I ask.
Drawing with his finger in the air, he said, ‘with a stroke and dot on top.’
‘How do you draw the letter ‘l’?’
He instantly drew with his hand the letter ‘l’.
‘Why do you confuse the letter ‘i’ with the letter ‘l’?’ I asked.
‘I can’t Poppy.’ His answer solemn.
‘Taylor, to learn anything you need to focus on what you are doing.’ I explained.
Before he left to go home he repeated the spelling of ‘eighteen’ with the number 18 plus all the other numbers on his homework sheet.
Now for something completely different. Each time I ask Taylor to spell ‘eighteen’ which he fails to do. He doesn’t visit as often now.
Word count: 531
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'Greatest OMR Stories' - Page 19:

Open Day

Many memorable events happen in our lifetime. One event stood out more than most of the others. Open Day at University. This became a huge time in my life. Thirty-eight years old I became a mature student attending university with fellow students half my age.
After leaving school aged fifteen years, study or college wasn’t on my agenda. Although I attended TAFE College for five years through my apprenticeship as a fitter and turner, my desire to study became non-existent.
At twenty-one years of age I joined Queensland Police Service to begin my career as a police officer. Each promotion I studied internally to pass until finally I reached the rank of Sergeant First Class. Further education in the police, particularly attending university became an independent choice for a police officer who intended to rise in the ranks.
Completing an Associate Diploma of Management at TAFE I wanted to learn more about management. I enrolled in University of Southern Queensland at Toowoomba to be an external student. This period became the beginning of external students before on-line courses on the internet.
Before first term commenced I attended Open Day at the university to acquaint myself with what I needed to do. Management studies were the buzz word at the time. I travelled from Redcliffe to Toowoomba with my wife and family to show them what I was getting myself into. What a shock!
Lucky a few other mature aged students enrolled in the course. Being my first personal experience of attending university, this far out-weighed attending TAFE. My family and I walked through the halls of education trying to understand a road map to where I needed to go.
Eventually we arrived at the right place. Strangers in a strange land. I tried to be confident; this didn’t work. Gritting my teeth, I powered through the continual paper work reading as much information as possible. This became too much for my brain. My brain became bruised from taking in so much information all at once.
If I couldn’t cope with the Open Day, how would I cope with studies and the courses?
By the end of this Open Day I became exhausted, wanting to stop and not study. Standing beside me at the enrolment table I started up a conversation with a fellow student similar age to myself. I listened to his story of hardships he endured by studying the past two years to finish grade 11 and 12. His inspiration encouraged me to think about my future.
This Open Day I will never forget. By the end of six years, constant study I must admit I finally received my Batchelor of Business Management Degree to major in Human Resource Management. From this Open Day to my final day of university showed me anything about myself. I’m proud to admit I have done almost everything within my power to achieve my ambitions.
If this Open Day event hadn’t happened, more so, if I didn’t meet a fellow student who motivated me toward my goals I sometimes think how I ever survived. I did!
Word count: 519
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'Greatest OMR Stories' - Page 20:
Post Card From My Father
Surviving On Little
We all should love our parents. I loved my mother with all my heart and soul until she passed away at forty-five years old. Her many memories remain with me. My father lives in a Nursing Home; ninety-one years old. I've never received a post card from my father. Too often I remember his whining of surviving on little.
Thinking back on his life. Born in 1926, four years before the Great Depression, I suppose his mind taught him to survive on little. This survival never stopped him drinking alcohol nor smoking cigarettes. In those times both were common in society as a coping mechanism.
At the time of my father's birth, his twin sister as well. I remember too well both celebrating their seventieth birthday at my sister's home. My father's twin sister travelled from America to help celebrate their birthdays. Standing nearby when my aunt entered the room, my father had no idea his twin sister travelled to Australia to help celebrate their birthdays. A true surprise. This memory will remain with me forever.
Memories of growing up looking upon my father as my saviour in life certainly took many twists and turns. Any wonder he never sent me a postcard. I do remember when I turned sixteen years old my father left Queensland to move to New South Wales. Now and then I received letters from my father ending with the words Your Loving Father. Never any postcards.
From the time we're born until six years old, we learn. Learned to be loved, nurtured or neglected. Rest of our life, we experience. Looking back to this period, I held my father high upon a pedestal. My hero. Most important person in my life. From six years old until thirteen years old we experience our parent’s behaviours. Studying our parent's behaviour during this time to witness their role played as a parent.
In my case all I needed from my father for him to recognise me as his son; also, those most important words 'I Love You: I'm Proud Of You'. My father never uttered these words. Without these words my father and I drifted apart particularly as I grew into adulthood. His whining about surviving on little, together with self-pity drove me away from anything to do with him.
Surviving through the course of alcoholism to gain a life for myself I became the luckiest person alive to meet the love of my life. For the first five years I never realised how lucky I became to marry an angel. During these years I copied everything I witnessed from my father's habits, drinking, I didn't smoke; fell into bouts of self-pity to survive on little.
On 13th January 1977 my wife exploded these words, 'if you come home drunk tonight. I won't be here. I'm leaving and taking the children.' She was fair dinkum.
If my mother said these powerful words to my father during my growing up, times may have been different. Instantly, without thought I said to my wife, 'I PROMISE YOU I WILL NEVER DRINK ALCOHOL AGAIN!' I've never touched a drop of alcohol since I made this pledge to my wife forty years ago.
In many ways I'm pleased I didn't receive any postcard from my father who survived on little.
Word count: 561
IMPORTANT NOTICE: I'LL BE ABSENT ON HOLIDAYS UNTIL 4TH APRIL 2018. HAPPY EASTER TO ALL MEMBERS. CATCH UP WITH YOU ALL ON MY RETURN. THANK YOU FOR YOUR CONTINUED SUPPORT. MUCH APPRECIATED.
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'Greatest OMR Stories' - Page 21:

