I grew up in Europe, more precisely France. I was born an only child to working parents. My father was in sales, working in at a car dealership, as a realtor, and selling copy machines for a large German company. My mother was a hairstylist, working long hours, and owned her salon for a few years. During my primary school years, I would walk back to my mom’s salon, stopping at my tutor for an hour or two, and finishing my homework in my mom’s office, in the back of the salon. My primary school from the age of 6 years old to 12 years old school was in a chateau surrounded by a dungeon, something out of a movie medieval movie set. My love for castles and history probably comes from it. We would go home in the evening for dinner, after my mom was done at her salon, cleaning and locking it until the next day. We would routinely sit at the dining table for a family dinner. My self-esteem got a boost from those sit-down dinners, as a child I was encouraged to talk about my day, while my parents would listen and ask questions that made me feel included. I was asked to help around the table, clear plates off the table as well as wipe it. There is evidence that family sit-down dinners help kids feel good about themselves and assisting with simple tasks related to aid in the dinner preparation, during and after dinner, improves a child’s confidence and pridefulness. This was a family ritual and a time to connect, with the kids eating on a separate table, still being included, and the adults having discussions and opinions about the everyday lives of each other. Laughs would also erupt and clinging of glasses would ensue. As an immigrant to the United States, I sometimes miss those family gatherings. I believe it to be an important foundation as a young child. I also have a more liberal view of the world as I relocated to the French Alps, in Annecy, with my parents when I was 14 years old. This was also time to explore my inner self as a teenage boy. I would experience alcohol for the first time, go out late at night with friends, learn how to drive, and start thinking about a profession since my grades at school would prevent me go to college. On a clear winter day, driving home with my parents, my mom asked me what I wanted to do since this was my last year of high school. I didn’t know, but my mom mentioned hairdressing. And so it was, I would go to beauty school in Annecy. My parents had bought two small commercial properties in downtown Annecy to rent. Once I was going to beauty school, my mom reopened a beauty salon in one of the spaces they wanted to rent for me to learn the “right way” as she said. Those 3 years of beauty school were spent between school and salon as an apprentice, culminating with my cosmetology license. My mom opening another salon was only intended for my apprenticeship. I needed to learn from the best salons. I moved back to Versailles, where I was going to take the bus, train, subway and finally walk to a high-end salon in Paris. I was somewhat happy to be back surrounded by family, and having my small place, in my grandmother’s town. I left France in early March 1997, with my girlfriend, to move to Chicago, with only two suitcases on hand, to start working at the new salon. Chicago had familiarity with my experiences in Paris, but this time I was more focused and mature. Not knowing the political landscape in Chicago, I would find myself surrounded by people having the same somewhat liberal views. My girlfriend and I worked at the salon together, totaling about 5 Frenc hairstylists, until the salon got raided by U.S. Immigration. Unknown to us, the type of working visa for employee transfer had not been done properly by the company. We would be brought outside the salon, on the sidewalk, handcuffed to one of our fellow workers, stuffed in the back seat of a federal car, detained for about 12 hours in Immigration jails, and taken out only for questioning by a special agent. Fortunately for us, the manager of the salon, who was also being detained, was allowed one phone call, which he made to the French Consulate in Chicago. After being released by the Consular and going to immigration court, we were cleared to go back to work a month later. This humbly provided a boost of ego. I decided after this adventure to relocate to Scottsdale, Arizona. After this experience in Chicago, my viewpoint of immigrant rights and laws in the United States grew strong as I believe very strongly in the immigration reform in the United States as everyone should be offered the same opportunities I have been offered in this country. My journey and experience of growing up in France to moving to the United States where I have been able to open up my hair salon build a family and have children has been an incredibly positive one with many ups and downs, but I have been incredibly grateful for the life I have lived and all of the lessons that have come with it.