...and the winner is...

I think this was at Michael's wedding, where they won the "who's been married longest" contest!

Lisa's eulogy

We had the most amazing dad . . .

When I was a little girl, you had the most amazing talents. You told me you could run so fast that your feet could touch the back of your head. I thought that was so amazing! And you told me when I had a bad dream, I could call you in my sleep, and you could shrink down, crawling into my dreams through my ear, chasing those bad dreams away. It really worked! That was amazing!

I got a little bit older, and your talents multiplied. You could fix any pinball machine within a 50 mile radius of Gladstone, MO. Amazingly, all the broken pinball machines ended up in our basement, creating a great place for neighborhood kids to play. I remember lots of parties in that basement with wheelbarrows full of beer and the juke box playing so long it started to smoke. What an amazing way to grow up!

You knew everything about baseball. I remember sitting in our basement at 1709 NE 67^th Place watching every pitch of a World Series between the Red Sox and the Reds. I marveled at the way you could tell a fast ball from a curve ball. That was so amazing to me.

Which leads me to the most amazing softball coach ever. I know it because I watched you from the bench! You convinced a bunch of Bad News Bears 11-12 year old girls that they could beat the Red Team. I don’t remember if we ever did, but I know we believed we could. You had a knack for teaching people to go beyond what they thought they could do, always looking on the bright side, and overcoming any obstacle in their way. That was such an amazing gift that you brought to anyone you ever met.

Your talents knew no bounds. Whether it was fixing cars, growing the greenest grass on the block, or navigating three non-rev kids through O’Hare at Christmas time, you were amazing.

Time passed, and your talents continued to amaze us. Motor homes, kit cars, and swimming pools . . . life was always an adventure whenever you were around!

The teenage years came around, and we began to choose our own paths. I remember you and Mom dropping me off at college. It was August in Mississippi, and my dorm was unairconditioned. You hunted down a Wal Mart and bought me a fan. You were also hunting down cold beer and were quite amazed to find that only warm beer was sold in Oxford, Missisippi, something that you never could quite understand.

Atlanta awaited a 22 year old school teacher. It was here that I learned to use everything you taught me. Believe in yourself, and everyone else will, too. Work hard, play hard. Chicken soup cures all ailments, especially if you share it. Always keep a can of tomatoes in the house. And best of all . . . Fun is the best thing to have (especially in a new car!)

Soon the five of us were scattered across four different time zones, and for awhile, two continents. It was there that the desire for cinque was born. Miles apart only brought us closer together. Whatever the occasion, you and Mom could make cinque happen. It was amazing.

Cinque rapidly multiplied and soon became 12, but it was still cinque. You were the most amazing PopPop. You were absolutely sure that every one of your grandchildren was the smartest, fastest, prettiest, most creative and most talented child ever put on this earth. Through your influence, I hope that they will grow up to be as full of life, adventure, and optimism as you always were. I know that they will never forget the wonderful times you shared with them. Of course they will always remember all of the fun vacations we had together . . . The Disney Cruise, New York on FDR drive for fourth of July, Thanksgiving at the beach, and Disney Land. But they will also remember the little things, like playing poker and drinking root beer in building one, making white spaghetti, doing the soduku together in the morning on the back porch, long discussions about who was a better boxer, Muhammed Ali or Joe Frazier, and paddle boat rides to treasure island. Those are such amazing memories.

You continued to be amazing throughout your battle with cancer, never complaining, always knowing that a cure was just around the corner. Some people might say that you lost your battle with cancer, but you didn’t. You are in the most perfect place now, with all of the others that you have gone before you throughout the years. You are all singing and dancing together. There is no pain, no tubes, no fat free sausage, skim milk, or reduced fat cheese! Everything is amazingly perfect.

And what did your cancer give to us? It gave us time to cherish every single minute of the past two and half years with you. We took nothing for granted, making sure that we enjoyed every meal, every vacation, every conversation as if it were the last. Your battle taught us to never give up, always be positive, and always keep everything in perspective. Until your last breath, you were amazing!

