"Are we almost there?" I complained.
"Only one more hour," my dad sighed.
I was around six years old when I took my first camping trip with my relatives. I don’t remember exactly where it was, but the car ride there was about 4 hours long. Once we arrived, we greeted all our relatives and set up camp. We were actually planning on sharing my grandmas RV while the others set up their own tents. The air smelled amazing; the scent was a mixture of wet grass and fresh river water. Around us, all we could see was a dense mass of trees.
The next day, we planned to go fishing. This would be my first time, so I practiced casting the line a few times before we left. It was about an hour-long drive to the spot, and once we got there the temperature was noticeably higher. It was a gross sticky kind of hot that made your shirt stick to your back and caused the air to feel dense with humidity.
After we put on plenty of sunscreen, we cast our lines. The lake was very active; everyone seemed to be catching fish every five minutes. An hour had passed, and I hadn’t even had my first bite. Then, I saw my bobber momentarily bob beneath the water, then become completely submerged. I jerked my fishing rod back and reeled in a tiny fish that was only about the size of my hand. We left shortly after that. Even though I only caught one fish, I was pretty happy with it.
Later that night, everyone was gathered around the campfire roasting marshmallows. My cousin Sidney and I, however, decided to play tag. She was chasing me all around the campsite, and was gaining up on me quickly. I checked behind me to see how close she was. As soon as I turned back to face forward, my face immediately collided with a huge oak tree. There was a very load “whack!” sound that echoed through the forest. I fell to the ground and started to scream and cry. The pain on my face felt like some sort of severe sunburn, and my tears stung the exposed flesh. Everyone by the campfire looked back and saw me lying on the ground with my face and hands covered in blood. At least half of the skin was missing from my face.
My dad took me back to the RV and took out the first aid kit. After I was all cleaned up, mom called to check up on us. My dad told her, “Uh, don’t be worried when you see (my name). She has a scratch on her face. It’s uh, nothing to be worried about.”
“Why would I be worried about a scratch?” She asked suspiciously. My aunt took the phone from my dad and told her how bad it really was. They took me home the next day, and after lots of cream and bandages, all evidence of the accident was gone after just a few months.
