This generation of kids is soft. They won’t ever know real
pain and real fear like we did as kids. Or, at least, as I did as a kid. I’m
not sure what your dental office visits were like, but as for me, well, let’s
just say Clint Eastwood and I had the same dentist.
When I tell my kids that we’re going to the dentist for
their six-month cleanings, they cheer. They actually want to go. What’s up with
that? My mom had to start searching for me three hours before the appointment
time, because I had paid my friends to hide me. Our neighborhood had an
underground railroad system for kids with impending dental visits.
My kids get SpongeBob SquarePants on a 27-inch flat screen
mounted directly over their chair. I had bad ‘70s and ‘80s elevator music that
would be drowned out by the sound resonating inside my skull of pointy metal implements
being scraped across my molars.
My kids get fluoride that tastes like bubble gum or birthday
cake. My fluoride was raw fluoride, freshly mined from the earth, or wherever the
hell fluoride comes from. It was probably siphoned from a 55-gallon drum out on
the loading dock and applied directly to your teeth, and it damn-sure didn’t
taste like birthday cake. It tasted like what a mixture of used antifreeze and charcoal
lighter fluid probably tastes like, and you could only spit afterward. If you
drank any water to wash the (most likely radioactive) substance out of your
mouth, the whole process would be for nothing, and your teeth would surely fall
out of your mouth the next day.
My kids get to pick a toy from the toy box after their little
dental chair vacation, happily browsing through Frisbees and Matchbox cars while
they enjoy the lingering taste of bubble gum. We were handed a new toothbrush in a lobby
that smelled like raw fluoride and fear.
When I say that I had the same dentist as Clint Eastwood, I’m
not joking. Dr. Kincade and Clint were college roommates, and remained good
friends. Clint would fly into our town for his dental visits. I never saw him
in the office, but Dr. Kincade showed me his X-rays once. I think it goes
without saying that Clint Eastwood has very manly-looking teeth.
I was a Clint Eastwood fan, so it was kind of cool to have
the same dentist, but looking back on it, I’m not sure it was really optimum.
Clint is obviously a total badass, and so you have to assume that a college
roommate he would remain lifelong friends with would be kind of a tough guy,
too. I didn’t think about it at the time, but do you really want your dentist
to be a Clint Eastwood-style badass? No, you don’t.
I had a lot of cavities as a kid, despite the fact that my
mom did not allow sugar within a hundred yards of our house. I was just born
with cavity-loving teeth. (My wife’s teeth, on the other hand, are bulletproof.
She doesn’t understand why I don’t like the dentist. I pray that our boys got
her teeth.)
Being the rough-and-tumble dentist that he was, Dr. Kincade
used to drill and fill my cavities without Novocain. My earliest memories of
the dental chair are an awful acoustical version of some Carly Simon song being
drowned out by a combination of the high-pitched whine of the drill and the
searing pain in my jaw, as the smell of burning tooth enamel filled my
nostrils. Can’t wait to get my free toothbrush after this!
I didn’t even know Novocain existed until one of my friends
told me about it as he was working to keep me hidden before an office visit one
day. When I asked Dr. Kincade if I could have some, he said, “Do you have a
brother? I always thought you were the one who didn’t need it.” I guess I
looked tougher than I really was. It’s still a toss-up as to which hurt worse,
though – the Novocain shot or the drilling without it. Clint’s dentist had big
needles.
Son Number One just had his first cavity, and he was in the
chair watching SpongeBob last night getting it fixed. He was nervous beforehand,
and I tried my best to reassure him that it would all be fine, but I think he
could hear the uncertainty in my voice. Or maybe I told him about my cavities
as a kid. Either way, he was nervous.
The first thing he got was a delicious swab of numbing gel
that tasted just like cherry soda. Yummy. Then he braced himself for the
Novocain shot that he actually never even felt. He happily watched SpongeBob’s
hijinks down at the Krusty Krab as his cavity was drilled and filled in less
than ten minutes.
“What was I nervous about, Dad? I didn’t even know he gave
me the shot, and I never felt a thing.”
“I told you it would be fine.”
“I know. I don’t know why I didn’t believe you.”
“Probably because I
didn’t believe me,” I muttered under my breath.
“What?”
“Nothing, buddy. I’m glad it didn’t hurt. You did great”
“SpongeBob is funny. Can we get ice cream like you promised?”
“Clint and I never got SpongeBob.”
“What?”
“Nothing, buddy. Let’s go get some ice cream.”
I’m telling you. This generation is soft.
See you soon,
-Smidge
Copyright © 2015 Marc Schmatjen
No comments:
Post a Comment