Abel P. Fonseca is a San Benito native, boxer, boxing coach, and a longtime Site Coordinator for the San Benito CISD ACE Program at Miller Jordan Middle School and Collegiate Academy. He can be reached at afonseca@sbcisd.net.
Growing up in San Benito in the 1980s and early 1990s, we didn’t need cell phones, social media, or group chats to find each other. We just knew where everyone would be.
For many of us growing up around Williams Road, life happened outside. Kids from Sunrise Villa Apartments, the mobile homes next to San Benito High School, the apartments behind the old Lucky One gas station and car wash, and even kids from “the other side of the tracks” would all come together like one giant neighborhood family.
At night, our version of entertainment was a game we simply called “Hide and Go Seek in the Woods.”
And when I say woods, I mean trees and grassy areas the size of a city block that felt like the biggest adventure in the world.
There would easily be 16 to 20 kids playing at one time. We would divide into teams of two, and one team disappeared into the trees while the others counted back at the basketball court, which we considered “safe.”
The mission was simple: make it back to the court without getting tagged.
It felt like a movie when you were a kid.
I still remember one night running full speed through the trees trying to escape somebody chasing me.
Out of nowhere, something slammed into the side of my head. I kept running because I thought someone had thrown something at me. When I finally made it back to the basketball court, everybody was staring at me.
I had blood and feathers running down the side of my face.
A bird had flown straight into my head while I was running through the woods.
Man, did that hurt, but those were the kinds of memories that somehow became legends in the neighborhood.
Back then, every season brought a new adventure. During football season, we played football. During baseball season, we played baseball. Basketball was year-round no matter what.
Sometimes we organized relay races around Sunrise Villa Apartments just to see who was fastest.
We rode bikes all over town together. On hot South Texas afternoons, Dairy Queen would give us free cups of water because they saw a huge group of sweaty kids rolling through town exhausted from riding everywhere.
We fished from the resacas and canals. When it rained hard, we’d catch crawfish in the ditches and canals.
Sometimes we even built homemade boats to float around on. Looking back now, some of the things we did probably gave our parents heart attacks.
One of my friends, Donnie, had a mom who cooked just about everything. We’d catch crawfish, snakes and she’d cook them up for us like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Then there was Richard’s apartment — Apartment 40 — one of the legendary neighborhood hangout spots.
Everybody knew where to find people there. There was “Big Richard,” who practiced martial arts and would punch the wooden gazebo poles with his bare hands like he was training for a karate movie.
Then there was “Little Richard,” who could dance better than anybody in the neighborhood. MC Hammer and Vanilla Ice were basically the soundtrack to our childhood.
One of our neighborhood friends, Vito, was always getting us into trouble.
One day, we were walking to the Lucky One Store when he knocked on somebody’s front door and took off running. Of course, we all ran too.
The problem was, when we came back from the store, the man was waiting for us. He grabbed Vito and kicked him right in the backside.
We laughed all the way home, but nothing topped the day Vito finally convinced his mom to let him borrow the car.
Now, this was a major event because she almost never let him drive it. Somehow, on this day, he talked her into letting him take the car “just to go check the mail.” We were all outside watching when Vito rolled down the window and yelled, “Check me out!”
The problem was that he was going way too fast, trying to show off.
Within seconds, he lost control of the car, jumped the curb, and slammed onto the grass. The impact messed up both axles. We all stood there, shocked for about two seconds before realizing just how much trouble he was in.
But even with all the chaos we caused, his mom was one of the sweetest people you could ever meet. She treated me as if I were her own son and always welcomed all of us into her home, no matter how loud or crazy we were being.
I still miss her.
That’s another thing I remember about growing up back then. It wasn’t just the kids who formed friendships — the parents did too. In many ways, the whole neighborhood helped raise all of us.
Another favorite hangout was Country Korner, right across from San Benito High School. Our friend Joey’s parents owned the store, so on weekends, we practically lived there.
We played arcade games for hours and acted like we owned the place. Joey joked around with us and told us to “sneak” candy or snacks while the lady working the counter pretended not to notice.
Looking back now, I think the adults probably enjoyed watching us think we were masterminds pulling off the greatest heist in San Benito history.
Those little stores were more than businesses back then. They were gathering spots where friendships were built, one arcade game and a bag of chips at a time.
Then there were the sleepovers.
My friends and I stayed up half the night waiting for “Midnight Magic” on the radio so we could hear our names called during dedications.
We thought that was the coolest thing in the world. Somebody always wanted a Boyz II Men song dedicated to a girl they liked, while somebody else requested Bryan Adams, like they were going through heartbreak at 12 years old.
Back then, talking on the phone was practically an Olympic sport. We’d stretch those long phone cords into closets or bedrooms so nobody else could hear our conversations, and without fail, somebody in the house eventually picked up the other phone line.
“Hang up! I’m on the phone!”
That sentence alone probably describes an entire generation.
Then there were video game marathons. We spent countless nights trying to beat Mike Tyson in “Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out!” and memorizing the legendary “Contra” cheat code: Up, Up, Down, Down, Left, Right, Left, Right, B, A, B, A, Select, Start.
To us, that code was sacred knowledge.
Looking back now, I realize something important about those days. We didn’t have much, but it felt like we had everything.
Kids from different neighborhoods, apartments, and backgrounds all came together outside. We learned how to compete, laugh, lose, fight, make up, and become friends.
The streets, courts, canals, woods, apartment complexes, and little neighborhood stores of San Benito became our playgrounds, classrooms, and social networks long before the internet existed.
Today, kids have technology we could never have imagined, but sometimes I wonder if they’ll ever understand the feeling of hearing someone yell, “Come outside!” and knowing an entire night of adventure was waiting. Those really were the good times.
Then there was my grandmother, Maca; everybody knew Maca.
If you grew up around us, chances are you ate at her house at least once. She always made sure there was food for whoever happened to be around, and somehow, there was always enough for one more kid sitting at the table.
She treated all of my friends like family, and to many of us, she became part of the heart of the neighborhood.
Whenever we were broke and wanted to walk to the store, she would dig around for a little cash so we could go buy “two-liter Cokes,” candy, chips, or whatever we thought we absolutely needed that day.
Back then, those little things felt like winning the lottery.
Looking back now, I realize it wasn’t really about snacks or drinks. It was about how people like my grandmother made all of us feel welcomed, safe, and cared for.
In every neighborhood, there’s usually one person everybody remembers years later. The person whose house felt like home even if you didn’t live there. For us, that person was Maca.
To all of us who gathered to play, laugh, eat, and grew up together, she was a legend.