September 23, 2010

• If Father Time came up to me and said:

  

  I would have to say:

  

  It’s not because I went through any traumatizing hardships or suffered a lot of misery (although, the demise of “Crystal Pepsi” was pretty depressing for me). Far from it. I have the greatest parents in the world, a sister who is also my best friend, a loving extended family, amazingly awesome friends, 3 adorable cats and, of course, all of you wonderful Xangans who have inspired and supported me through the years. I can say without any hesitation that the 28 years I’ve lived so far have been worth every second—ups, downs, and everything in between.

  But if my life was so great, shouldn’t I take Father Time up on his offer? I’d be able to experience all those fun memories a second time around–living it up “Double Mint” style…you know, “double the pleasure, double the fun” (but minus Chris Brown because he’d turn it into “double the b*tch slaps”).

  And yet, that isn’t enough to make me want to relive my life from the beginning. It’s not even remotely tempting to me. You want to know why? I’ll tell you why:

  

  Okay, maybe calling Father Time a “putrid old fart” doesn’t seem like the best way to go–and maybe my reason for refusing the chance to start my life over again is weak. But honestly, you’d react the same way if your baby teeth fell out the way mine did.

  I vividly remember the day I lost my first tooth. It was back in kindergarten, and I was really excited when I discovered I could make a tooth dance with my tongue. Not only was it entertaining, it also meant I was officially part of the cool club. Back then, a kid who had a loose tooth was automatically awesome because she could show off her wiggly tooth to the rest of the class, leaving the rest of us impressed by her talent…and also secretively jealous. After all, everyone knew about the Tooth Fairy: she gave kids quarters for every tooth they put under their pillows. Can you believe it?! A quarter! And not even one of those fake quarters that have chocolate inside them. The Tooth Fairy gave out real quarters! You could probably buy, like, a million “Easy Bake Ovens” with that much money!

  So a kid who had a loose tooth was not only cool, she was also on her way to becoming a billionaire. And everyone wanted to be just like her…not me, though, because thanks to my loose tooth, I was her.
  
  Anyway, my mom had checked my tooth regularly and one day determined it would be ready for extraction the following day (must be something that comes with maternal instincts). And I didn’t even have to go to the awful dentist to get it removed because my mom was going to do it for me. She said she was going to use the same method my grandmother used back in the day. I didn’t bother to ask for any details–there wasn’t any reason to. All grandmas are bad ass, and everything they do is also going to be bad ass–including pulling out teeth. So when my mom told me she was relying on my grandmother’s method, that was all I needed to know.
  
  Being able to put a tooth under your pillow is a rite of passage every child looks forward to, so of course, I was beyond ecstatic when I learned my turn had finally come. The rest of the day just came and went, seemingly whisked away by the excitement of becoming 25 cents richer. And before I knew it, another day of kindergarten had ended and it was now snack time at the school’s after-school care program. The snack that day was apple slices with a small dollop of peanut butter on the side—one of my favorites.

  

  I thought “Today is turning into the best day ever! First mama tells me I’m getting my tooth pulled out tomorrow, and now I’m eating apple slices and peanut butter!”
  
  I took a greedy bite of apple and was surprised–this apple slice was oddly warm and salty.

  

  I’d had nose bleeds before, so I knew that what I was tasting was blood. I then ran my tongue over my loose tooth and found that it had been replaced by a gap…and more blood.

  I ran over to a teacher to make sure I wasn’t imagining things. And to this day, I can still remember the look on her face when I showed her my mouth–it was a twisted mix of shock and disgust.

  

  

  I just stood there for a few seconds. So I really am bleeding…

  And then:

  

  Ahh…my first delayed reaction!

  I really don’t know why I started crying. I mean, I knew my tooth fell out and my mouth was bleeding because of it, yet I wasn’t crying then. But when my teacher confirmed what I already knew, that’s when I started bawling hysterically. It was so Pavlovian, except instead of a dog salivating at the sound of a bell, you had a little girl crying after being told that this gap between her teeth was bleeding.

  In the middle of my fit, something suddenly occurred to me: where was the tooth?! I was so freaked out by the thought of blood in my mouth that I didn’t bother to put the tooth in a safe place. Oh no…did I just lose my lost tooth?!

  I had to find it. If I didn’t, some evil kid with all his teeth intact might take it and put it under his own pillow! And then the Tooth Fairy would give him the quarter that was meant for me, and then he’d be able to buy a million “Easy Bake Ovens!”

  

  I ran back to my seat and tried to crawl under the table because I thought my tooth was on the ground. There actually wasn’t anything there, but I didn’t know that because my tears had made my vision blurry. Not like it mattered anyway because before I could do any searching, the teacher picked me up and led me away:

  

  She gave me a bag of ice to put to my mouth, and another teacher came over and handed me a small plastic bag. Inside, carefully wrapped in some paper towels was my tooth…and the apple slice I’d bitten into earlier.

  Ugh…the memories still make me uncomfortable.

  After that awful day, I vowed to stay away from apples the next time I had a loose tooth. And it was because I had made such a resolution that my second tooth stayed in place long enough for my mom to remove it.

  

  Since this was the first tooth my mom would be pulling out (the first attempt having been thwarted by evil fruit), I didn’t know what to expect. I just figured that because she was using my grandmother’s method, everything was going to be okay.

  And then my mom tied a piece of thread around my loose tooth.

  

  And then:

  

  Bam! She hit the top of my head with one hand and pulled my tooth out with the other.

  And that’s how the rest of my baby teeth came out–one actually required two attempts because the string came undone. Thus, did my baby-teeth-losing phase come to pass: miserably, and without a single “Easy Bake Oven” or “Happy Meal” to show for it.

  Do you now see why would called Father Time a putrid old fart? And you know you’d all do the same!

  

  • 7:04 pm
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