by Pat Ritter
A day in a wheelchair:
My role as an alcohol and drug counsellor was to counsel any person who presented without favour or malice.
Simon presented to receive counselling because his mother was an alcoholic.
He didn’t drink, only suffered abuse by his mother blaming him for her drinking. This was my first experience of counselling a person in a wheelchair.
When I first sighted Simon instantly my heart went out to him. He was not only a quadriplegic but was born spastic suffering from cerebral palsy. He was 25 years old and lived with his mother who had a drinking problem.
Although he couldn’t speak, only sound a grunting noise, with a nod or shake of his head, we formed an instant rapport. I needed all of my experience as a counsellor to help him. This was going to be a tough one.
Since birth he’d used a wheelchair and this one he now occupied was motorised which he controlled with a small lever using his crippled right hand. His mother blamed him for his condition and drank alcohol to ease the burden of guilt. This in-turn placed Simon in a position of wanting to leave his mother and move into a community house. He didn’t know how to tell her he wanted to move out away from her and her drinking.
Communication between people, at the best of times can be difficult and more importantly it was paramount to walk a mile in Simon’s shoes or live a day in his wheelchair to clearly understand where he was coming from.
Simon’s intellect was the best I’d ever come across in my life as a counsellor. During each stage of counselling he totally understood what I was saying, particularly, the point he was not responsible for how his mother behaved. This point reflected in his face through his eyes.
He didn’t say words but I knew he understood the message I past onto him when he blinked his eyes after I told him.
Like I said, my heart went out to him. I couldn’t imagine how he dealt with his mother’s drinking, her abuse and still remained calm. He was a very intelligent human being and didn’t deserve the fate that was handed to him.
In the end Simon understood what he needed to do and those counselling sessions continue to remind me knowing and understanding how it was for him to have a lifetime in a wheelchair.
Word count: 412
A Christmas story:
It was the morning of Christmas; I am a child of eight years old. The Christmas tree is decorated and placed in the corner of the lounge room with presents gathered beneath. I wanted to be awake to see Santa Claus place the presents under the tree but I must have slept through the ordeal.
In those days my bed was in the lounge room of our home. Visiting relatives used my bedroom over the festive period. Was there a present for me, I wondered. Of course there’d be – I always got a present at Christmas and Santa wouldn’t have forgotten me. I’d been good all year.
Waiting for my sisters; parents and others in the house to rise I wanted to steal a look at the presents. I felt overjoyed with anticipation in what I was getting. There were many things I wanted but my parents were poor and they couldn’t afford much. Whatever Santa Claus bought me I would be satisfied.
There were noises coming from the kitchen. Grandma always rose early Christmas morning to prepare lunch. The sounds were pots rattling; drawers opening and closing told me she was preparing the chook and vegies.
Yesterday she and grandpa arrived with their bundles of cakes and food enough to feed an army of people. Come to think of it – it seemed like an army of relatives had descended upon our small family for the festive season.
‘Good morning, Grandma – Merry Christmas.’ I said as I placed my arms around her neck and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
‘And a good morning to you, what did Santa bring you?’ She replied.
‘I don’t know – I haven’t looked. I’ll wait until Mum and Dad get out of bed.’ I wanted her to tell me I could go and open my present.
‘That’s a good idea.’ She said and returned to what she was doing.
Finally Mum and Dad got out of bed and we sat around the Christmas Tree to open our presents. In delight I looked around the tree to sight my name and there it was gleaming on a large box. I could never have imagined what I got but it was a box brownie camera.
This was a Christmas to remember.
Word count: 382.
What We Did On Our Break:
To my delight, Jackson, my grandson visited me for his school holidays. He’s 11 years of age and it was wonderful to have him with me.
Our time together rekindled my childhood memories of the times I visited my grandparents over the school vacation many years ago. These memories continue to linger in my mind of the warmth and love my grandmother gave to me.
Jackson was privileged to attend this group on our final day of 2010. He thoroughly enjoyed his time and I was proud when he read ‘A Christmas Story’ which he had written himself. Normally when an 11 year old child is seated amongst adults they tend to have a concentration span of about 10 minutes. Jackson applied himself over the total 2 hour period.
After leaving the writers group I asked Jackson what he wanted to do on his holidays.
‘I want to write a book, Pop,’ was his reply.
‘What type of book?’ I asked.
‘Like yours Pop but this one will be ‘Life Of An Eleven Year Old.’ He shared with me.
‘When we arrive home we’ll do it.’ I reassured him.
Over the next week Jackson busied himself and typed his story.
‘How many words do I type Pop?’ He asked.
‘I normally have two and a half thousand words to a chapter.’ I shared with him.
After doing a word count on the computer he said, ‘I’ve only done seven hundred and fifty.’
‘Then you’ve got a long way to go.’ I said.
Jackson typed away and I was proud of the way he stuck to his mission.
When he was 4 years old I looked after him three days a week. To fill in the time I wrote and compiled two small books for him. I remember it well when he asked me to print off a dozen copies so he could hand them to his friends at day care.
‘What would you like on the cover?’ I asked not knowing his tastes.
‘My photograph, I’ve got one on my camera.’
He chose a photograph from his camera and downloaded it and pasted it onto the front cover of the book. ‘Is that what you want?’ I showed him what I’d done.
‘Can you place the photograph in the centre of the page with the title on top and my name at the bottom, just like your book?’ He instructed me.
I followed his instructions and completed the cover and showed it to him.
‘That’s great Pop – thanks.’ He proudly admitted.
Over the next couple of days we completed his book – Life Of An Eleven Year Old.
Jackson’s book is available for free on my website www.patritter.com.au.
Word count: 456