We will miss you, Dad, more than we can even imagine. And we thank you for the most amazing journey. As we look around this church today, there is not one person whose life you didn’t touch in some way. People have come from across the street and across the country to say good bye, to remember, and to celebrate your amazing life. Not bad for a kid from Waverly Street! Amazing!

Lauren's note

Uncle Charlie,

Well its begining to look a lot like Christmas in Rochester. We have had 10 inches of snow or more in the past couple days . This time of year reminds me of all the times that you and Aunt Barbara and the cousins would visit us up state. I still wish that I could play the piano like you and Charlie Boy! I also start to remember all the little things, the seemingly insignificant memories that flash into you foresight, triggered by a smell or a sound, or a time of year.

When ever I see an arcade game, I remember your rec room at your house in Tennessee, and I remember your pool, I remember Lisas wedding and running through the halls with Cindy in our matching hot pink and white tool covered dresses with matching humungus bows in the back. I also remember Cindy trying to pretend she loved that bow as much as I did.

When I smell chocolate I remember traveling across the pond to your "bomb shelter" in Belgium. I remember how excited you looked when we got there, and the wonderful room you set up for Allison and I in the loft. I remember the little gondola that ran from our little loft down to the living room. I remember the bug zapper that you heroicly gave me to fend off the mosquitos and the coo coo clock you took off the wall because it was keeping me awake. I remember going to the Eiffel tower, the Louve and Notre Dame... but your face and how you laughed, when Allison broke the glass in the French resturant or when she questioned if we were descending or shrinking our way down from the Eiffel tower is more a part of my memory than the architecture or the paintings.

I think of Christmas and not only you coming to visit us but our trips to visit you. The year we came down to see your house in Georgia and the amazing thearter room across from your Murphy Bench warehouse. Which I still stock and use almost weekly! I live with three boys and I am the one who has all the tools for the house, so they thank you and I do as well.

I hear donald duck and think of you

I see blue eyes and think of you

I see determination and charisma and think of you

I hear jokes and laughter and think of all that you have brought to me and to othes

I see creativity and genius and I think of the gift you have to create and inspire me to always be questioning

I hear a roudy piano and wish that I was 6 and sitting next to you on the piano bench belting out Christmas carols

I have found this email very difficult to write... not because it was hard to remember the memories but at the same time it is hard to remember them, and think that I might not have the chance to make anymore.

my love for you has no bounds and no matter where you or I are in this universe that fact will always be true.

Love always Lauren

His Obituary

It is with great sadness we announce the passing of Charles A. Germano, age 72, of Destin, FL. He is survived by his loving wife of 44 years Barbara; daughter Lisa and her husband Tim Reidy of Atlanta, GA; daughter Cindy of Los Angeles, CA; son Charlie Jr. of Washington, DC; grandchildren Kirstin, Abby, Kyler, Patrick, Ciarli, and Julia; sister Nancy and her husband Bob McEvoy of Schenectady, NY; and nieces Patricia, Karen and Vicky.

Loved ones remember him for his zest for life, positive outlook, and generous spirit. During his years, he was known as a veteran, successful executive, author, musician, cartoonist, inventor, world traveler, and friend to all. But he was first, foremost, and always a devoted husband, supportive father, and doting grandfather. Even during his struggle with prostate cancer, he remained relentlessly positive, just as he had been his
entire life. He was the spark of his family and the life of every party. He will be missed by all who were lucky enough to have known him.

A time of visitation will be held from 6 to 8 PM Thursday, December 27, at Heritage Gardens Funeral Home in Niceville, FL. Funeral services will be conducted at 11 AM on Friday, December 28, at St. Rita's Church in Miramar Beach. In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to: Sacred Heart Hospital on the Emerald Coast – Mission Fund / 7800 US Highway 98 West /Miramar Beach, FL 32550.

From Cindy

My Dad is an amazing guy. A mathematical genius, smartest man in the world with round ears that believed in lucky pennies, Santa Claus and angels.

