My name is Kent. Kent Rico Toliver. I live in Glendale, California, and I am now living with a permanent physical disability that I think should have never happened.

You see, I am a survivor of a drunk driver. I was crossing the street four years ago, on my way to college, when a drunk driver came careening out of nowhere and slammed into me.

I was thrown fifty feet, and when I landed, my life changed forever. When I blacked out, I was a strong, able-bodied young man with a bright future; when I awoke, I found myself in a hospital bed, unable to feel anything from my hips on down. I woke up as a paraplegic. I would never walk again; if I did, it would be nothing short of a miracle.

After months in the hospital (and more months of painful rehab), I learned to walk again. I am now walking on a pair of bright green forearm crutches and wear braces on my legs, but I am walking (for the most part). For long trips I use a wheelchair; it's easier for me to get around.

The guy who hit me already had three prior instances where he was convicted for driving drunk. When I heard that, I was furious. I don't think anyone who is a repeat offender of drunk driving should ever be allowed to drive again: I think they should serve some heavy-duty jail time, have their license suspended, never to drive again. Or as my dad thinks, I think they should cut the drunk bastard's arms and legs off; that way he can't get to the bar.

If he did, he'd only drink again, with absolutely no regard for human life. What's to say he won't injure an innocent person again, leave them crippled for the rest of their life as he did to me?

Because of him, I can no longer walk without help. Because of him, I now live with flashbacks of my horrible hospital stay. Because of him, my family has drifted apart, with only my parents supporting me. My older brother, who used to be so close to me, hardly even talks to me; he claims he can't handle seeing me in a wheelchair or struggling to walk with crutches or braces.

My sister has suffered as well: she is only 15, just a teenager, but her grades have dropped considerably, and she's now flunking school--all because of what's happened to me. This happened when she was 11, just a kid, and she still has nightmares of what's happend to me. She saw it happen; she was visiting me at the campus, and she saw the whole thing. She still has vivid flashback of the guy slamming his car into me, my body flying, me lying broken, unconscious in the street.

She now vents her hatred to anyone who drinks while driving. She calls them creeps (she and I both have a worse name for people like them, much worse), and she is very passionate about speaking out against them, especially if they are repeat offenders. I do, too.

Now she and I go to schools or other public places, where we speak out against the dangers of drunk driving and the consequences. All they have to do is look at me, look at my crutches, my braces, my devastated family who must live with this along with me. My life has changed, but I am bound, determined to get it back as much as possible, and I am determined to have the police crack down on repeat drunk drivers.

They nearly stopped me, but I am determined to keep on going. I am still alive; to me surviving such a devastating accident is nothing short of a miracle.

If I was to say anything to people, I have three words to tell them: DON'T DRIVE DRUNK. Period.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~THE END.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~