MARY ANN FITZMORRIS / L’Observateur / October 14, 2000

Loose teeth can be so entertaining. I’ve been thinking that eversince I saw a flying molar dripping blood on the lunch table at school.

While all my son’s friends choked back a gag, it was amusing to see the mortified mother of the child dispense with the offending tooth. The kid thought it was hilarious.My son, who was carrying his tray, was just about to sit there. Hemoved to the next table and I prepared to catch any byproducts of the contagious gagging.

The tooth had finally given way to the boy’s relentless pressure.

Loose teeth can be an engaging toy. They are practically circusanimals. Just yesterday my daughter challenged me to insert myfingernail under hers. She had been playing that game for weeks,she told me delightedly. I disappointed her when I passed on sucha thrilling opportunity.

My son jumped in with his own tales of The Loose Molar, which reminded him of sliding glass doors. Poor thing. No one in thecar asked for details. We were afraid it would remind my daughterof the one that just hung there for a while.

But my son was not to be daunted. His tooth act had been honed toowell and for too long. At lunch, as always, he treated his captiveaudience to a command performance. He was able to insert the tipof his tongue between the tooth and gum and spin it around and around. It was such a good trick he hated to see it end just a fewhours later, when the tooth quit the act while he was playing.

My niece is having the best time with her teeth, but her parents aren’t having nearly as much fun with the bills. Her two frontteeth have grown in sideways, and there is no room for many of the others. While waiting for breakfast to be delivered to the tabletoday, my niece gave us all the details of her tooth problems, which were hard to see through the half-chewed croissant milling around in there.

My son gave me a glance like the one he had that day in the cafeteria. I told him not to look when I saw a pre-gagging cloudcome over his face.

Then the subject moved to my daughter’s canine teeth. These arethe most stubborn bicuspids I have ever encountered. They refuseto give it up. The permanent teeth have actually grown in on topof each of these babies. This situation was a nuisance for mydaughter in the beginning, but she has now caught on to the entertainment possibilities of loose teeth, and she has begun to train these as well.

Yesterday I had to watch as she twirled it round and round, but it was hard to see under the curtain of it’s permanent replacement.

It became necessary to practically crawl into her mouth to catch the show.

The thrill of playing with these teeth is tinged with anxiety over when these obstinate babies will yield to their replacements, and the owner involvement has become time consuming. She complainedyesterday that she didn’t think they’d ever come out. “Are youwiggling them?” I asked. “Am I wiggling them?” she repliedtestily. “I’m wiggling them all day long.”This conversation reminded my son of his sliding glass doors. Hewas delighted to tell new tales of his most complicated act with his well trained teeth. He explained at length how he couldactually pull a tooth down just far enough to slide it along slightly and push it back in at the other edge of the cavity. Hewould repeat the process again and again.

Those teeth must have surrendered from overwork.

Not long after this session of dental storytime, my daughter was happy to report that one of those eye teeth had begun to see things her way. She had finally broken it in. The tooth could nowbe twisted completely around and pushed out of the way while she replaced it with her tongue. We shipped it right off to the ToothFairy.

I don’t understand those surveys which say dentists, as a group, aren’t especially satisfied with their profession. Surely they’veforgotten how much fun teeth can be.

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