by Pat Ritter
subject performing role plays in communication, stress, motivation, and conflict resolution.
After the first day of the workshop the Detective Sergeant returned to work. He received a telephone call from a concerned mother. Her daughter was stealing money from home and spent it at school. Instead of passing off this telephone call as a ‘family issue’ the Detective Sergeant listened to the caller. During the day he remembered the techniques taught to him by his lecturer in communication and applied these techniques to the caller. He suggested she sit down with her daughter and ask the reason why she took the money.
After attending the second day of the workshop he returned to work and received a telephone call from the concerned women he’d spoken to the previous day. She spoke with her daughter about their issues and came to a resolution.
The thrill of helping this caller rose through the Detective Sergeant’s mind like a tornado erupting endorphins like a volcano of hope. He couldn’t wait to tell his lecturer about finding a solution to his issue of ‘children running away from home’.
Over the next twelve months the Detective Sergeant mentored parents and their teenage child each time there was an issue with parent-teenager relationships. Success grew so fast the Lecturer suggested they write a book on the findings. This book became ‘Closing The Gap’ giving the authors a brush with fame.
Word count: 412.
I Wish I Had Known That When I Was Young.
Hindsight is a wonderful tool to have in one’s life toolbox. Imagine if we could look into a crystal ball to see our future. I, for one, would know the winning numbers of next week’s lotto or keno.
Memories from an early age; reminds me of what my parents and grandparents did. They wagered their well earned money on betting, may it be on a Saturday afternoon at the races, or playing poker with their friends. My mother loved to have a wager on a horse as did my grandmother who, on a Saturday afternoon bet fifty shillings each way on a horse in each race at a meeting.
One Saturday afternoon I accompanied my grandparents to the Brisbane Races. Before we left home I sat and studied the form guide to pick some winners. We always went to the Flat Section of the course because it only cost one shilling to enter. This day I backed a horse named ‘Pete’ at the price of 20-1. I won one pound and thought ‘how good is this’?
Out of habit I too played the evils of betting. At Sandgate Pier, a holiday spot I visited as a ten year old child; was a penny slot machine. By placing a penny into a slot, turning a small thumb handle, the penny dropped into the machine and if you were lucky you received either two pennies or lost the penny you invested. Naturally being a gambler I lost, however, I never gave up. The machine wasn’t going to beat me.
Inheriting the gambling bug at an early age I wagered my hard earned cash either at the races or any other gambling I could find. Was it the excitement of winning which caused me to chase that rainbow in the sky?
Looking back at the time, I think it would’ve been highly unlikely if I would’ve listened to any neither advice nor stop from trying to win the big prize. What caused me to continue in this way?
I could blame a thousand people throughout my life who I saw try the same as what I was doing. It was fun; exciting and plain bad luck when I didn’t win. On the other hand when I did win, which was fewer times than I can imagine; the risk was worth it.
Often when revisiting these times I shudder at the thought of how wealthy I would’ve been had I invested the money I wagered into a growth managed investment. If I knew than what I know now, would I have changed anything in my life? I doubt it. I’m still chasing the golden rainbow in the sky and one day I’ll reach the pot at the end of the rainbow to collect the prize I so richly deserve.
Word count: 478
A Most Dangerous Person.
The message was clear: drop in at 21 Barry Street on your way to work; a father has a baby in the house. There was no mention of firearms; however, for a reason only known to the detective, he slipped his Smith and Wesson revolver into the back portion of his trousers, held tight by his belt.
When he approached the address his Boss was standing on the footpath, ‘you got your gun.’ His Boss commanded. Immediately the detective felt the cold steel of his revolver pressed between his back and the leather belt he wore and nodded.
They walked side by side slowly to the front porch of the house. The front door opened. A man stood holding an infant child in his left arm and a M1 carbine rifle in the other, ‘piss off coppers – I want my wife.’ He screamed at the two officers. He looked upset.
Without blinking an eyelid the detective moved his right hand behind his back and clasped his fingers around the handle of his revolver, slowly moving his index finger to the trigger. The man with the gun raised the rifle and pointed the end of the barrel, an inch away, directly in front of the detective’s forehead.
