Memoirs of a Geezer!
Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth
to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!
This Episode: The Tooth Fairy!
On the occasion in question, we happened to pull in at the same time. In the parking lot, our granddaughter announced, "Baba (that's her grandmother), Papa (that's me, her grandfather), I lost a tooth!" And she showed us the gap smack in the front of the the lower row. (I guess most people have something like, what, 32 teeth, or is it 64?)
When we were settled inside, I asked our granddaughter, "Lemme see that gap again." She showed me the space. "Are you entitled to compensation from the Tooth Fairy?" I asked.
She proudly announced the sum she had received, saying, "I received this much from the Tooth Fairy. It was a generous amount." (She's a brilliant child, of course, with a capacity for complex thought and language usage far beyond her years!) She wrote the amount on a sheet of paper upon which she had already drawn a fine picture. I was quite astonished upon seeing the monetary figure scratched on her drawing paper.
She proudly announced the sum she had received, saying, "I received this much from the Tooth Fairy. It was a generous amount." (She's a brilliant child, of course, with a capacity for complex thought and language usage far beyond her years!) She wrote the amount on a sheet of paper upon which she had already drawn a fine picture. I was quite astonished upon seeing the monetary figure scratched on her drawing paper.
"My, my," I then said to my daughter, "The Fairy's coffers have grown considerably since I was a lad with gaps in my head from lost or purloined teeth. Somehow this doesn't seem fair to those of us born in earlier times." I then began to relate a dental tale of my own experience. "When I was, I don't know, maybe 6 or 7, my mother hauled me to our family dentist, Dr. Vibbish Yockelbaum. I had an incisor on my left side that was poking straight through the gum, parallel to the earth. Others of my teeth were crowded together uncomfortably."
"The boy has a smallish, undersized palette, Missus," Dr. Yockelbaum said to my mother. "We must remove some teeth to make room for the big boy teeth to emerge. Udderwise, trouble in the boy's head, Missus." An extractions appointment was made.
The day arrived. Ether was administered. I went out like a dim bulb, but I could feel things. Pain! Even today there are images locked inside my head. Dr. Yockelbaum, together with a great bald-headed hairy-bodied beast of a masked man dressed in leather underwear and carrying instruments of torture. They entered my mouth. Together they yanked out several offending teeth, possibly my tongue, the cerebral cortex as well. The ordeal was pure torture. Coming out of the ether, the memory of pain was imprinted on my head, like a neolyte sole print... maybe it was really there! I don't know. Maybe Dr. Yockelbaum and that "executioner" placed their shoes on my face for leverage! It was a misery."
I continued my story. My daughter continued to display a kind of interest, to her credit and forbearance, politely. "So, years later, I'm in the military, and at the base dentist. The young dentist -- I can't remember his name -- asks me, 'Your childhood dentist: he learned dentistry at, what, a social center? The corner tavern? An archaic barber college?' "
"Why do you ask such a question?" I responded as best I could, mouth jammed with metal contrivances, instruments that sucked or dripped.
' "He's placed fillings over cavities. I have to undo all of his inferior work. I have to redo your fillings," he moaned. I moaned. "There's much to do here. Drilling. Lots of drilling. Who was your dentist?" '
"Dr. Yockelbaum," I replied. "Purely a rhetorical question. That young military 'yanker' had no real interest in the ancient dentist of my youth. He merely grumbled incoherently and shook his head, an expression of contempt on his youthful face as he went about his work, reluctantly.
"So now I'm thinking, all that dental agony, and lousy compensation from that cheap smack of a Tooth Fairy. It's not right. Hey! (An epiphany!) Maybe there's retroactive compensation for old people. Maybe there's an agency of the government, like, 'the US Bureau of Pre-Historic Dentistry and Tooth Agony,' or, 'the US Department of Insouciant Tooth Fairies and Senior Compensation (USDITHASComp).' (Bureaucrats love acronyms!)
"I'm going to write a sternly worded letter. I'll include a harsh rebuke! And of course a retroactive invoice, itemized with exponential elevations in money owed me, not to mention compound interest. Sort of like SSI for elderly dental victims! Wonderful! I'm seeing wealth at the end of this! ...but not undeservedly so!"
I turned back to my granddaughter. "Don't you think Papa deserves compensation, sort of 'back pay for tooth misery' "?
"Look," she said, as she opened wide her mouth, "I have lots more baby teeth to lose, Papa. Tooth Fairy's gonna owe me a pot of money."
I sipped my coffee, wondering about discoloration, compromised enamel, how much longer I'm able to crack pistachio nutshells on ancient teeth. My granddaughter returned to her cinnamon roll, and her drawing.
I continued my story. My daughter continued to display a kind of interest, to her credit and forbearance, politely. "So, years later, I'm in the military, and at the base dentist. The young dentist -- I can't remember his name -- asks me, 'Your childhood dentist: he learned dentistry at, what, a social center? The corner tavern? An archaic barber college?' "
"Why do you ask such a question?" I responded as best I could, mouth jammed with metal contrivances, instruments that sucked or dripped.
' "He's placed fillings over cavities. I have to undo all of his inferior work. I have to redo your fillings," he moaned. I moaned. "There's much to do here. Drilling. Lots of drilling. Who was your dentist?" '
"Dr. Yockelbaum," I replied. "Purely a rhetorical question. That young military 'yanker' had no real interest in the ancient dentist of my youth. He merely grumbled incoherently and shook his head, an expression of contempt on his youthful face as he went about his work, reluctantly.
"I'm going to write a sternly worded letter. I'll include a harsh rebuke! And of course a retroactive invoice, itemized with exponential elevations in money owed me, not to mention compound interest. Sort of like SSI for elderly dental victims! Wonderful! I'm seeing wealth at the end of this! ...but not undeservedly so!"
I turned back to my granddaughter. "Don't you think Papa deserves compensation, sort of 'back pay for tooth misery' "?
"Look," she said, as she opened wide her mouth, "I have lots more baby teeth to lose, Papa. Tooth Fairy's gonna owe me a pot of money."
I sipped my coffee, wondering about discoloration, compromised enamel, how much longer I'm able to crack pistachio nutshells on ancient teeth. My granddaughter returned to her cinnamon roll, and her drawing.
Humbly Submitted / 03-31-14 -- JK
