My Grandad, the Great Fisherman.

My mums father was a fisherman. I believe he probably spent more time out on the blue than he did on the ground. I remember as a kid growing up back in Portugal, my grandad would come home holding a large bucket full of fish. He'd dump them in the kitchen sink, fill it with water for my grandma to prepare for subsequent meals. He didn't really speak much, in fact, I barely every heard his voice. The only time I did was when he was telling me off for being the cheeky little bugger that I was. But, despite being a man of few words, I realise that he never really had to speak. The famous phrase "actions speak louder than words" comes to mind when I think of him, and they really did. He had this way of telling you what he was thinking just by looking at you, or shaking his head, which is something he used to do very often with me. A slow shake of the head from side to side, a nod of disapproval, disappointment. Even later in life when he suffered with Alzheimer I know he remembered me even if he didn't remember anyone else, because he continued to give me that same nod of disapproval, which he never really gave anyone else. My grandad never even told me he loved me, but, he didn't have to.

I remember once as an 8 or 9 year old being at the beach with my siblings, and my grandad. He used to bring us to the beach often whenever we asked, he didn't always stick around but he always gave us a lift. But, this was one of the rare moments when he stayed with us, and I'm glad he did. I watched my older brother jump off some nearby boulders into the clear, warm water where I floated. The dives, the poses, it looked fun and I wanted to try it myself. I climbed up and attempted to follow suit. As I jumped, my foot got caught on a sharp edge and I dangled for a moment and then fell into the water. I began to freak out at the red seeping from a gash in my foot, a gash which eventually left a thick scar. I worried that the blood would attract sharks from miles and miles away. This is a fear that never really left me, the idea that we share the ocean with large ominous creatures still freaks me out whenever I swim in it. My grandad must have been watching from his comfortable spot, on his comfortable towel, on the warm comfortable sand, because he was then in the water beside my brother and I and lifted me out. He took me to the edge of the water and helped me wash off any sand or dirt that may have been on my feet, in his own gentle way. Not before he looked down at me and gave me his usual nod of disapproval though. He then picked me up yet again and carried me over to my towel and sat me down on it. Then he went over, back to his towel, gave me one last shake of the head, and then pull his hat over his eyes and laid back on his towel to catch some sun. Ignoring the head shakes one can see glints of love in his actions. He didn't have to carry me out of the water, he could have left the sand to sting my cut, he could have left me to walk back to my towel picking up even more sand as I went. But he didn't! He didn't even have to bring us to the beach, even less stay with us, but he did! This wasn't the first, nor the last time my grandad cared for me, even if it bothered him that I did something stupid enough to get hurt in the first place.

He used to try to teach me things too. I remember two separate occasions. The first was once when he was grilling fish for our lunch. He was outside in my grandparents backyard patio area, he sat on a short stool in front of a small, shorter BBQ. I sat down beside him and asked him how he cooked. Being the man of short words that he was, he merely said but one, "watch". And so, I did. I watched him take a fish from out of a bucket, a fish which my grandma had previously tended to, and prepared. He would lay the fish across the metal grill and sprinkle a pinch of salt across the top. The fire would crackle and the fish would sizzle and after a few moments he'd slide his knife down beneath the fish, press his thumb on the surface holding the fish steady and then flip the fish over to cook the other side. The second occasion that comes to mind was a sweet moment that I wish never to forget. I don't remember as to why, but, I had gone with my grandad to fetch some water from the stream. At my grandparents house they had large gallon bottles and would fill it with fresh stream water for drinking. I guess I must have asked him where he got the water from and he must have decided to take me with him once for me to see. The trip there wasn't long, but it also wasn't short. My grandad blasted some Portuguese music and I sat next to him enjoying the breeze fluttering in through the open window as he drove. Once there, we got out of the car and took the bottles out from the boot. We took them over to the fresh flowing stream and again, "watch" he said. He removed the lid and placed the bottle down on the ground, bending the open mouth of the bottle in such an angle that the water flowed straight in. We both waited until it was finally full. He replaced the lid and sat the bottle down on the ground beside us. He then unscrewed the lid off the second bottle and handed it over to me and just looked at me. So, I copied exactly as he had done, with some difficulty due to the force of the water. Once it was filled I handed it back to him and again he replaced the lid on that one too. He never said a word, but he didn't shake his head either. We walked silently back to the car and just stood there a little while looking at the nature that surrounded us, again, in complete silence.

It wasn't often that he did speak to me, but when he did it was because he had something he truly felt he needed to say. For example, when I lived with my grandparents for a year in a place in Portugal called Sines, I used to have only one friend. We lived on the same road, and went to the same school. She didn't come from a very well off family, nor was her family traditional. She herself would get into a lot of trouble at school, and when we became friends she used to get me into a lot of trouble too. And it was on these very occasions that my grandad would finally become vocal. He used to get very loud and rather angrily express his dislike for her, and her influence on me. At one point, I had even invited her over and when she had come into the house and we began to play video games on my big ass, old school PC he had begun yelling that she shouldn't be there, and he wanted her out of his house. This made her feel bad and so she left saying that she had to go home for her dinner. My grandma came into my room at the time and calmly explained to me as best she could why he didn't like her, and why he didn't want her there. I think this was the first time in my life when I learnt what gypsie folk were. I still liked her though, and remained her friend thence after. It didn't bother me, and still doesn't where she came from or the stereotypes that her people had. She was good people. But in order to not provoke my grandad we just played outside the house instead. And again, came my grandpa's usual nod of disapproval. In his own way, i guess he just felt that I should hang out with people who wouldn't get me into trouble and, who he thought, would be good examples for me, and I guess in it's own way shows that he cared.

Later in life my mum told me more about my grandad as I obviously couldn't really get to know him very well when I was younger. When he passed away from his dementia my mum told me about how he was the most honest man she ever knew. He always kept to his word. If he made a promise he kept it. If he said he'd do something he did it. Everything he ever purchased for himself he did so with his very own money. My mum told me the story of his silver watch. He saved up for months and months and months until he could finally afford his real silver, analogue, water resistant, wrist watch, which back in those days was a truly big deal. And for the watch he worked hard, and he never asked for anyone's help. He worked for it, and he earned it. This is the reason as to why I asked my grandma that the only thing I wanted to keep from him after his passing was his silver watch. Unfortunately, he ended up losing the original one he worked so hard to get, but, he ended up purchasing another one to replace it later on in life. Despite it not being the original, I kept the replacement watch as a reminder for the first one. It was his most prized possession, something he worked extremely hard for, and now I get to keep it as a reminder of his effort, his resilience, and his honesty. Its a shame the watch is too large for my tiny wrist or else I would wear it myself all the time. But until I can afford to have it tightened and fixed to fit my wrist, as well as have a new battery installed, I'll let it sit in with the rest of my precious belongings.

You see, my grandad was a simple man, he lived a simple life, and had very simple relationships with his friends and family. He spoke in his own way, loved in his own way, and taught in his own way. He kept to himself, never bothered anyone and respected all those who respected him. And he was respected. He worked so hard that even after retirement he refused to stop working. He returned to the peer and helped out where he could. He helped fix the broken nets and helped safely docks the boats. He made sure that none of his friends or family ever went without their necessities. Constantly providing fresh food, water, and quiet care. He was the physical embodiment of "actions speak louder than words" and it took me until after his passing to finally understand. Being autistic I was bound to take a while to get it, and now I do. Turns out that the one man who barely ever said a word became one of the greatest inspirations of my life. My grandpa was a great, simple fisherman. My grandpa was a great, great man.