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This got me to thinking, as things sometimes do. What do you suppose God had in mind when He designed children? Not every child has the easiest time of it when he or she is that age. There's a lot to take in and a lot to learn. Did God take this into consideration when He decided at some point during (as an example) young David's developmental years to have all of his teeth begin to fall out of his head?
Don't get me wrong. I'm not one to second guess God or His designs. I'm sure there's a perfectly good reason. What comes to mind is if we had our larger adult teeth come in first, then we, as children, might all look like we had horse teeth. It's likely we'd never be able to close our mouths or be able to chew or learn to speak because our heads would be too small for our chompers. Okay, in thinking about it that way, maybe it does make sense.
Maybe it isn't traumatic for other kids. I remember as being young David that it was, in fact, a dark period in my childhood.
I don't remember if I was ever warned it was going to happen. Knowing my family, I have serious doubts. My sister and brother were older than I was by 9 and 11 years, respectively. So they were too many years away from losing their own teeth to be sympathetic when it was my turn. If my mother ever had the conversation with me, which I doubt, it would have been something like this:
Mother: David, pretty soon your teeth are going to start getting loose and fall out.
Young David: What? (pushing against each tooth with his tongue to test for stability)
Mother: That's right. It happens to every kid. There will be lots of blood and you'll think you're in agony, but it doesn't really hurt.
Young David: That's preposterous! The very idea! There is nothing wrong with my teeth. Maybe that happens to other kids, but it is NOT going to happen to me, I can tell you that.
Mother: Shut up and eat your Brussels sprouts while you still have enough teeth to chew them properly.
As I said, it's highly unlikely that exchange ever took place. What likely happened was I suddenly found a loose tooth one day, became concerned, as I would do sometimes, and went in search of my mother.
"Let me see it. Show me which one it is," she probably said.
As a trusting young lad, I probably opened wide and gave it a wiggle to show her which one it was. What did I have to fear? This was, after all, the woman who up until that point had kissed boo-boos and made them better.
I imagine at that point, she went for a paper towel, which I would later learn was for better grip, took hold of the offending tooth like a dog with a bone, and jerked my head back and forth until it came out. I, of course, would have stood there crying, bleeding, and trying to reconcile in my mind why the woman who was supposed to protect me from all things bad had just betrayed me.
I don't remember losing the first tooth, specifically. Psychologists say the brain has a defense mechanism where it will block out traumatic events that are too much for us to handle. Surely that is what happened in my case.
What I do remember is learning fast that if I felt a loose tooth, I kept it to myself. As a young boy though, when I did have a wiggler, I could not stop touching it with my tongue, or occasionally a finger. I would become engrossed in "Gilligan's Island" or something on the TV and next thing I knew, without a thought, I was playing with the damn tooth. My mother would notice this and immediately inquire and want to see. I would snap out of my TV trance and vehemently deny it.
"I won't touch it, I just want to see," she would sometimes try.
Ha! Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Yes. I admit she conned me with that line and I fell for it at least once.
Unable to concentrate on my show, I would leave the room and wiggle my tooth in private.
At such time that it was being held in by gravity alone or friction with its neighboring tooth, I would let my mother finish the job. Why? Two reasons, really. One, I was too cowardly to do it myself. I tried this a few times but I would involuntarily loosen my grip right at the point I should have been pulling it out. Secondly, the only thing that was worse than having the sucker yanked out was biting down and catching the loose tooth with another. That would usually either hurt badly enough or creep me out enough to seek the services of my mother. My older siblings were always there to offer services, but they always wanted to employ medieval torture involving strings and doorknobs and the like. No thanks.
I don't remember the going rate for the Tooth Fairy back then. That was pushing 40 years ago, so I don't imagine it was more than 50 cents or so, if that.
Certainly, it was not enough to make up for the psychological scars. That isn't to say I didn't accept the money when I found it under my pillow the next morning. I may have been emotionally drained, but I wasn't stupid. Money was money. Fifty cents at that time would buy a lot of penny Tootsie Rolls and other treats at the market down the street.
God apparently knew when He was drawing up the designs for people that baby teeth would not be the undoing of anyone. Every kids survives it. I did. From that point forward, though, if I had a boo-boo that my mother wanted to see, I approached with caution and wariness. I knew what kinds of things she was capable of doing without a second of hesitation. Not to mention the fact that I could only cash in on the teeth.
