" Give up your American dream and go to a Chinese University like the other girls do!" My father uttered loudly.
" Why can't I have my own choice? You'd never understand my innermost thoughts!" I shouted back.
This was the million-times-debate between my father and I about my future plans. I had already treated it as a routine because once we mentioned the keywords of future, we would have a fiercely oral "fight". I thought my father was kind of too stubborn and vice versa. Although I considered my words as strong and persuasive, there seemed no effect on changing my father's determined mind.
"Bang bang bang." Several grating sounds pierced the silent night of the peaceful town where I lived.
"Ring ring ring." The hurried telephone rings woke me up. A trembled voice began to sob, " Your father got shot." Time seemed froze for a couple of minutes because neither I could figure out what had happened nor did I want to believe what my mother said was ture. Not until I saw my father lied on the hospital bed with a nail impaling in his hand to joint the broken bones and tendons, did I realize that I was not in a dream that I wanted to wake up at once. I felt limp, fell beside my father and bursted into tears. I was nearly fainted in that I was so afraid of losing my beloved father and also I was scared of the wound on his left hand which still stuck bloodstain. I have found myself get mild symptoms of Hemophobia since I was a child. Although my father told me thousand times that Hemophobia was just a easily-cured mental illness and I should be brave and strong because I am the daughter of a policeman, I still felt sick and dizzy when I saw the blood.
The next day, I packed some necessities and went to the hospital for looking after my father. For the next few days, I had no courage to look his hand or to ask him about the whole thing because either of them would remind me of the blood. Except for buying meals and calling nurses for changing the fresh dressing, I took the spare time on preparing my coming SAT exam. Reading the vocabulary book before bedtime made me have better sleep and doing some math exercises during the nap-time kept me awake. I became more capable of squeezing time from a busy day and using it efficiently. Simultaneously, many of my father's friends paid visits to him. From their talks, I finally knew that my father was wounded in a mission which was to arrest a armed criminal in a totally dark house. My father was the first one who dared to burst into the danger house. The sound of the shot which injured my father provided other policemen the position of the criminal. Suddenly, the wound on his hand seemed not so frightening and conveyed sense of bravery. Since then, I accompanied him every day's rehabilitation. No matter how painful were the reparative therapies, he never cried. His fortitude inspired me to overcome my mental fear. With this stimulation, eventually, I told my father I had conquered my weakness and in the same time he surprised that he agreed me to go to a American University. My father said he realized how serious I take on my own choice when he saw me study so attentively and he would fully support me. We both laughed, so cheerfully for the first time during a long-time stalemate.
Now, I am a little not used to the days with no debate between us. However, I am glad to experience " Actions are better than words".
This washad been the million-times-debate that took place between my father and I about my future plans.
I guess these inclusions make your idea clearer. :)I had already treated it as a routine because once we mentioned the keywords of future, we would have a fiercely oral "fight".
It became a part of our daily routine and with a matter of just mentioning the keywords of future, there had often been fierce verbal sessions.I thought my father was kind of too stubborn and vice versa. Although I considered my words as strong and persuasive, there seemed no effect on changing my father's determined mind.
How about
"adamant decision" ?
