February 4 marks the anniversary of my dad’s passing.
This year, it’s been nine years since he died.

I wanted to share a little bit about him—because his story explains who I am, how I show up in the world, and why I’m running for office.

I am who I am because of my dad, Armin Homann.

He passed away on February 4, 2017—but the life between his birth and his passing is what shaped not just him, but me.

People often say it’s not the dates that matter, but the dash in between—the life lived with resilience, generosity, community, and purpose.

Armin’s story began in Schlesien, Germany (now part of Poland) during World War II. At just three years old, he became a refugee, living on freight trains and moving between homes until he and his siblings finally settled in a small town. By age eight, both of his parents had died, and his 18-year-old brother—who had lost both legs in the war—stepped up to raise him and their siblings.

Soccer became central to my dad’s resilience—and ultimately, his path forward. At 18, he came to the United States as a soccer player, landing in Chicago and building a life rooted in hard work, community, and connection.

We didn’t grow up with much—no safety net, no generational wealth, and very little margin for error—but what we had was determination, community, and the expectation that we’d work for every opportunity.

He wasn’t just an athlete. He became a cornerstone of the German-American community in Chicago. For decades, he hosted Deutschlandecho, a radio show that brought German folk music to listeners, and he organized cultural events that brought people together across generations. He was honored with the German American Friendship Award for his commitment to fostering culture, belonging, and connection in our city.

He also ran a small business—an embodiment of grit, responsibility, and determination. From him, I learned that real success isn’t about titles or recognition. It’s about showing up, doing the work, and treating people with dignity and respect.

Growing up with immigrant parents in a very modest household meant I often had to navigate systems on my own. There was no roadmap for college, no one who had filled out financial aid forms before, and no extra resources to fall back on if something went wrong. I completed my own college applications, filled out my own FAFSA, and became a first-generation college student—not because I was exceptional, but because I had to figure it out.

At the time, I didn’t realize how uncommon that was—I just thought it was normal. Now I know it was resilience passed down.

After my dad passed, my family wanted to make sure his legacy didn’t end with his lifetime. So we created the Armin Homann Foundation, carrying forward his belief that sport, culture, and community open doors.

The foundation promotes Germanic culture, athleticism, and personal growth through educational, cultural, and athletic programs—especially soccer—because that’s how he found opportunity and belonging.

Soccer isn’t just a game. It’s an opportunity builder. It teaches teamwork, discipline, resilience, and connection. Through the Armin Homann Foundation, we provide scholarships so kids who otherwise couldn’t afford to play can participate, grow, and thrive. We offer camps, cultural experiences, and academic support—because every child deserves access to opportunity, no matter their circumstances.

When you grow up learning to stretch every dollar and solve problems without a safety net, you never forget what it feels like when systems work against you instead of for you.

This work matters deeply to me—because policy is personal.

My dad’s dash was filled with resilience, grit, and service to others. His legacy fuels my work as a social worker, a community advocate, and a public servant. It’s why I believe leadership rooted in compassion, opportunity, and equity isn’t just better—it’s necessary.

His dash lives on in every child who gets to play soccer because of a scholarship. In every young person who feels seen at a cultural event. And in every community strengthened by connection and possibility.

I am who I am because of him.
And I’m running because of what we can do next—together.