When your mom’s your boss

D’Andria Anderson is never quite sure how to address her boss. It can be awkward —especially since her boss is someone she also calls “mom.”

“She’s Debra Anderson at work, and at home, she’s mom,” D’Andria says.

D’Andria Anderson, 22, works as a staff assistant and legislative correspondent for Rep. Chaka Fattah (D-Pa.). Her mother, Debra Anderson, is Fattah’s deputy chief of staff and communications director.

Neither mother nor daughter expected they would one day work together in Fattah’s office. Debra, a former radio reporter, knew Fattah from her days in Philadelphia radio. She wanted to work on Capitol Hill and asked Fattah if he knew of any other members who were hiring. But the seventh-term congressman didn’t pass along her résumé, preferring instead to hire her as his legislative director.

Six years later, her daughter got her job in much the same way. Debra showed Fattah D’Andria’s résumé, and he was so impressed that he hired her without an interview.

They’ve been working together four days a week since August, and so far, there haven’t been any major bumps in the road.

“We separate the mother-daughter role effectively,” Debra says. “She’s very capable … I’m her boss, but I don’t have to tell her what to do.”

Nuku Ofori, a legislative director in Fattah’s office, said he was initially concerned that the staff assistant job would be too difficult.

“I said, ‘Wow, Debra. That’s a lot.’ You want to continue to love your daughter after she starts,” he says.
But his fears were soon laid to rest.

“Debra sort of goes back and forth, from the mother role to making sure her daughter is OK [with] the supervisor role, telling her what she needs to do,” Ofori says. “They are very professional.”

While some might think the situation would be awkward, the other aides also say the arrangement works out well.
D’Andria says she doesn’t hesitate to ask her mother “stupid questions,” but she still does most of her work on her own. “For me there is a need to sometimes do it myself, so it doesn’t look like mommy is coming to the defense.”

Both admit that there were strains during D’Andria’s adolescence, but they say they’ve moved beyond that and now get along well. “We’ve been through that,” Debra says.

Like many bosses, Debra approves D’Andria’s constituent letters. But she also signs off on her wardrobe. Recently, D’Andria wore a black and white outfit, similar to her mother’s, to the office. “I thought she would think it was cute,” D’Andria says, prompting a smile and a nod from her mother.

The atmosphere in Fattah’s office is relaxed, Debra says, making it easy to cut loose from time to time.

“They obviously know each other so well and share a long history, so it’s fun,” Liz King, a legislative assistant, says.

That history includes the case of the mysterious death of D’Andria’s hamster, Michelangelo, some 15 years ago. Debra seems reluctant to explain the story.

“She thinks I killed her hamster when she was 7,” Debra says.

“My dear mother to this day denies it, but my hamster disappeared. There was a funny smell coming from the dryer and my mom didn’t like him,” D’Andria says.

“I did not kill her hamster,” Debra insists. “Michelangelo got caught in the hose of the dryer.”

That comment draws a skeptical stare from her daughter.

D’Andria isn’t shy about asserting that her mother embarrasses her in the office once in a while, especially when she dances.

“She’s absolutely right,” Debra concedes. “My husband is getting me [ballroom] dance lessons.”

But there are also perks that come with working side by side. The women ride into work together, and Debra often buys D’Andria lunch. “Her pay grade is well above mine, so yeah, she can pay,” D’Andria says with a laugh.

Working together has given both mother and daughter a newfound respect for each other.

“It [has] helped me understand what she does,” D’Andria says. “She works hard.”

“She does a great job,” Debra says. “I don’t know that everyone could do this, but it works for us.”

Outside of work, D’Andria is pursuing a doctorate in clinical psychology at Argosy University’s D.C. branch. She would like to specialize in adolescent and child therapy, and says her age makes it easy for teenagers to relate to her.
D’Andria adds she can’t help but analyze the denizens roaming Capitol Hill. “You do wonder if that person has [a certain] pathology, what condition they have,” she says jokingly.

“I’ll stay here as long as the congressman lets me,” D’Andria says, before adding: “How was that, mom?”

“It was good, but maybe say something like this,” Debra says. “ ‘I will continue to work for the congressman as long as my goals are in line with his expectations.’ ”