Pharr away

By Jesus A. Garcia Jr.

PHARR, TEXAS — After 28 and a half years, I again set foot on this city. It is the place of my father, Jesus, Sr., my sister Angie, my brothers Roberto, Rolando and Rogelio, and my relatives on my father’s side. It is also the place where I migrated and obtained my ‘green card’ way back in1978.

It is located in the southern part of Texas, very close to the border of Mexico and 16,000 kilometers away from my birth place, Mangaldan.

It was a nostalgic homecoming with my auntie Idolina (youngest sister of my dad and the only living Garcia sibling), my brother Rolando, my stepmother Elvira, and my diligent first cousin Dago Garcia Soto meeting me at McAllen International Airport.

Of course, there were hugs, kisses and teary eyes the moment I saw them for the second time in my life. They missed me and I missed them, too. Three decades was too long for not seeing each other. The truth is this city is supposed to be my permanent place after winning my titles in the Philippines, but for some reasons too long to explain, it did not happen. It’s a long story and this space is not even enough to summarize both the smooth and turbulent run of my life during that period.

I came here not to be one of the spectators of the much-ballyhooed and much-awaited Pacquiao-Morales third fight held last Sunday, but to personally watch the WBO (World Boxing Organization) featherweight title clash between our very own Cebuano knockout artist Jimrex Jaca and the defending champion Juan Manuel Marquez of Mexico to be staged at Hidalgo, Texas, roughly 20 kilometers from this city. Unfortunately, the battle will be held on the day this paper will come out on the streets, and so the story on that will have to wait until the next issue.

My father was still alive when I first came here and I could still recall that this tiny city is a bucolic place with a small population and no Filipino immigrants at all. I knew this because the very next day I arrived here, I was mandated to register at the census office where I was stunned and saddened to know from the registrar that I was the only Filipino immigrant so far.

But now during my first week of stay after three decades of being absent, I met a lot of Filipinos who are mostly professional nurses and teachers, mostly based at the neighboring cities of McAllen, Edinburg, San Juan, Alamo, Rio Grande, Weslaco and Hidalgo. I bumped into them at restaurants, stores, and in a gymnasium where a Filipino basketball league was being held.

It was my brothers and my sister, my cousins led by Dago, his hermanos Pete, Jr. and Omar, primo Mike, Jr., primas Anabel, Mary and Estela, my father’s cousin Monce and of course my Tia Idolina who patiently took care of me. They are really superb. I did not have a problem at all.

I found out that roughly 90 percent of the population here now are Mexican-Americans and with similar cultures to us, Filipinos. They have their own language called “Spanglish or Tex-Mex,” a mixture of Spanish and English dialects.

My primo Dago and hermano Rolando are my maestros in speaking Tex-Mex.

I like it very much – and I must do because it’s in my genes.

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