BITE ME

Since having her birthday last month, my great niece Maddie has already gone through the 5-year-old-coming of age experience of losing her two front bottom teeth. Being the dare devilish type, she pulled ‘em out herself. The Tooth Fairy exchanged them for a few bucks, which apparently ticked her off. Receiving the money was fine and dandy, but she wanted to keep the teeth. Knowing her strong will, I suspect they have magically reappeared by now.

I was not as courageous as Maddie when my first two front lowers were loose, an event I remember well because of my father’s insistence that he be the resident dentist. I would wiggle the teeth back and forth with my tongue, but that’s about as far as I would go in trying to remove them. My father had a better, sure-fire method. Open wide, insert fingers, and yank. I was having nothing of it.

Being big on melodrama, I ran from him, screaming and crying all through the house as he pursued me. Finally, he pinned me on the clothes hamper, pried open my mouth, crammed in his hand…and I bit the holy hell out of it. But instead of him being angry with me, he was laughing. There were the two little teeth lying in the palm of his hand.

I continued bawling…no longer out of fear but because he’d gotten the better of me. I’d lost the battle (and my teeth) and victory was his. Pissed me off royally. The Tooth Fairy’s donation softened the blow somewhat, but that was the first and last time my father ever dared to put his hand in my mouth. I think he eventually realized that when it came to raising me, he’d bitten off more than he could chew.