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Friday, March 29, 2024

World Down Syndrome Day

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FROM THE PUBLISHER

PublisherFROM THE PUBLISHER


My parents lived on Church Street until I was seven years old, and the house they lived in belonged to my mother?s people on the Lindo side. Pa Bill was my mother?s father, and I think that I am quite a bit like him. I guess I would like to think so.


One time when I was a child, Pa Bill gave me some beer to drink, and my grandmother, Eva Lindo Belisle, raised a big fuss about it. He told her that when I got big, I would drink, so I might as well start learning about it. I remember this incident clearly.


I do not recall any occasion on which my grandfather smiled or played games with me, but I loved him deeply. I wanted to please him. I wanted him to be proud of me. He took me, as a child, on the sea with him on several occasions, just the two of us.


One time he took me fishing in a dory in front of the caye, a spot where the water quickly becomes deep and blue, and where the silk snappers used to bite. We were fishing for the snappers, with conch bait I guess, when they started shouting for us from the western side of the caye. We were that close to the caye where we could hear them hollering for us. That April evening was my birthday, and the folks on the caye wanted me to come in so we could all start eating cake and drinking lemonade.


My grandfather said, ?Fish di bite.? So we ignored the shouts from the caye and continued fishing. You notice I said ?we?, even though I?m sure at least half of me wanted to start the birthday. I always felt like ?we? when my grandfather and I were together. He never smiled with me or played games with me. But without any of this mushy stuff, his love was something that I perceived and appreciated.


The weather pattern in those days used to be that when the land wind blew fresh and cool from the west early in the mornings, that same wind would die down about 10, 10:30 later in the morning. The stillness and calm would last until after 1, 1:30 early in the afternoon, when the prevailing southeast winds would return.


One afternoon just when the southeaster started to come in after an earlier land wind and subsequent calm, my grandfather took me along with him without saying a word. We went in a sailboat, I don?t remember which one, tacked in front of the northern end of the caye and then headed south to what we call ?Southern Reef.? The big fish grabbed hungrily at the bait on the tow line we dragged behind us. I don?t remember what role I played when my grandfather had to sail the boat and haul in the fish at the same time. But just the fact that I was along, I was really proud.


Another time he took me sailing and fishing, to the south again. There was a legendary ?bank? called Jake Rogers in those days. It was said that you knew when you reached Jake Rogers because your two lines would tighten together. But Jake Rogers was many miles to the south of Spanish Caye. I can?t swear that Pa Bill took me to Jake Rogers with him, but I remember that we caught a lot of barracuda. And I recall that when we returned to the caye, it was night already, and I was wet and cold.


I think that after my parents moved to West Canal Street near Bolton Bridge in 1954, I saw Poppa Bill much less frequently. But the memories of him remained, and they will be with me as long as I live. In this way, my grandfather lives even though he is dead. He left part of his soul in me, and I hope that when that massive stroke or heart attack hit him, in those pounding and desperate moments I hope he could have known that he would live through me. We, my grandfather and me. These are the ties that bind.

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