Things were going well at Housing Opportunities Made Equal. I was great at my job, and I loved my co-workers. Although that was the case, I was not content to stay where I was. This is not surprising because the life condition that I gravitated to the most is the life state of hunger. I had a tendency to never be satisfied where I was and to be on the lookout for something better. When I saw an opportunity at another organization, I decided to go for it. There was an opening for a Diversity Outreach Coordinator at the Alzheimer’s Association. I applied for and got the position. Its focus was doing outreach in the underserved communities in Western New York. It seemed like the ideal position for me.
It was not the ideal position for me. I had to commute to Williamsville every morning. Although, I grew up in the suburbs, as an adult it wasn’t my favorite place to be. I had enjoyed living and working in the city. In fact, at HOME residency within the City of Buffalo was a requirement for the job. I proudly referred to myself as a yuppy—a young urban professional. My fellow coworkers were yuppies too. Funny, how I don’t hear that term being used anymore. However, it was commonly used around the year 2000. At HOME I had the dilemma of not wanting to hurt anyone’s feelings, because I liked all of them but could not invite all of them to my wedding. While I felt like I belonged at HOME at the Alzheimer’s Association, I felt a little bit like an alien. Everyone else in the office was Caucasian. Well, except for Teresa. She was half Philippine but with her blond hair and blue eyes she looked white. I was not used to being the only person of color in the office and I didn’t like it. So, here I was stuck in suburbia working with a bunch of people who looked nothing like me.
Part of my role was doing outreach in the Latino community. I would get an opportunity to know the community better and practice my Spanish. The thing was that before this position I didn’t really have any interaction in Buffalo’s Latino community. I didn’t connect with other Latinos on a regular basis. The sad thing was that I didn’t feel connected to my own people. When I was a girl, my parents were poorly judged for not teaching me and my sisters Spanish by some Puerto Ricans. I understood why they didn’t teach us Spanish. When I was a little girl, my parents spoke to me in English and Spanish. Because of that my language development was taking longer. My parents were concerned and took me to see a doctor. The Anglo-American doctor told them that they had to pick only one language and speak to me in that. This would not happen today. But that was over 50 years ago. The United States was and continues to be very monolingual despite the influx of immigrants. My parents had a tough time growing up. When they went to school it was either sink or swim. There weren’t any bilingual schools in Rochester in the 1950s. They had no choice but to learn English without any kind of support. It was difficult for them, and they wanted to spare their children that same difficulty.
I wish that they had opted to speak to me only in Spanish. I would have learned English eventually because I lived in a English speaking country. But they chose to speak to me only in English.
I remember some children saying to me, “you don’t sound Puerto Rican.” And I didn’t sound like a typical Puerto Rican. I was growing up in the suburbs and sounded white. But today, if someone were to say that to me, I would respond, “what does a Puerto Rican sound like?” But it was the 70s, I was a child and had no confidence in myself. So, I just didn’t say anything. I just felt sad because I thought they were right. I knew that I didn’t sound Puerto Rican, and I didn’t need anyone to point it out to me.