The morning air over New Haven carried the crisp, pristine scent of late spring—blooming dogwood, damp clover, and the ancient stone dust of Old Campus.
It was May 24th. Graduation Day.
Underneath a vast, sea-blue canopy set up in the courtyard, four thousand folding chairs stood arranged in precise rows over the green grass. The morning sun filtered through the historic American elms, casting long, dappled patterns of light across a sea of black silk academic gowns, dark velvet hoods, and crisp white collars.
I stood near the stone archway of Connecticut Hall, adjusting the stiff satin collar of my Yale bachelor’s gown.
My dark hair was styled into soft, elegant waves that rested over my shoulders, held in place beneath the navy-and-gold mortarboard cap. Pinned neatly over my left bre
