“Nah, these tools look worse than they really are. They don’t cause searing pain; just bad pain. But we’ll give you drugs, if you’re good.”

Oh, what tangled webs we weave when raising children.

Daughter’s recent post on the perils of dentistry was interesting, to say the least.  Though it’s antithetical to her Grand Plan to rule the world via this blog by attracting more Followers (and more and more and more), I sincerely hope our Tooth Doctor is otherwise engaged and doesn’t know of its existence.

Because he’s a really nice guy, and cool, if that’s possible.  Well, he’s about as cool as a dentist can be, I figure, but not Spock-cool.

*Note yet another Star Trek reference, Daughter.  Get with the Program.

“I could have been a dentist, but I chose to be an actor. I also recorded some really, really bad albums back in the day.”

Our dentist’s office is filled with numerous signed photos from some of the biggest musical acts from the 70’s and 80’s.  I don’t remember all the details, but he used to be in the promotions business and he hooked up with all these famous people along the way.  And he’s big into side enterprises — he’s created natural energy drinks and some other things that taste awful, but the point is, he’s like a shark.  If he stops swimming, he dies.

He’s got a really positive energy and drive that I appreciate, when he’s not trying to convince me to replace some of my yellowing naturals.  He has been pushing me for years to get some caps on my front teeth.  The exchange goes something like this:

“You feel that?  That should be smooth.  You shouldn’t be able to feel anything when I do that with this instrument.

Resisting the urge to reply “then don’t do that,” instead I ask, “Are they in imminent danger of falling out?”

“Well, they could crack and fall out at any time.  No way to know.  If they do break, however, you’re stuck.  It becomes a lot more complicated for me to fix.”

“Are you available on the weekends if I have a dental emergency?”

“Yeah, they’ll page me.”

“Doctor, I’m just not there yet.  I’d like to think about it some more, and are dentists real doctors?”

“Yes.  Yes, we are.”

“You know I have no cavities.”

“Yes.  Yes, I do.”

“Shouldn’t that count for something at my age?”

“No.  No, it doesn’t.  I’ll have my wife come in now and clean your teeth.  See you next time, if not sooner.”

And then his lovely wife breaks out the chainsaw and dental rope and removes six months of oatmeal shells from between my teeth.  She’s actually a wonderful hygienist, and the only problem we ever have is that I have difficulty talking with her with my mouth full of instruments.

But she doesn’t seem to mind.  Apparently she is fluent in American Garble.

And if that’s not enough, this dentist is the only one my Lovely Spouse will use.  Period.  And she has a deep-seated aversion to dentists.  Heck, I refer him to my co-workers, for crying out loud.  He’s that good.

But what Daughter doesn’t realize is how fortunate she is to have dental coverage at all.  I know about that all too well.  From the age of seven or eight until I was, oh, twenty-five, I experienced exactly zero professional care or even exams of my chompers.

So I considered it a beneficial change in my personal fortune when dental care entered my life again.  Though I was very appreciative, I felt terrible for the hygienist who got stuck that day cleaning my teeth that first time after eighteen years of abstinence.

“I’m really sorry about my teeth,” I said.  “They are probably the worst ones you’ve ever seen, right?”

“Are you kidding me? she replied.  “We get some kids in here younger than you who have subsisted on soda and chips since they could eat solid food.  Most of them don’t have anything left in their mouths by the time they’re out of their teens.”

Okay.  I’m starting to feel pretty good at this point, so I countered, “You know, the dentist told me because I’m missing a wisdom tooth, it’s probably a good idea to get them all pulled now, before they start causing problems.  I asked him if there were any issues now, and he said there weren’t.  What do you think?

I really, really didn’t want to have those teeth removed.

“Make a point of keeping them clean, and you should be fine,” she said, and she was right.  That conversation took place twenty-eight years ago, and I still have those wisdom teeth and no cavities.

So, Daughter, suck it up.  Be thankful for what you have, and no matter what, please brush your teeth after every meal.

I think we’ll cut you some slack on the flossing, however, but you have to commit to trying to understand vague Star Trek analogies going forward.

– Dad