Last weekend, my parents finally saw the city of Pittsburgh. As in, they laid eyes on sights… Last weekend, my parents finally saw the city of Pittsburgh. As in, they laid eyes on sights other than the Cathedral of Learning and the line for the elevator.

They’ve been here before, briefly to help me move in and out during the past two years, although they’d never stayed for more than a few hours. Even when I was a freshman, they peaced out before I had met anyone, before my unknown roommate arrived and before I was even completely unpacked.

It’s a cruel, cruel world.

My sister tagged along on the trip last weekend, too, although she’s already stayed with me a few times and has thus seen the city before.

They all drove in Saturday – the whole Gerecht clan – and we immediately hauled over to the famous Primanti Brothers to have our arteries clogged. We toured a little bit around the Oakland area. We even drove Downtown to see that ultra-hip beacon of art and culture, the Andy Warhol museum.

Then, busier than bees, we drove to South Side to shop and look around. We hastened the artery clogging with some Cheesecake Factory and called it a day.

Sunday, my thoughtful parents had made reservations for Easter brunch (we might not celebrate the holiday, but we can all celebrate good food, can’t we?) at the fancy-shmancy and gorgeous Grand Concourse in Station Square. Off we went.

In short: In just 36 hours, we rocked the ‘Burgh.

Showing my family around the city I consider my home but didn’t grow up in was a stranger experience than I anticipated. I was eager to show them that classic Pittsburgh character and personality so apparent on East Carson Street and happily pointed out Pittsburgh’s skyline as we accidentally drove up into Mount Washington trying to get to Station Square.

And yet, I say, “accidentally drove up Mount Washington,” because I’ve never actually driven around the city before, and I had no idea how to get anywhere. I’ve never been to, or even really watched, a Steelers game – to my dad’s disappointment – so how much can I possibly “get” Pittsburgh’s character? I felt a little torn.

I think Pittsburgh’s great, but did I really even know it? That’s a conundrum for the ages.

But I did come to one important conclusion: Myself, and the thousands of other students who came to Pittsburgh later in life, have every right to stake such a claim.

I wasn’t born and raised here, and I will always feel a fierce pride for and loyalty to the place I was born and raised. I will always be more familiar with the twists and turns of Route 108 in Ashton, Md., than the twists and turns of Bigelow Boulevard. I can name more Orioles players than Pirates, and I’ve spent countless more hours working in the 20861 than the 15213.

And yet I still get to feel pride, and do feel pride, for Pittsburgh. Because who says we only have one home in the world? I’ve met all kinds of cool people and seen all kinds of cool stuff here. I like so much about this crazy place: the weird vocabulary, the passion, the work ethic, the vibe.

Online slang lexicon urbandictionary.com defines Pittsburgh as “an unpretentious city that can be both stifling and inspiring, lively and deadly, hip and stuck in the past – a big village with its own sort of Yinzer charm!”

And, in the most positive light, I couldn’t agree more. Pittsburgh might lack the exquisite style of New York City and the cool trendiness of Los Angeles, but instead, it’s a city with heart. Pittsburgh is different, fun, unassuming and full of charm. It also has the best hot dogs. I’d be crazy not to adore it.

And I was crazy to ever raise my eyebrows at my own knowledge of Pittsburgh and its feeling of homeyness in the first place. Because it’s actually one of the most welcoming cities on Earth.

So what if I don’t have the drive from Downtown into South Side memorized or if I couldn’t pronounce Primanti’s correctly until about a year ago? Love is not about the right pronunciation, or we’d never swoon for a good foreign accent.

By the time my parents pulled out of the Schenley Quad and headed back home last weekend, I had gained two things: a stomachache from all that heavy but delightful food and the knowledge that what really matters in life in bestowing the awesome title of “home” is love.

I love my suburb of Washington, D.C.

And I love Pittsburgh.

What do you think of the ‘Burgh? E-mail Carolyn at [email protected].