THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Saturday, August 6, 1994 TAG: 9408060224
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY FRANCIE LATOUR, STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: NORFOLK LENGTH: Medium: 99 lines
When Alberto V. Peralta last saw his son Ernie in 1954, Ernie was a brazen 23-year-old student about to leave their Philippine homeland to serve in the U.S. Navy.
Forty years and two months later, Alberto, 87, can't believe his 64-year-old son has more white hair than he does.
``You know, white hair is a sign of wisdom,'' Alberto says, patting his son's downy head. Side by side in the living room of Ernie Peralta's four-bedroom house in Virginia Beach's Fairlawn Estates, father and son stand almost exactly the same height. ``He was a loving son, and now he is a loving husband and father.''
After his 10,000-mile journey from Manila to Norfolk International Airport, Alberto and his son celebrated a long-awaited reunion Friday morning, ending four decades of communicating through letters, photographs and the occasional phone call.
Financial strains, Navy restationing and procrastination put their meeting off again and again, year after year. Before they knew it, Ernie said, two years turned into 20, then 40.
``When the flight landed,'' Ernie said, recreating the scene with outstretched arms, ``all the passengers came out and there was no one left.'' He peered through the landing gate for what seemed like hours until an airline employee wheeled his father out from the plane.
``When I saw him I screamed, `That's my father!' '' Ernie said. No longer able to speak the Filipino dialect of his childhood, those first words to his father came in English.
In a softer voice cracked by age, his father yelled back. A retired university professor, Alberto taught English and political science at several schools in the region of Mindanao for nearly 50 years.
But until Friday, he had never dreamed he would speak English with his son face to face.
``This occasion has been willed by God,'' Alberto said. A wide smile deepened the folds of his wrinkled face. ``We always pray for something, but not all our prayers are answered.''
In Alberto's case, those prayers were answered twice: He not only dreamed of seeing his son, but of planting his feet in the country for which he had fought against the Japanese in World War II.
From 1941 to 1945, Alberto and thousands of his countrymen served in joint U.S.-Philippine units, holding back Japanese forces that were encroaching on the Philippines' strategic Mindanao island.
While his father survived the four years of combat, two of Ernie's uncles died. From then on, the idea of joining the U.S. armed forces became an obsession.
``I had great animosity for the Japanese,'' Ernie said. His easy chair rocked forward as he moved up to its edge. ``I had the feeling of, `Oh my God, even if peacetime comes, I have to join the Army.' ''
Barely 12 years old when his father went to war, Ernie had no place among the guerrilla units battling in the island's foothills and jungles.
At that age, Ernie said, his contribution to the war effort amounted to shining the shoes of the regiment's commander, Gen. Wendell Aertig. By the end of the war in 1945 he had saved 10 pesos - $5 - in earnings.
He also saved the idea of joining the armed forces for another decade, when he quit college to begin a 24-year career in the Navy as a personnel officer.
A provision dating back to 1906 brought thousands of Filipinos like Ernie to Hampton Roads as enlisted officers. The community has grown ever since.
According to 1990 census figures, the Filipino community here numbers about 18,300. But local leaders say it is even larger.
``With the children of Filipino servicemen and their families, some say it is 25,000 or 30,000,'' said Father Santiago G. Frias, director of the Apostleship of the Sea.
But Alberto is in no hurry to reach out to other Filipinos in the community: He will have to get used to seeing his son and America first.
On the afternoon of his arrival, Alberto still hadn't unpacked his only suitcase. It sat tilted against the railing of the split-level house, its frayed leather straps fastened and its rusted metal handle bound with airline tags.
``Anyone you have not seen for 40 years, you must enjoy recalling past incidents,'' Alberto said.
The two reminisced for hours about the father-son bond forged by the terror and unpredictability of war.
When Ernie was just 12, his father showed him how to use a carbine rifle ``to protect myself when I was hiding or running from the Japanese in the jungle.''
But there are also memories of calm: fishing for shrimp and crabs by lanterns on the shore when the tide was low.
``We would eat until the morning,'' Alberto said, his hand circling his stomach, ``because the catch was so big.''
When asked how long he would be staying in the United States, Alberto replied, ``I have already been asked that question once today,'' referring to airport customs officials.
``When they stamped my passport,'' he said, pounding his fist to his knee, ``I said my stay is indefinite.'' ILLUSTRATION: [Color Photo] PAUL AIKEN/Staff
Ernie Peralta, above right, last saw his father, Alberto, in 1954,
when he left the Philippines for the United States. On Friday, the
pair met for a joyous reunion.
by CNB