Toothy grin

The tidal wave of upheaval around us, explained in teeth

A solid sign that you are growing up is that your replaceable body parts start falling off in a ceremonious manner. Your teeth, one by one, sometimes in tandem, or, dare I say in triplets, loothen jutht enouth so that they can be manipulated absentmindedly by your tongue while you ponder which card to ask for in Go Fish.

This phenomena persists, unignored by your parents as a sign that the little chubby arms and legs and circular face that you once had have given way to proportional appendages, complete with added torso at no extra charge. That’s the tooth, bub. Things used to change at a rapid pace. Colors and shapes turned into patterns and you learned how to take naps and mash spaghetti all over your face. 

One day, the noises that come out of your mouth resembled the sounds your parents made when they look at each other, and they egged you on. You started to translate your own guttural emissions into their squawks which seemed to signify things they meant to express. They marked these occasions with smiles and photos and videos dutifully forwarded to grandparents and other interested parties. Soon there were letters and numbers and paintings and snowmen.

The aforementioned pudginess disappeared into growth spurts, but grown up chompers protruding through stretched gums are just a different story. This fundamental redefinition of your facial features redefines how you express yourself to the world. And like all things gradual, it happens all of a sudden. It’s Traumatic for the older people you live with because right there in the middle of your face is a desecration of your younger self. 

That’s not on you though - it’s just a sign that the toothless (thoothleth) little ball they cradled has simply grown its requisite fangs. Before that, though, one of my favorite things to do was stick my knuckle out towards your face. You would then dutifully grab my hand and chomp down on it with your gums. The routine was a harmless prelude to teething until one day, you took a bite, and the sharp head of a central incisor, heretofore unnoticed, torqued right into said knuckle. It broke the skin, prompting an unforgettable yowl from old Dada. 

You never know when the one time you stick a knuckle into your baby’s hammy gums will be the last, the saying goes. But for now, fangs appropriate for times of vampires and other ghoulish entities hang slightly askew front and center on your face. It gives you a semi-permanent countenance of knowing amusement, if not sly dereliction. It’s not your fault that you *look* like you are up to something. And, because it is assumed so, perhaps you take on that persona, just a little bit, of a trickster god bending the physics of space and time to your will.

Elsewhere, fear and loathing cast shadows over the mid-November skies as ghouls and vampires fly rampant in search of new blood. It’s a cruel place if only because suddenly, the grown ups are faced with taking it all so seriously, all over again. Stakes have been raised, and these adults might furrow a brow as they wield religious talismans and sling garlic florets around their necks for protection.

But there, in the middle of it all, a six year old with a six year old face flashes a grin that implies she knows better, that the silliness of youth ought not be lost on 45 year olds mired in doubt and confusion. She strikes a pose, and blurts out, “so the tooth fairy really is real?” You follow, nodding your head, hoping to keep up. “Yes, she is real.”