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.