Under the oaks, in the sea of caps and gowns and navy blazers and sundresses, Tony Ray Arrington felt totally out of place. And he was the happiest he’d ever been.
“I can’t keep this Kool-Aid smile off my face,” the 45-year-old ex-convict said, as he raised his 6-foot-4 frame on tiptoes to look for his daughter.
Two weeks ago, he didn’t think he’d be here.
Her father had been in and out of prison for much of her life. I wrote about their reunion three years ago, when Yasmine was a freshman at Elon University and her father, who’d been convicted of burglary and other crimes, was just out of prison and working as a cook not far from her school.
Yasmine, now 22, roared through college – awards, a sorority, a plus-size modeling career, honors from Teen Vogue and BET, all while holding fundraisers for ScholarCHIPS, the nonprofit that has handed out $40,000 in college money to 17 kids just like her. The nonprofit will give out more money next month.
More than 2.7 million American children have a parent who is incarcerated. And studies show that can be more devastating to children than divorce or even death.
For years, Yasmine didn’t talk about her dad. Compounding the deck stacked against Yasmine, her mother died in 2007. Her maternal grandmother, a force of nature named Veronica Wright, stepped in to help raise Yasmine and her little brothers.
She hadn’t seen her father for 16 years when they reconnected in 2012. They began talking two or three times a week, slowly developing a bond that both of them treasured.
Then, in December, just as Yasmine was looking forward to her last semester at Elon and graduation, Tony landed back behind bars.
His temper. A “borrowed” car, which the court called “vehicle larceny.” A parole violation. After four years of freedom, he was living that eternal loop of the ex-offender.
A heartbroken Yasmine, who plans to attend Howard University School of Divinity in the fall, with a focus on prison ministry, wrote on her Facebook page:
“Unfortunately, my father has gotten in trouble with the law again. This would mean he won’t be at my graduation in May.”
But two weeks ago, Tony got out. And he made sure he could get to Elon on May 23. “The probation officer let him stay out until 10 tonight,” said Yasmine’s grandfather George Hardy, 65. “ ‘Elon!’ they said. ‘You stay out until 10 p.m. for this one, Tony.’ ”
“What does all that she’s wearing mean?” Tony asked.
“Look at all these people who stepped in to support her,” he said. “Look at everything she did.”
He wore a white canvas fedora, with a pastel, tropical-print band, to cover the skull tattoo on the back of his head; a teal polo shirt; and long pants, to cover the monitoring band on his ankle.
Under the oaks, in a storybook setting on the gorgeous campus, he sat in the long row of Yasmine’s fans and family – two grandmas, a grandpa, two brothers, a stepdad who was in her life briefly, two mentors, plus me and a photographer – trying to blend in.
He didn’t take one of the stickers everyone stuck to their chests as they walked in: “I’m a proud Elon parent.” But one grandma went back to the smiling women, got one and slapped it on his shirt.
Just before the ceremony, he sneaked away to smoke a cigarette.
“I’m so nervous,” he said as he returned and the processional music began. “And I’m so happy. So proud. She did it. Yazzie did it all.”
The Washington Post
To learn more about Yasmine Arrington’s nonprofit that gives college scholarships to the children of the incarcerated, go to scholarchipsfund.com.