By Damian Gessel
SUNBURY — The first thing you need to know about Steven Servano is that his future is on hold.
If his life were a television sitcom, he would be stuck on the technical difficulties test pattern.
Please stand by.
Steven’s days are colored by the awful and very real possibility his immigrant parents will be deported to the Philippines, leaving him and his 24-year-old sister, Shappine, to fend for their two younger siblings — all American citizens. He hasn’t fully thought it out yet, hasn’t fully turned this terrifying scenario over in his mind, but Steven knows it would involve snapping up a low-paying job and finding an apartment big enough to take care of 15-year-old Peter and 13-year-old Phoebe. It would mean figuring out how to put his $52,000 in college loans on hold. It would mean pushing all his plans and aspirations into the vague and distant future. And that’s not to mention it would mean he’d have to live out the remainder of his life with his parents a half a world away.
His parents, Dr. Pedro Servano and his wife, Salvacion, are fighting deportation proceedings that began as a result of a change in their marital status during their visa application process more than 20 years ago.
They were single when they applied but married when the visas were granted; U.S. officials were never told of the change. The discrepancy came to light in 1990 when the Servanos applied for citizenship. Since then, they have been fighting to remain in the United States.
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Steven Servano doesn’t wear his fear on his sleeve. In fact, unless you were familiar with his situation, you’d mistake him for any other ambitious young man.
That’s what you first need to know about Steven Servano.
The rest, you could argue, is the fulfillment of an American dream.
He’s 22 years old. He’s a Temple University graduate. He’s polite. He wants to one day hold a public office. Hey, he thinks, who knows? Maybe he could be president, he said. He’s headed for law school. He loves his country. He was in the ROTC in college and wants to serve in the military — he’s leaning toward the Navy. He’s always been a good student, though he hasn’t always had to work hard for his routine A’s and B’s. They’ve just come naturally.
Tell Steven he’s the embodiment of the American dream, and he’ll unveil a shy smile. He doesn’t think of himself in those terms. But his parents always have. They came to the United States, in 1982 and 1984, respectively, to give their children exactly the kinds of chances Steven has taken advantage of.
Now, with his parents’ possible deportation looming over him like a cloud, the kid who had his future meticulously mapped out isn’t so sure where he’ll be in 10 years anymore. The Department of Homeland Security recently granted his parents a temporary stay of deportation, and things are looking up. But nothing has yet been resolved.
“I’m just trying to live as normal a life as possible,” he says. “We all are. But if a doctor said you had 24 hours to live, how would you go on like normal?”
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No one told Steven his family’s situation would make him a public figure. There wasn’t a flashing neon sign — “This way to national and international media attention” — to warn him.
For a family that puts a premium on privacy, having its names splashed across The New York Times, the Philadelphia Inquirer and countless other newspapers was like jumping into a river in January: It shocked the heck out of them.
Steven admits his mouth got ahead of him at a press conference in Philadelphia last month. Underneath the watchful eyes of nearly a dozen cameras, he told the world if his parents were deported the children would follow them to the Philippines.
“We started as one family and we’ll stay that way,” he said. That much is true, he says now.
But the Servanos haven’t decided what they’ll do if their current stay of deportation doesn’t bear political fruit. The children don’t have a hard and fast contingency plan. No one has packed his bags yet — the family hasn’t given up hope. And maybe most of all, they aren’t ready to embrace the crushing grief that would come with news Pedro and Salvacion were to be deported.
By all accounts, the Servanos’ relationship with the media is bittersweet. Salvacion says the first time she heard the story of her family’s plight on the radio, she was so embarrassed she sought out the family priest for advice.
But the Servanos’ story has spread far and wide, leaving behind it a trail of passionate supporters. Hundreds have written letters to legislators, state and federal. Hundreds more have called newspapers or held vigils. And nearly 4,000 people have signed an online petition.
From time to time, Steven reads the comments people have left on the petition. He’s humbled and comforted by them. His mother is unable to read them without becoming emotional.
To the Servanos, it’s almost surreal. How, they wonder, have so many people rallied around this typically American, church-going, patriotic and private family? Will they ever be under the radar again? Will their lives be the same if everything blows over?
Three more on a list of questions the Servanos haven’t even begun to answer.
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It’s Thursday afternoon and Steven Servano is spreading rock salt in front of his family’s business.
Shoveling snow isn’t usually his responsibility, he says. A neighbor usually takes care of it. But today he’s spending time with his mother at Ser-Mart — the Asian grocery store she owns and operates on Market Street in Sunbury.
Salvacion re-opened Ser-Mart two days after the family returned from a deportation hearing in Philadelphia. How long the store will remain open is up in the air. She doesn’t need to work. But she does need the sense of normalcy it brings.
So she tends her store, her husband continues to practice medicine, their son shovels the Sunbury sidewalks in front of the family’s business.
They wait, fingers crossed, for the future to reveal itself.
n E-mail comments to dgessel@dailyitem.com.