Santa Claus

Growing up in a country town in Queensland, each Christmas Eve Santa Claus visited to leave a present under the Christmas Tree. On my tenth birthday Santa left me a box brownie camera. I remember this camera. I snapped many photographs, unfortunately in the day and age of box brownie cameras they only took twelve photographs at a time before the film finished. Then the cost of developing these photos became such a cost my interest in the box brownie camera stopped.
After this period for many years Santa Claus left me handkerchiefs. Christmas time in our home became a joyful time for us children to enjoy especially playing with other children. Family gathered at our home over Christmas. I remember my grandmother, mother, aunts all working together to prepare Christmas Dinner, bake puddings with threepences in especially. At the time no, better place to be than around the Christmas Dinner table enjoying turkey, ham, plus all the trimmings.
Years went by to discover my own family, wife and two children enjoyed Christmas with our family. Santa Claus delivered presents to everyone. To my memory no presents were addressed coming from Santa Claus, yet he delivered them each Christmas Eve ready for first break of day on Christmas Day. A most joyful time.
Honestly, I have no idea how many years Santa Claus has been delivering presents to children across the world from the North Pole. We celebrate the birth of Jesus on Christmas Day. Each may have started the same year. I have no idea. I do realise each year children are thrilled to wake on Christmas morning to find under their Christmas tree a present delivered by Santa Claus.
Joy of Christmas celebrations have exploded into a commercial business with advertising on television, radio, newspapers exploiting people to purchase goods. Act of giving has diminished. Santa Claus on the other hand freely delivers presents to all children across the world with his trusted Reindeers. Joy of giving to another rather than taking is the deepest message from Santa Claus each Christmas.
The man wearing a red suit with a long white beard spreads his joy to children and adults during the festive season asking each child whether they've been naughty or nice. Either way the child receives the pleasure of a present from Santa Claus each Christmas morning. I remember one year Santa Claus left me a power tool under the tree. My wife claimed to have purchased the power tool for Santa Claus to leave under the tree. At the time I couldn't believe how my wife would've purchased such a power tool for me to use. A clear message of wanting me to do something. Without Santa Claus in our lives who would leave presents under the Christmas Tree each year to our joy and the joy of our children and grandchildren.
May Santa Claus go on forever.
Word count: 487
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'Greatest OMR Stories' - Page 22:

Scratch Where It Itches

In the company of two beautiful women we gazed at each painting hoping to pick the winner of The Archibald Prize. With Pam and Jan my companions we decided to visit Queensland State Library to find the painting displayed which Noel gave us at the Pomona Writers Group to write this topic.
Our decision to journey to Brisbane inspect this masterpiece came through frustration. Neither of us understood what we needed to write. To research this topic a journey to Brisbane necessary. Without hesitation both ladies agreed to accompany me.
Walking along searching for the painting displaying two child-size hands facing outward with an invisible mask either of a child, or someone else. We finally stumbled upon this painting. Standing beside each other gazing at the painting I wanted to scratch where it itches. Somewhere I'd seen this painting before. Searching my memory database nothing appeared.
Jan, who happened to be more into art said. 'This is the same painting in the Noosa News I showed Noel last Tuesday.' Both Pam and I looked at Jan. My mind returned to Tuesday searching each moment hoping to discover Jan's discovery.
'You're probably right.' I told Jan.
'I'm right alright. This is the painting from the newspaper. Noel wanted us to write a story.' She impressed upon each of us. All three of us agreed we discovered the holy grail. Scratch where it itches continued to bug my mind. Examining this painting a solution to my problem to tell my brain the two hands were those of a young child. Hidden behind these hands a face. With one eye closed one imagined a child's face, whilst with both eyes open, an adult face.
Three of us stood silent gazing at the painting when a movement, like a mouth, in between the two hands said, 'a beautiful painting. Wouldn't you say?' All three of us turned to one another in astonishment. No other person standing nearby. Sent Goosebumps up my arm.
'Did the mouth move, a voice.' I stuttered to my companions.
'What do you make of this painting?' Answered the voice. Neither of us explained our opinion. 'Do you think this painting will win The Archibald Prize?' The voice eagerly asked.
Still in shock, 'I'd prefer not to have an opinion. Our writing group facilitator gave us a topic to write this week. This is our reason for being here to view the painting. He showed us a photograph of the painting to write a story. This is the painting'. I explained.
'Ask any questions. This is my painting. I've entered 'The Archibald Prize'. The voice echoed. The mouth moved to the words.
'Sorry. We should go. Thank you.' I said beckoned the two ladies to follow me. We rushed to the carpark not saying a word of our discovery. On our journey home we didn't discuss the painting or our experience of the voice.
Together we decided to send in a blank page to allow other members of the group to imagine what we wrote. This remedied my scratch where it itches.
Word count: 518
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'Greatest OMR Stories' - Page 23:

Secret Life Of A Writer

Writing is a lonely life. Secret life of a writer is to write, write, write and write until finished.
My journey commenced at fourteen years old in sub-junior at Sandgate State High School. Our English teacher, Mr Imoff, wanted us to write a composition. If you remember back to 1963, an introduction, middle and conclusion. I ignored these instructions instead wrote a story.
After Mr Imoff read my composition his profound words became the birth of my writing career spanning more than half a century. You have a gift for writing. You write the way you speak which is unique. At the time, I never understood these words only thinking I need not worry about learning English.
Move forward twenty years. I'm studying an Associate Diploma of Management at TAFE College. My lecturer, Bob O'Sullivan wanted us to write a three-thousand-word assignment on 'What We Learned At The Weekend Workshop' in his 'Behaviour Class'. Again, I wrote a story.
When Bob returned each assignment, he wanted to speak with me about mine. Again, these profound words: You Have A Gift For Writing. You Write The Way You Speak Which Is Unique. These words were the same as Mr Imoff told me twenty years before. I didn't have a clue what each teacher meant by these words. Both Mr Imoff or Bob O’Sullivan had never met.
By the end of the course Bob became so impressed with my work he asked if we would write a book together. My position in the workforce at the time, Detective Sergeant Second Class, in charge of Juvenile Aid Bureau, Petrie. A serious issue of Teenage Children Running Away From Home concerned me greatly. I wanted an answer to this issue. Studies I learned in Bob's subject created a gateway in solving this issue.
Three years we wrote our first book 'Closing The Gap'. Eventually, published by The Australian Lions Drug Awareness Foundation disseminated through Lions, Leos, Lioness Clubs throughout Australia. 8000 copies sold. I became a published author.
At the same time this book was published, I had an operation to have the implantation of a pacemaker. My career as a police officer finished. Because of the operation to my major organ in my body I fell into a BIG BLACK HOLE of depression. After two years, I crawled my way back into society.
After trying to understand how to live with a pacemaker, I decided to write and self-publish my own story to help other recipients. How Could This Happen To Me became my second book to write and publish.
From working as a police officer for twenty years my career did a one hundred and eighty degree turn around. I became an alcohol and drug counsellor with Queensland Health. Since writing Closing The Gap I wanted to include drugs. Parents – STOP – Be Aware Of Your Child – Taking Drugs became my next book to make parents aware of drugs their children may be taking. An off-shoot to this book Programme Workbook For Young People became my next book to help those young people to set and achieve their goals in life.
With my self-confidence on a high I branched out to write a life story on a celebrity in Queensland Harness Racing. This book awarded me a National Prize. Suddenly, my life as a writer took off with other books I wrote and self-published. Presently I’m writing book number twenty-one.
Times have certainly changed since I began with my first book in 1988. Throughout the years, I have learned each step of writing, publishing, marketing, selling my books through the internet. Blows my mind to think I sit at my office at Brooloo spread-the-word throughout the world to advertise my books. Secret Life Of A Writer is to NEVER GIVE UP!
Word count: 636
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