The beginning...

 This Sunday we celebrate our 24 year anniversary. 24 years ago I was 18 years old and Jimmie was 21. We were not exceptionally mature, we were not overly responsible.  It's amazing when I look back on it, I has just finished my beauty school education. After a year of schooling I was ready for the state exam. As my dad drove me over the bay bridge into  Sanfransisco I had butterflies in my tummy. I had worked so hard all year and was very committed to this as a career  choice. I diligently  studied and memorized all the chemistry and all the fancy terms with more determination than I had ever studied my entire school life. The first part of the test was a written exam which I passed with 98% . The second portion was a practical exam where you perform all the tasks of a cosmetologist on a live model. I started out feeling confident, but as the afternoon rolled on and I got behind on all my tasks I began trembling inside. I was required to put an acrylic nail on my model. This was something I never paid much attention to in class because I had no intention of working on finger nails and felt it was unfair I had to learn about it any way. So as I piled the acrylic on the tiny finger of my friends mom it took on more the  shape of  a piece of play dough than a nicely shaped fingernail. The test instructor woman who walked around inspecting our work was a frightening figure which didn't help my tangled mess of nerves at all.  She was a large black woman, she had piercing  eyes with small black framed glasses that dangled on the edge of her nose. She slowly pranced around the room in her white smock glaring without an ounce of appreciation for anyone's work, but with a cynical snarl from her pursed lips she would stare coldly right through you. When she saw my " nail" she picked up Debbie's hand and stared blankly at the pathetic looking finger. Shaking her head in disgust she walked away writing on her clip board. My heart was racing  so fast I felt it would pop out of my chest and land on the manicure table.  Then it got worse. To get a cosmetology license you must be equipped to work on all hair types. That means being able to use a marcel iron. It's a tiny oven where you heat a curling iron that is used specifically on African hair. The oven gets very hot. In my kit I was given a mannequin head and a square patch of  African hair to show off my mad marcel iron skills. The way it works is you heat the iron in the oven, you must Always check how hot the iron is by touching it on paper before using it on the hair. As my iron heated up and I pinned my square of black hair to my fake head the frightening instructor came up behind me. She stood directly behind me , so close I could feel her hot breath on my neck. In my mind I could just hear her saying" little white girl let's see if you know how to do a black girls hair" with the fear inside me building my hands were shaking like a ninety year old woman, I quickly grabbed the iron and without a thought put it on the tuft of hair. I never checked on the paper towel which I so carefully had laid out . When the hot iron touched the much to oily hair it went up in flames! Literal flames! I quickly tried to pat it out with my hands, I blew as hard as I could, the flames went out as quickly as they had rose but then as smoke filled the room panic and fear set in with all the other students. I can't remember if a smoke alarm went off but I distinctly remember the shame I felt as the room was temporarily evacuated.
    When the day was over we all sat in a room as the names were called out to everyone who passed the exam, myself and another young Asian boy were the only two left in the room when the last name was called. I cried all the way home as my dad quietly drove me back over the bridge.
   This unfortunate event ultimately led to me marrying  the man of my dreams. He wasn't quit a man yet, but that's irrelevant. Because I so epically failed the exam my parents let me stay for three weeks with my brother to take a refresher course before the next exam. It was during this time I went on my first " date" . Within a few months time I'd not only have  my cosmetology license but also be signing a marriage license.  And so it goes, this was the beginning of the life that I have. The burning wig wasn't pleasant at the time but perhaps if I didn't catch it on fire and fail my test this would not be the life that I've had. There may not have been a grimes abroad or a grimes at home or a grimes in Santa Cruz. You just never know the silly little events that will shape our lives and our future. I'd burn a thousand wigs if I knew it would lead me here. That's enough food for thought for one night.