In general, when you mention going to the dentist, people recoil in horror. Most people react much as they would if being invited to an afternoon of listening to fingernails being scraped across a chalkboard or, maybe, water boarding.
I think that people really are missing the enjoyment that comes from dental work. No other stories can compare to ones involving a public mishap with a cotton filled mouth that still hasn’t regained sensation. It’s my opinion that the dentist is the source of more good laughs than any other professional.
The Baby is in afternoon Kindergarten and so our dental appointments have been scheduled together. Today, he sat in a chair next to me, reading a Superman story to me while my teeth were scrapped, poked, prodded and cleaned. When my cleaning was done, and while reveling in the minty freshness of the moment, I leaned toward the Baby and asked him, “How about a nice fresh kiss?” He recoiled in horror. The dental hygienist also became very quiet and the room filled with an awkward and heavy air. I’ll admit that my feelings were a little hurt that my youngest would not only refuse to kiss me in public (I already have a 12 year old who is denying me public affection) but would react with such disgust at the request. I was also indignant that the hygienist was avoiding eye contact and acting like I had committed some reprehensible act in demonstrating love for my child.
“Why won’t you give your mom a kiss?”
“I’ll give you a kiss,” he said, “but not a French kiss.”
And suddenly I realized how a simple unclear word had turned me from a loving mom into a sick predator. And I realized that their horror was justified.
