Wisdom Teeth

I graduated.

This was supposed to be the most important day of my life...so why was i in a pale yellow dentist chair clutching a clear plastic tube with the sole purpose of sucking pineapple flavored gunk from my mouth.

The trip to the dentist didn't seem special. It was like any other visit...the oral technician sands my teeth....next, she attempts to floss my gums...the bleeding stops...then the shrapnel-like instrument to check for cavities...more scraping...my choice of fluoride flavoring, its subsequent removal...and Dr. Okawachi strolls by to check my progress first hand. Like clock work...

"Hey mr. vince."

From gums to wisdom teeth, I was mr. vince. Call my life-long dentist uncreative, I loved the nickname because, as a child, it inspired maturity. It said i was too old for "Vincent" (just like Dave was too old for "David"), plus I could be married. And as my tooth count reached the thirties, the nickname's connotation became childish. Not in a demeaning way, but in a more youthful sense.

We continue with our usual small talk. Where are you going next year? What's Peter up to? When's Natalie's baby gonna visit me?...I loved hearing Dr. Okawachi talk. He was medium sized Japanese man with bright, smiling eyes. They really did grin, as if he brushed them with Crest. His voice was particularly inviting too, but with a patronizing inflection. An extensive career with children had blessed him with a soothing tone, like anaesthesia. But to anyone past the age of fifteen he came across sounding like a muppet or LeVar Burton.

The lightness of our banter became progressively heavier...and then it stopped altogether.

"Well mr. vince, it looks likes this will be your last visit. You're graduating."

......Graduating? But i was only seventeen. My sister had been twenty one before she had been barred from Dr. Okawachi's dental office. I imagined her being escorted from the premises by a squad of muscular oral technicians in uniforms with the words "braces brigade" or "plaque patrol" stitched into their breast pockets.

At least for my high school graduation i had prepared by sleeping in the backroom during cluster. Preparing for a life of waking up to my ipod alone...but this...this i hadn't prepared for at all...i was blind-sided.

I finally responded with a mumbled "wow," with a "look how time flies" smile. We walked over to the appointment desk. Dr. Okawachi pronounced i was cavity-free and dropped the graduation bombshell. This sent a few ripples through my mom, she had also not expected this finality. He handed her a card with a new address and a small map etched on its front, explaining that the office was being moved...for the second time in the span of two minutes i was attempting to hide my dismay. "We need a bigger space," was his response...apparently i had asked him, "Why move?"

I scanned everything in that crowded office with the intent of sucking it into my brain. The posters Cavity-Free Kids took their picture in front of to commemorate their achievement were stored somewhere in my head. (I always chose the Bugs Bunny poster...and by always i mean the one time both my mom and i left the office smiling. The superman poster said I'm over-compensating for something, while astronaut mickey was for the toddler crowd.) The deep purple contours of the treasure chest every patient rifled through after a visit also shoved their way into my memory like a stubborn snaggletooth. (It was filled with all sorts of trinkets...my personal favorite was the gargantuan sticky hands that mutated into globs of gooey dirt after a day's use, which were also excellent for smacking siblings within a three foot radius.)


God, I wasn't ready to leave. A few minutes went by after i realized while i was gawking at my dental childhood my mom was asking when to bring Kyden, my nephew, for his first visit. Dr. Okawachi explained he was eager to see his first patient's first born. Kyden will be the beginning. I am the ending...it's surreal to be the ending. This thought made me smile...