My transition to Pittsburgh has been nothing short of welcoming and energetic.

My name is Emma Dawson and about a month ago, I moved to Pittsburgh from Tulsa, Oklahoma. Before the move, I was definitely nervous for the cross-country transition and starting my first startup job – I had heard stories of the transitional phase to postgrad life being incredibly hard and that definitely sat with me for a while. However, as soon as I moved in, those stories of postgrad “scaries” could not have been further from the truth. I feel incredibly thankful for the Pittsburgh Alumni, Current 2021 Fellows (especially my VFA Buddy, Vance Wood!), and Community Director, Megan Butler who have all intentionally made me feel so welcomed. From welcome dinners with Fellows, to exploring the Heinz History Museum, to being the first city to host an event this fall – Pittsburgh has quickly become a home for me! Not to mention, showing all of our fellow friends OUR city first was definitely a highlight (get pumped for Oktoburghfest 2023!).

As I have started my new job as Chief of Staff for Civic Champs, I have really enjoyed working at our Pittsburgh co-working space to bounce ideas around with other Fellows. I’m incredibly blessed to work with a great company and team. Civic Champs, especially CEO Geng Wang, has played a pivotal part in this work transition, too. We set time aside every day to go over our agendas and continue to support one another in our everyday projects; the constant feedback has made me feel much more confident in my job and role in our company. Overall, these early days in Pittsburgh have been incredibly telling of how thoughtful and genuine our VFA community is here in Pittsburgh, and I’m excited to continue exploring my new city and community.

In 1953 Joseph Stalin died, the first colorized television set went on sale in the US for a whopping $1,175, and, in Cleveland Ohio, my mother and her twin sister were born to a woman who had recently immigrated to the states from Puerto Rico.

The woman, Ada, was barely making ends meet working as a housekeeper. Her husband had left her and moved back to his home in Spain, and the closest family she had were in California- an unreachable distance for her at the time. Faced with the impossible barriers of language, racism, sexism, and poverty she knew she had little chance to give her girls the “American Dream” she had hoped for.

Meanwhile, not far away, a pair of sisters who were first-generation Irish Americans comforted one another. They had both been married for some time and both were devastated to find growing a family was not as easy as they had believed. Neither couple had much money, but the sisters still felt lucky. They lived in shoebox-sized houses a block away from one another. Their husbands had both made it back from the most recent war and gotten factory jobs in the city. All that was missing was a child of their own.

A friend of the sisters lived in the apartment complex where Ada worked. Ada confided that she loved her girls but knew they deserved more than she could give. The friend knew how badly the sisters wanted children and helped to set up a meeting between Ada and the two couples. Sarah, the woman who became my Grandma, and Richard, my Grandpa, took one look at my mother and fell in love. The same was true for Ann and Thomas with my aunt.

“I want the fat one,” my grandpa declared and that was that.

My mother and my aunt found new homes and Ada was given enough money to support herself as she traveled closer to her family in California. To this day, I am not sure how legal this adoption was, but it was never challenged and my mother, Nancy, and her twin, Marilyn, grew up in Euclid, one block away from one another. They knew they were twins and were adopted but didn’t know much about their birth family.

They went on to have families of their own and in the early ‘90s decided they wanted to learn more about their heritage. They went on a fact-finding journey that led them to dozens of new siblings, cousins, extended family, and to Ada. They learned that their dark, curly hair came from their grandmother on their mother’s side. They learned that none of the women in their family were taller than 5’5”. They learned that tortillas really do need to be warmed up before you eat them and that sometimes being scolded is another way to say, “I love you”. Still, they both had their own lives, and little effort to stay in touch was made after this initial visit.

When people look at me, they almost never realize that half of who I am came to me from Spain and Puerto Rico. I inherited my dad’s fair skin and my Grandma always said she saw the map of Ireland stamped across my face in freckles. She swore I somehow got them from her. I am acutely aware of the privilege I have been afforded because I pass so easily as white. I am also aware of the incredible culture that I missed out on being a part of. When I think about my identity I recognize that, like many of us, some of the most important parts of me are invisible.

Recently, my mother did an Ancestry DNA test. She has reconnected with the family she met decades ago and found new family she had never known existed. A few months ago she sent me a text with an old photo of a great-aunt. The woman was short, curvy, with beautiful dark hair and a giant smile- with dimples exactly like mine.

My wife looked at the photo, looked at me, and said something like, “Oh! So this is where you come from!

”Now, when I face a form that asks my ethnicity, and I feel insecure as I check the “Hispanic/Latino” box, I remember that moment and that family member I never got to meet.

Yes. That’s where I come from. I just took the long way to get there.

 

Ani Solomon is the Manager of Recruitment with Venture For America. Prior to joining Venture For America, Ani spent most of her career in Student Affairs, creating programs and training opportunities focused on Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion. Ani is passionate about relationship building and organizational development.

As a first-generation Mexican-American, my identity has never felt defined. This is not uncommon for those of us who struggle to never be enough of either identity and find ourselves straddling the middle nuances trying to find our place. My parents immigrated separately to the United States in the late 1970’s and immersed themselves in American culture and fell in love with this country and all it had to offer. We grew up speaking both English and Spanish, belting out the greatest hits by Vicente Fernandez while also knowing all the lyrics to the Spice Girls’ Wannabe. We celebrated Christmas with ham and pie but also menudo or pozole and pan dulce. Being Mexican-American is an honor and a privilege but that doesn’t exempt it from having its pros and cons, which are sometimes one and the same. 

In school, kids always saw me as being “too Mexican”. I was a girl who was one of maybe six non-white students in my school. I was the girl who spoke Spanish, listened to Mexican music, and went to Mexico to visit family. To those kids, I was not “American” enough despite the fact that I love hip hop and rock music as well or that I also celebrate the 4th of July. 

When I do visit Mexico, to my family, I am too American! They think that because I was born and raised in the United States, speak English, and celebrate the 4th of July, I am not Mexican enough. My Spanish was never perfect enough, my style was too American. As my siblings and I climbed the education ladder, we felt much more separated by our Mexican family and friends, Qué se creen mucho – words we always hated hearing. 

Long have I never felt enough of one or the other. Selena Quintanilla’s dad said it best in the 1997 film, Selena, “we have to be more Mexican than the Mexicans and more American than the Americans, both at the same time! It’s exhausting!” Truer words have never been spoken! It took most of my adolescent years into my adult years to embrace the true gift that it is to be Mexican-American. It takes a certain mastery and skill set to maintain endless pop culture references from Walter Mercado to all the 90’s animated heartthrobs. To be Mexican-American is celebrating holidays in two food variety categories. Nothing says Fourth of July like hamburgers and hot dogs with carne asada and always con arroz y frijoles. Your stomach doesn’t know whether to love or hate you.

Navigating the intricacies of two cultures is no easy feat and it isn’t perfect. We know there is a constant internal struggle between both cultures and ultimately we have the power to decide what our identity means to us.  I am that Mexican girl with that dark thick hair, brown beautiful skin, and a wider-set nose that is of my ancestors. My Spanish is not perfect and I still have to remember a cajón is a dresser in English, and like many others, my age have watched every episode of Friends. Ultimately, through it all, your identity is your own and what you make of it. So enjoy your pan dulce and eat it too!

Victoria Reyes is the Senior Human Resources Manager. With a philosophy that our community is only as good as the people that serve it, Victoria has dedicated herself to serving her community through volunteer work, services, and projects.