My father William is a short man, whose patience is shorter than dynamite when lit. He is a stocky man, with an appearance consisting of a sharp rounded nose, beady brown eyes, and a rounded scarred face. He is caring, funny, and wise and has always been supportive of me. The traits he possesses motivated me to become who I am today.
On the date of August 13, 2007, he decided to take my brothers and me to Borrego Springs to ride quads. Once we arrived the smell of the scorching sand forced its way up the nostrils of our noses as we stared at the rolling hills. Once we left with the quads, he stayed and started to prepare food as he heard the sound of roaring engines diminish. He waited patiently, listening to the sound of sand scraping the floor and the smell of dry ferns enveloping the camp site. The thought of his children’s safety burdened him immensely, hoping that they would be safe. Shortly after, the sound of quads careening through the desert shattered the tranquilizing music of nature. William wondered why they were so back so early, until he saw why. In front of him was the sight of my brother carrying my limp body towards him as blood dripped from my face. He sprinted forward and hugged me, though I was unconscious at the time, dragged me to the table and saw how debilitated I was. The sound of him praying as he cried was shattering, revealing how sorry he was. Immediately, my father carried me to his car and drove to the nearest hospital which was about 30 minutes away. During the drive, my father kept caressing me, telling to not give up and to talk as he forced laughter to console him. William drove faster than a bullet as the sight of monotonous desert repeated like a broken record. Once we arrived at the hospital the smell of both latex and cleaning detergent was contrast to the suffocating desert air. He screamed for a doctor as veins manifested onto his face while struggling to hold me. I was then pulled to a room where I was left alone with...
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