by Pat Ritter
teacher’s voice echoed trouble.
Grade three at Roma State School I sat in the front row so I could see writing on the board. I almost piddled myself when the teacher looked at me and asked to explain myself. My friend, Jimmy sat beside me and kept quiet.
She’d asked a question on sums which I answered. I surprised myself when the answer filtered from my mind; I always seemed to be the clown in the class of grade 3.
‘Stand up and repeat what you said,’ the teacher’s voice exploded like a fire-cracker, her eyes drilled into mine.
‘I didn’t say anything Miss, I worked out the sum in my head and told my friend Jimmy the answer,’ I tried to explain, she put me on the spot.
‘What’s funny then?’
‘Nothing!’ I tried to explain feeling my face turn crimson.
‘Than why did your friend sitting next to you laugh?’
‘I have no idea; you’ll need to ask him.’
‘Right, Mr Keegan, why did you laugh at your friend’s comments?’ She asked Jimmy.
‘Paddy is so dumb and stupid; I never thought he could’ve worked out the answer in his head’. Jimmy explained.
‘Yes, he doesn’t possess sufficient knowledge in his head to blow out a candle; in fact if he had another brain it’d be lonely.’ She grinned and returned to the blackboard.
This comment didn’t embarrass me, honestly I thought I was dumb and stupid, my parents always commented how stupid and I believed them. This time though for a reason I couldn’t explain how I answered the problem before any other student, the answer popped into my head.
Many years later I realised I wasn’t stupid or dumb. Perhaps it was their way of showing their love. In the end I realised I was clever or smarter than most of the students in my class of grade three and didn’t know at the time because I passed to continue onto grade four. I will never forget the moment I was put on the spot.
Word count: 375
Do You Need A License For That
I hate fishing. It's boring, time consuming and most of all far out-weighs the pleasure compared to the cost of equipment and bait. Many of you may not agree with my opinion but I can't help how I feel about fishing.
During my childhood I did enjoy fishing with my mother. We sat on the banks of Bungle Creek and fished for catfish. None of those flashy rods and reels, only a length of tree branch round enough to wrap your fingers around. A length of catgut line with a cork and hook on the end baited with either a live small frog or shrimp.
I remember those days as if they were yesterday. My mother sat on the edge of the bank with rod in hand bobbing the cork in the water and often throw a hand filled with sand into near where the line entered the water. 'Wouldn't that chase the fish away.' I asked.
'No, it helps them to see the bait', she answered. With a smoke in her mouth she looked like a queen on her throne. I loved fishing with my mother along the edge of the creek. We'd catch a few catfish for our supper.
One afternoon the clouds darkened in the east. Time to pull in our lines and rush home. We knew when these storms from the east came with a rush, a storm followed. Twisting the lines around our rods we rode our bicycles as fast as possible against the oncoming winds to arrive home before the storm struck.
Wind blew hard cracking branches throwing them around us. Having no shelter to hide from the storm we pushed our way against the wind to safely arrive home wet through to our skins. After skinning the fish, cooking and tasting the freshness, nothing else mattered.
A decade later my friends decided to go fishing and invited me along. I tied my rod onto my bicycle and met them by the creek. They didn't have a fishing rod and I thought it strange. Instead they produced small round balls with wicks sticking out from each one.
'You can't fish with them'. I said in a stern voice.
'We'll show you.' One of my friends struck a match, lit the end of the wick and threw the ball into the creek. When the ball hit the water an explosion caused the water to erupt. A couple of minutes fish rose to the top stunned. They dived into the creek each catching a fish and throwing them onto the bank.
When enough fish landed on the bank they returned. I said in astonishment, 'do you need a license for that.' They laughed, gathered their fish and went home.
Word count: 463
My One Regret
Hindsight is a wonderful measure to look back on any regrets in your life. Yes, with hindsight I would've taken more risks to become financially independent. From the time I commenced work at aged fifteen I wanted to purchase blocks of land for my future investment.
I remember clearly on a Sunday morning discussing my ambitions with my father, 'great idea. Wished I would've done it,' he answered. With this idea in mind and the support of my father we searched the Sunday morning newspaper to find a suitable block of land.
Two suburbs from where we lived a block advertised for sale. If only I possessed the strength to tell my family what I wanted instead of being led by the nose to purchase what they considered was a good investment. Instead of my father and I inspecting the land and speaking about the costs and purchase, my relatives who lived nearby followed us.
We gathered at the block everyone thought would be a good investment. Price seven hundred and fifty pound. I didn't want to pay that amount of money. Another not far from the one chosen by everyone cost five hundred and fifty pounds. 'You don't want that one. Too wet. This one on the corner is much better.' My father commented.
My wage at the time seven pounds ten shillings per week. I couldn't sign the contract because of my age. One needed to be twenty-one years old before they could sign a contract so the land was signed into my father's name. Payment ten pound per month for seven years.
Ten pounds per month equated to two pound ten shillings a week which left me short of money to live. 'To help you pay for the land your mother and I won't charge you board. You put the money into the land,' my father commented. At the time I thought this became a good idea and my wages would pay for the instalments.
After I turned sixteen years old my father got itchy feet and moved to Sydney. I stayed behind and boarded with my aunt and uncle who were one of the family members who were present to advise me about the block of land I should purchase. Only problem, they didn't want to keep me for nothing as I had at home.
I needed to work on weekends to survive. Each Saturday making I worked welding garden furniture to receive two pound ten shillings. This amount covered my monthly payments. I continued working six days per week for three years making payments monthly. In fact with my rise in pay I made double payments to pay the block off more quickly. On a Friday four years almost to the day I purchased the land I entered the office of the finance company to make my final payment.
'I'm sorry. The land has been sold.' I couldn't believe the words from the attendant behind the desk. My father sold the block a week before and I no longer owned it. Because the land was in his name I didn't have a leg to stand on.
Over the following weeks, honestly, I think I was in shock or disbelief my father could do this to me. During my next visit to Sydney I asked him why he sold the land, 'I needed the money. I bought a new lounge.' What could I say. A lesson well learnt.
Queensland changed the law to enable a person eighteen years and over to purchase land or property in their name. Without delay and thinking about my dream of owning blocks of land I purchased a block at Eagleby near Beenleigh for fourteen hundred dollars.
Within three years I doubled the price and sold it for twenty-eight hundred dollars, then purchased more land and doubled my money on each block. Twenty years later I lived at Morayfield in a brand new Jennings brick home on two acres of land. At a family function my father asked me, 'how did you get this?'
'I worked for it.' I told him. This was my one regret.
Word count:691
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