See you in Neverland Edgar (Alex) Pan

Saludos familia,

Thank you all for being here to celebrate the life of someone who meant the world to us—my brother, Edgar Alexander Moreno, we called him Alex. I’m here with Rosita (his mama), Eddy(brother), Jessica (sister), and Jannet (sister), his nieces and nephews, a small part of the Monge village, the Moreno family, Brenda (girlfriend) and her family, and countless friends he collected along his life path.  Many couldn’t travel from El Salvador, Australia, and so many places around the world.  This is truly an international gathering.  

Alex was the kind of person you don’t forget. If you met him once, chances are, you remember him forever. Whether it was his mischievous laugh, his Santoria karaoke renditions at the drop of a hat, or the way he could get even the shyest person to dance bachata at a family party—Alex had that rare gift: the ability to light up a room just by being in it. He oozed generosity, feeding all his people the families meat for the week or top ramen if that was the only thing available. If you asked for help he would never say no.  He was there for anyone, anytime, no questions asked. 

He was the life of the party. Not because he wanted the spotlight, but because he was the joy. He had this infectious, goofy, childlike spirit—a kind of Peter Pan energy. And not just any Peter Pan—he was our very own Salvi Peter Pan from the Hood. Maybe he should be Edgar Pan El Narison de Inglewood, and it fits, doesn’t it? Instead of Tinkerbell, he had his red Honda (sittin on bags) to fly him around LA. He never really wanted to grow up. He didn’t need to. Because he found magic in places most people overlook. He found magic and wonder inside of us.

Alex was born in 1979 in El Salvador during a time of terrible unrest. His early childhood was disrupted by a brutal civil war. Like so many others, the family fled that violence, and the family landed in South Central Los Angeles. Life wasn’t easy. His life wasn’t always peaceful. But even through those challenges, Alex held onto his gentle, caring nature. That’s who he was—someone who could see light in the dark, someone who refused to let hardship steal his joy. If you ever played basketball with him you know you won’t be stealing anything from him. And his nieces and nephews knew that his caring, protective, funny attention would always be with them. He always took the time to make them feel special and loved. 

He dreamed of being a teacher. He proudly graduated from university ready to inspire young minds—but life threw him a curveball. Massive educational cuts and layoffs meant no teaching jobs, so Alex pivoted. He bartended, worked in food service, even clocked time at Disneyland. Because of course he did. Of course Alex would find his way to break into Disneyland and what’s the first thing that he did? He acquired tickets for his friends (there's still a few tickets for Wed/Thurs next week). 

He didn’t let disappointment define him. That was one of his quiet superpowers—his resilience. He bent, but he didn’t break. He stayed upbeat, always ready with a joke, a hug, a dance move, or a ridiculous nickname that somehow made you feel more loved.

And speaking of nicknames, in true Salvadoran fashion, we had a lot for Alex. He was “Nari” to some—short for naris, a little poke at his nose, because in our culture, a good insult is just another form of love, along with forcing you to eat another 4 pupusas after you are full. At family gatherings, I used to make up comical songs about him, and instead of taking offense, Alex would crack up and add more insulting verses—and before you knew it, the whole family would be in tears laughing. I started one at our last gatherings we had an argument about the name of a vegetable which is properly names Guisquil,  he insisted it was Chayote (due to hanging out with too many Mexican friends) so we called him El Gran Chayote, and his song goes a little bit like this:

El Gran Chayote,  El Gran Chayote 

El Gran Chayote, El Gran Chayote 

Este es el cuento del cipote 

Siempre tiene hambre, como el coyote

Baila la bachata, solo en la noche

Canta Santeria Karaoke 

Siempre Tiene un moco en su narizota

That was his superpower. Laughter. Joy. He gave it freely, and it was contagious.

When he substitute taught for a time, the school thought he was causing trouble. Too much noise in the classroom, they said. But when his supervisor came to check it out, they saw the truth: as soon as Alex walked into the room, a wave of laughter would spread like wildfire. They found it so funny that this little man that smiled from ear to ear and even looked like them was their teacher.  The kids weren’t unruly—they were under his spell. He didn’t teach by the book—he taught from the heart.

Of course, like so many bright lights, Alex also carried shadows. He struggled with alcohol. He fought with that part of himself, and that struggle eventually led to the fall that took him from us. And while we mourn that deeply, I hope we can also learn from it. Life is fragile. Addiction is real. And even the strongest, most joyful people among us need help and grace.

But let me be clear—Alex was never defined by just his struggle. He was a Dodger blue heart, a die-hard Rams fan, a bachata king, a midnight basketballer in the parks of Inglewood. He was always ready to help—no matter the ask. He was a fierce protector of his lost boys(and girls). And he never stopped believing that Never Neverland could be just around the corner. 

We will miss him—dearly, fiercely, painfully.

But we’ll remember him too. In our dancing. In our teasing. In every karaoke mic we pick up. In every uncontrollable belly laugh at a family party. In the nicknames that only make sense to us. That’s where he lives now.

We love you, Alex.

We see you in Never Neverland.

Edgar Pan el Narison de Inglewood—you were one of a kind. And you always will be.

As Peter Pan would say “Now, think of the happiest things. It's the same as having wings!” and “I came to listen to the stories”.  I hope you all will share his stories–this is how he will live on, in our hearts and his memories will give us wings.