'Cuidaet a l'eixir', my grandfather used to say to me every time I rushed with the bike to the gates; 'El meu xiquet', with a big smile, whenever he greeted me. He was a tender, grumpy, kind-hearted man. I managed to have all my elementary school' arts and crafts' assignments made by him —while my brother did my paintings— and so they made a good-for-nothing anti-handyman of me, but what the hell? They saved me a lot of trouble back then, and I'm thankful. I remember with special fondness what at the moment and many years from then I saw as an incredible feat. The teacher had ordered to have all and each of our 'regletes' marked with our names. There were hundreds, thousands, millions of regletes in the box —my abatement was great, I was sure I wouldn't be able to ever complete the task; and then, when come back from school the following day, I found my name marked in all and each of them — God, grandfather! Thanks for that, and for all your love, too.