I just remembered how much I liked Tootsie Rolls. God knew what He was doing when he made those too.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not one to second guess God or His designs. I'm sure there's a perfectly good reason. What comes to mind is if we had our larger adult teeth come in first, then we, as children, might all look like we had horse teeth. It's likely we'd never be able to close our mouths or be able to chew or learn to speak because our heads would be too small for our chompers. Okay, in thinking about it that way, maybe it does make sense.
Maybe it isn't traumatic for other kids. I remember as being young David that it was, in fact, a dark period in my childhood.
I don't remember if I was ever warned it was going to happen. Knowing my family, I have serious doubts. My sister and brother were older than I was by 9 and 11 years, respectively. So they were too many years away from losing their own teeth to be sympathetic when it was my turn. If my mother ever had the conversation with me, which I doubt, it would have been something like this:
Mother: David, pretty soon your teeth are going to start getting loose and fall out.
Young David: What? (pushing against each tooth with his tongue to test for stability)
Mother: That's right. It happens to every kid. There will be lots of blood and you'll think you're in agony, but it doesn't really hurt.
Young David: That's preposterous! The very idea! There is nothing wrong with my teeth. Maybe that happens to other kids, but it is NOT going to happen to me, I can tell you that.
Mother: Shut up and eat your Brussels sprouts while you still have enough teeth to chew them properly.
As I said, it's highly unlikely that exchange ever took place. What likely happened was I suddenly found a loose tooth one day, became concerned, as I would do sometimes, and went in search of my mother.
"Let me see it. Show me which one it is," she probably said.
As a trusting young lad, I probably opened wide and gave it a wiggle to show her which one it was. What did I have to fear? This was, after all, the woman who up until that point had kissed boo-boos and made them better.
I imagine at that point, she went for a paper towel, which I would later learn was for better grip, took hold of the offending tooth like a dog with a bone, and jerked my head back and forth until it came out. I, of course, would have stood there crying, bleeding, and trying to reconcile in my mind why the woman who was supposed to protect me from all things bad had just betrayed me.
I don't remember losing the first tooth, specifically. Psychologists say the brain has a defense mechanism where it will block out traumatic events that are too much for us to handle. Surely that is what happened in my case.
What I do remember is learning fast that if I felt a loose tooth, I kept it to myself. As a young boy though, when I did have a wiggler, I could not stop touching it with my tongue, or occasionally a finger. I would become engrossed in "Gilligan's Island" or something on the TV and next thing I knew, without a thought, I was playing with the damn tooth. My mother would notice this and immediately inquire and want to see. I would snap out of my TV trance and vehemently deny it.
"I won't touch it, I just want to see," she would sometimes try.
Ha! Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Yes. I admit she conned me with that line and I fell for it at least once.
Unable to concentrate on my show, I would leave the room and wiggle my tooth in private.
At such time that it was being held in by gravity alone or friction with its neighboring tooth, I would let my mother finish the job. Why? Two reasons, really. One, I was too cowardly to do it myself. I tried this a few times but I would involuntarily loosen my grip right at the point I should have been pulling it out. Secondly, the only thing that was worse than having the sucker yanked out was biting down and catching the loose tooth with another. That would usually either hurt badly enough or creep me out enough to seek the services of my mother. My older siblings were always there to offer services, but they always wanted to employ medieval torture involving strings and doorknobs and the like. No thanks.
I don't remember the going rate for the Tooth Fairy back then. That was pushing 40 years ago, so I don't imagine it was more than 50 cents or so, if that.
Certainly, it was not enough to make up for the psychological scars. That isn't to say I didn't accept the money when I found it under my pillow the next morning. I may have been emotionally drained, but I wasn't stupid. Money was money. Fifty cents at that time would buy a lot of penny Tootsie Rolls and other treats at the market down the street.
God apparently knew when He was drawing up the designs for people that baby teeth would not be the undoing of anyone. Every kids survives it. I did. From that point forward, though, if I had a boo-boo that my mother wanted to see, I approached with caution and wariness. I knew what kinds of things she was capable of doing without a second of hesitation. Not to mention the fact that I could only cash in on the teeth.
I just remembered how much I liked Tootsie Rolls. God knew what He was doing when he made those too.
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