Two Daddies, One Graduation

In the weeks leading up to my Yale graduation, I realized that I was reliving my teenage years all over again. The feeling of being trapped. The dread of coming home from school. The tiptoeing around a powerful, volatile male figure. Only this time, I had exchanged Daddy for Conspiracy.

Commencement was supposed to be a joyous time, and it sort of was. Somehow, despite my overall hatred of Yale, I had managed to make it through all four years. Academically, I was in the top third of my class, officially cum laude. The African-American student body had voted me "most artistic" woman, in recognition of all of the roles I had played in various theater productions.

I had accomplished everything I set out to do and more.

I had no job, no money and no clue, but I had reached this remarkable milestone. After 17 straight years of schooling, from age five to almost age 22, I was done. No more teachers, no more books.

My family came into town to help me celebrate. First to arrive were my brother and my mom, a few days ahead of Foster Mama. My dad arrived on graduation day itself, and boy, was he sour.

In retrospect, I can see that my dad was worried and angry about the antics of his two daughters. My older sister was five months' pregnant with no husband. A few days before, she had informed my dad that instead of moving to Detroit to be with him, she was moving to South Carolina to be with my mom.

Stung by that turn of events, Daddy arrived in New Haven to find me living with Conspiracy, his shorter, skinnier, angrier and only slightly younger twin.

Daddy reacted by lashing out.

My mother had crocheted a beautiful white dress for me. My dad took one look at it and declared that he thought graduation was a formal occasion, not an excuse to wear a "rape-me dress." He continued the sexually inappropriate theme at my post-Commencement dinner. We were in a fancy restaurant, with tablecloths, and he ordered me to "lower your voice because you're coming across as a ho."

Yep, I was a Yale graduate. But my dad talked down to me like I was a cheap hooker.

I could see Foster Mama's eyes flicking back and forth between Conspiracy and my dad, my dad and Conspiracy. She didn't say a word, but she didn't need to. She was thinking that I had found an exact replica of my dad and moved in with him.

I was thinking the same thing.

Slightly different package, same f*d up dynamic.

After the ceremony, my family packed up and went home.

My now-former classmates went off to their presumably fabulous new lives.

I remained in New Haven with Conspiracy.

I wanted to move to New York or Los Angeles to be an acclaimed, award-winning actress. I didn't have the money, and I didn't have a plan. But with Conspiracy, I had subsidized rent and emotional dependency and what I thought was a great friendship.

So I stayed put.

I was so mad at my dad, I didn't speak to him for nine months, not even on his birthday.

Much later, when we patched things up, he told me exactly what he thought of Conspiracy: "You already have a Daddy, you didn't need two."

Conspiracy Diaries Part 20 of 25 (1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25)
Conspiracy Lessons Learned 1-4 (1 2 3 4)

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