K1AWP/SK

Joseph T. Amaral Sr. Bridgewater Joseph T. Amaral Sr., of Bridgewater, Feb. 4, 2008. Mr. Amaral died at Good Samatitan Medical Center after a period of failing health, he was 88. Born in Bridgewater, he was a son of the late Manuel and Delphina (DaSilva) Amaral. Mr. Amaral was a good year stitcher for Lucy Shoe Co. for 40 years, retiring in 1984. He was devoted to his late wife Theresa (Brown) and his children, Theresa Craig Sloan of Florida, Thomas T. Jr. of Hanson, Nancy E. Reed of Halifax and Richard M. Amaral of Bridgewater; brother of Manuel of Bridgewater and the late Edward and David. Also survived by 10 grandchildren; and seven great-grandchildren.

1937

Mr. Amaral was a lifelong resident of Bridgewater, member and past grand Knight of the Bridgewater Knights of Columbus, Holy Name Society, St. Vincent DePaul and former alter server. He was active in the Civil Defense, V.F.W. and the Massasoit Amateur radio club. He also served in the U.S. Navy during World War II.

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Two months ago my last living grandparent died. His name was Joe but to me he was simply Grampa.

Grampa at his radio. K1AWP has signed off for good now.

Some of my earliest memories are of his and Nana's house, particularly on Christmas Eve. For almost half my life the evening of December 24th meant descending on 30 Aldrich Road in the company of my immediate family, various aunts, uncles, and cousins. On those December nights it seemed impossibly crowded at that house, even to a child who could squeeze through the press of revelers.


The highlight of the evening was crowding into the front parlor to pass out gifts. The nativity scene and Grampa's always spindly, Charlie Brown Christmas tree forever in danger of being knocked over by some wayward grandchild. Visiting the house after Grampa's funeral, that room seemed impossibly small. Likely it possessed of TARDIS-like properties to which only Grampa knew the secret.

Other memories float back from over the years. Eating Fruit Loops in the basement kitchen. The monstrous ham radio tower. The huge vegetable garden which to this day my best efforts are but a shadow of. The venerable ride-on lawn mower. Shooting a rifle for the first time in the back yard. Hanging out in the old camping trailer even though we were parked in the yard. The list goes on, but it is only a sliver of his life, as seen through my eyes.


Knowing one's grandparents can be a challenge. By the time we come along they have lived so much, seen and done so much that it's hard to grasp it all. We take them for granted sometimes, these elder statesmen (and women) of our families. They are just there, solid, reliable, forever old in the eyes of us much younger.

Until of course, they are gone. Then you recognize what they were. The center of orbiting families, their gravity holding otherwise distant relatives together. Some of those satellites may have moved far off since those days of crowded Christmas Eves and barely feel the pull anymore of that center. But when it's gone, you notice.

One of Grampa's ham radio plates in its new home.

ptb