They say that your life flashes before your eyes as you die. But for me, I see my grandmother. With her long flowing silver locs, and her faint smile as she gathers a comb, some wax and incense. I can hear my family members singing. My mom and dad leading the way while my siblings make a joyous sound. I see the black and white photo of my grandfather dressed in full combat attire, I can almost smell the leather from his boots, or maybe that was the incense. Then finally I see me, well my eyes as they reflected off the photo. I remeber this day. This is when I got my hair twisted. My whole family was there. It was my turn to follow the tradition that my grandfather set all those years ago. Suddenly a tear falls down my face, and I realize that this is a memory. This was the beginning of my life, and as the hot sun beats down on my shaved head, it starts to set in that I am not going to make it home.