He had the most generous heart of anyone I've ever met and never once did he pass judgment on anyone. He loved the little things, like driving around in the rain trying to get lost, knocking over all the orange cones in the Disneyland Parking Lot & organizing pie fights for us when we were kids -- or rather having my mom organize it.

He found the bright side of everything - even in me. As most of you know, I wasn't always a delightful child but my Dad always saw the good in me & was always there when I needed him. Belly laughing like crazy when the accelerator spring of my VW convertible popped off & I couldn't get my car to stop. Flying up Forest Hill Road almost to Poplar and I finally got the bright idea to turn the car off. I called him from the gas station across the street from the bait shop and he was there in a heartbeat, popped open the hood of my car (in the back) and saw the spring dangling. Then came the big joyous belly laugh -- the kind that makes you wet your pants, cry & leaves your stomach sore for days.

Going to church was way more fun when he was there. Paper Balloons & Airplanes are best made out of church bulletins and the limits are endless on what you can do with Palms on Palm Sunday. But I know he was always listening, just multi-tasking because his faith was deep & true. I am certain he was greeted into heaven by God himself and is already in discussions about the automatic communion machine invention.

I feel lucky & blessed that I got to have this guy for my Dad. I know we will all miss him more than anything. His amazing spirit has touched all of us here so let's keep it going.

I implore all of you to keep picking up lucky pennies, keep telling jokes and playing poker, keep travelling the world visiting your grandchildren and loved ones, keep having GNO meetings, keep making chicken soup for anyone who needs it, stay on top of major league baseball, wear red high top tennis shoes if you feel like it. Always believe in yourself and refuse to believe that anything is impossible.

Thank you all for loving him, for being here today and for being his friend

A True Hero

It's been a very hard thing for me to pick one interesting story or admirable quality about my dad to talk about today. I often say that everywhere he ever went, he left with a new friend and a great story.

But one day in particular has stuck in my mind the last few weeks. I remember in around 1990 or 1991 when I lived in Colorado, he used to arrange these complete boondoggle business trips to Los Angeles, where my sister Cindy lived. He would go out to visit her, and several times I flew out to meet him and stay at his favorite hotel with him, the beautiful Sea Sprite Motel - where a room on the beach was $50 and the roaches came free of charge. We were taking a walk on the beach one morning, talking about his childhood on Waverly Street. He was born into the depression. He didn't have a TV, refrigerator, air conditioning, heat, or even a bathtub. They would go down to the bathhouse with a nickel once a week to use a towel and a bar of soap. He often told us how he would have to sift through ashes to find unburned coal that his family could reuse. They played stickball in the street with kids with names like "Santanangelo Giambambasio," "The Bagal," and others I can't even say here.

But when I asked him what the biggest difference was between those days and the days that I grew up, I was surprised by his answer. He told me the biggest difference was heroes. When he was a kid, he had heroes. Guys like Harry Truman, who he thought was the best President ever. Guys like Joe Dimaggio, who he thought was the best centerfielder of all time. Then Joe D. retired and along came Mickey Mantle, who could do everything Joe could do *and* was a switch hitter. And he said heroes is something that my generation lacked.

Well, I'm here to tell you my dad was wrong. Because I *did* have one - and still do, and always will. And he lived up to the title every minute of every day.

But what made him a hero? Was it the fact that he was good at his job and had a great career? That he made money? Had houses and cars, traveled the world? No, none of that. What makes him a hero to me is that he didn't care about any of it - the only thing he cared about was taking care of his family and friends, and having a good time doing it. Within 10 minutes of meeting someone, he could tell you 5 things he liked about him. He was never afraid to say what he thought to anyone. And that no matter where he was, he was *always* helping somebody, and doing it with a smile on his face. Nothing ever got him down. He found something positive to say about everything and everybody, all the time. Even just days before he passed, while stuck in the hospital knowing full well that he had very little time left, he said that he felt like Lou Gehrig - that he was the luckiest man on the face of the earth. That kind of courage can only come from a hero. And THAT'S what my dad was.