In a way, Carol will always be Carol “Ferrone” to me. I met her many years ago when I was teaching math at Medford High School in the late 70s, early 80s. She was a history teacher there and we became friends. She was a classy lady. Smart with a great sense of humor.  I especially respected her forcefullness and organizational skills. So much so that we teamed up to be the Class of 1983 advisors. We had a great class of kids. They were so well-behaved. Actually, they behaved whether they liked it or not. Thanks to The General, Carol. They had to behave or else they would have to deal with the wrath of Carol. Many a muscular testosterone-filled high school boy would shrink in the face of Carol’s death stare.

And then there was my cousin Chas, who I grew up with. Growing up together means different things to different people. But to us, growing up together meant seeing each other just about every day. Playing ball. Chas, Junior, me, the Babe. Cousins like brothers. Played ball every day. Yeah. Every day. Watched sports together.  Watched the Friday night fights with the fathers. Holidays sat at the kids table. Visited each other through the fire escapes in the West End. We were a team. A team of 1st generation immigrant kids We played and scrapped together. Just ask the other kids in the Medford parks about the Colonnas and Mastromauros. They’ll remember us for sure. They’ll remember the Italian kids who played on the hard streets in front of their houses. Whose families lived in the basements because the mothers didn’t want to take the plastic off the furniture upstairs.
Chas was one of us. The nicest one of us. And he was just about the nicest guy you all could ever meet.

Carol and Chas. They weren’t dating anyone because they never found anyone as good as each other. Chas was lonely, and Carol hadn’t found a worthy guy. At the time, Sandy and I lived upstairs at my mother’s house. Chas was spending a lot of time with us. He would walk across the street to hang out. Especially to watch Monday night football. Chinese food and Ice cream. Sandy and I thought, well, maybe we set them up on a date. But as you know, that stuff never works. But once in awhile it does. The rest was history. Carol gave Chas a life. The life he dreamed about. Good wife. Two beautiful kids. That’s all he ever wanted. He loved everything about Carol, including her death stare. Chas knew that look really wasn’t needed. Because he knew he was going to be a great husband and doting father. Because he had everything. He had his dream.

But then what happens to every family happened. Life happened. If you live long enough, you will have tragedy. You just hope that the joys of life make unbearable tragedy bearable. Make life worth living. You have to know that the simple pleasures of life help you get through. Kids. Babies. Dogs. So the key to surviving life is being a simple person and appreciating simple moments. Chas was like that. Is like that. He will appreciate memories past, cherishing the love he was so lucky to have, and memories to be as a dad to Dianna and Matthew, and a grandfather to Arianna.

And Chas understands that
when he held Carol for the last time, he knew that their souls held each other, and promised to meet again. I know Chas. And he will keep that promise.