‘I want my wife.’ He screamed at the two officers.
‘We’ll get her – just stay calm.’ Words quivered from the Boss’s lips.
The detective stood erect looking directly into the assailant eyes, his fingers curled around the butt of his revolver, his index finger on the trigger, ready to draw the pistol from behind his back at any second.
‘Then bloody well get her here now! I want to see her.’ The gunman screamed.
‘Alright, we’ll bring her back.’ Both police officers retreated. The last they saw of the gunman he returned inside of the house with the infant child still in his arms.
Within four hours, members of the elite Emergency Squad arrived to try and talk the gunman into surrender, to no avail. The gunman’s mother with a policewoman finally persuaded the gunman to surrender and release his child.
When the detective interviewed the gunman, his reason he pointed a M1 Carbine Rifle to the detective’s forehead was, ‘I wanted to scare you.’ He certainly carried out his desire. When the police searched the home of the gunman, they discovered 200 hundred rounds of M1 Carbine ammunition and two .22 calibre rifles and 100 rounds of ammunition.
Afterwards the detective realised how close he had came to death, when the gunman pointed the barrel of the M1 Carbine Rifle only an inch from his forehead. The barrel of the rifle appeared to him at the time to be the size of a cannon. The gunman was a most dangerous person.
Word count: 465
The Caravan Park.
Alone she slept in a rented caravan. Life had dealt her one of those hands which she hoped wouldn’t land on her lap for sometime. She was lonely and exhausted. To stay overnight at a caravan park was somewhat beneath her status. She’d fought with her parents and wanted to escape. These domestic disputes had been going on for sometime and her only escape was to leave the family home to see if she could cope by herself. It was a test she wasn’t prepared for; only time would tell what the outcome would become.
When she awoke the next morning, stretched, she realised she needed to visit the bathroom. Usually her bathroom was an en suite in her bedroom at home. This en suite was a walk from her rented caravan to a community toilet block, a distance of forty metres. She’d slept in the clothing she’d worn when she booked into the caravan park the previous night. To make matters worse she didn’t carry any luggage, only her purse and mobile telephone.
She lifted herself from the soft uncomfortable mattress she slept on, placed her bare feet on the floor, thinking how cold her feet felt. She stood upright and knocked her head on the overhead cupboard. Tears trickled from her eyes. She sobbed but needed to visit the toilet urgently.
Feeling around the floor, she found her shoes, slipped them on, tried to gather herself together by combing her hair with her fingers. She felt dirty and uncouth. Opening the small door, she escaped into daylight.
‘Hi there neighbour.’ A male voice sung to her.
She looked from where the voice come from and saw an old man waving, ‘you okay?’ His voice warm and tender, in a way this person reminded her of her father.
She burst into tears, cupped her hands ar
ound her face, and sobbed. The old man didn’t known what to do, he walked toward her. ‘Can I help you?’ He softly asked and placed his arm around her trembling shoulders.
Between tears and sobbing she said, ‘I’ve run away from home.’
‘Where is home?’ He asked kindly.
‘Brisbane.’ She muttered.
‘You are a long way from home.’ The old man suggested. ‘Come with me and my wife will help you.’ They walked to the caravan next door to meet the stranger’s wife. After consoling with his wife, she telephoned her parents and later met them at the caravan park.
For the remainder of her life she never forget the kindness given to her by two elderly people she’d never met before who lived at a caravan park.
Word count: 441
The Bookshop.
Unfortunately the local bookshop we are used to visiting and browsing to find the book of our choice is coming to a close. Instead, we now trawl the internet to find an e-book. For those people who do not know about the e-book, it is an electronic book, not dissimilar to a paperback capable of being read from a computer or an e-book reader.
How has the written word come to this with readers? For a start it is easier for the author to publish their book as an e-book. Once the e-book is published, it is sent off into cyberspace for customers to search the internet to choose an e-book to read, by means of a computer, e-book