“He's not that young.”
“Oh, yeah? If he’d raised his hand, I’d have written him a bathroom pass.”
“He is a professional. His degrees are hanging on the wall of his office.”
“Give me fifteen minutes alone with Microsoft Publisher and I can make you dean of Harvard Law School.”
“Well, he’s old enough to drive a Lexus.”
“I don’t care if he pilots a twin engine. What kind of grownup would shoot your face full of rigor mortis and ask you to spit?”
Right on the heels of our Sushi While You Bait adventure, I joined forces with an errant stick of Juicy Fruit gum to initiate Fun With Dentistry day. My crown popped out of my jaw like a kernel of Jiffy Pop over high heat. The Captain tried to calm my fears with the voice of reason. The voice of reason now speaks in falsetto.
When I was a kid and lost a tooth, the tooth fairy would leave a shiny new quarter under my pillow. She must have invested heavily in Microsoft, because these days she deals in folding money. But I haven’t seen her since the last time I could see my feet without using mirrors.
I feel obliged to keep my local dentist in work so that he can afford that villa in Hilton Head, the Riviera of the south, but with Spanish moss and alligators. You can tell it’s civilized by the number of men in plaid pants stalking the golf course and putting through the windmill. I like the guy just fine and want him to have a good life, but he’s so young his parents have to cosign his prescriptions.
It’s unsettling when a fellow young enough to know all the words to the Pokeman theme song sets about buffing your teeth with a power sander. I don’t know if it’s a good idea to let someone whose favorite piece of literature is illustrated with Japanese cartoon characters edge around your eyeteeth, but before I knew it, Dr. Drillbit was up to his Converse All Stars in my mouth. I made a mental note to remind him to tie his shoes and wear matching socks.
He yanked enough roots out of my mouth to start a vegetable garden and spackled in some replacement teeth before I could say Holy Molar. Maybe we have different priorities.I’m 51 years old. I could use that cement to hold up more important things than my teeth.
My sons were aghast to discover that I’d raided their inheritance to pay for the dental work. Screwing the cap back on the jar, I took advantage of the teaching moment and gave them each a shiny new quarter to help blaze a trail to a new life.
Meanwhile, I’m waiting up for the tooth fairy. She’s got a lot of explaining to do.
And I’ve got some spare cement.
Laugh
Showing posts with label Pokemon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pokemon. Show all posts
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
First
Today there is change. I watched the inauguration with my teenaged son, which is sort of like inviting the Incredible Hulk to the opera, only without the purple pants.
“You want to watch the inauguration?” I asked, eyeing the living room’s big screen TV.
“Ummm. No,” he answered, sending a random Italian pizza maker to his death with the push of a button.
So, strictly speaking, we didn’t watch the inauguration together, but we were in the same house. While he was playing video games in the living room, I was in the bedroom with Barack Obama, his wife, Michelle, and about 40 zillion other American citizens. But the door was open. AND I had the sound up.
Two months ago, we packed the car full of hope for the future and took the kids to vote. Taking your kids to vote in their first presidential election is like baking biscuits without a recipe for the first time. You know you put in all the right ingredients, but you’re iffy on the amounts of everything, not quite sure if you left something important out by mistake, and you hope you turn out with a basic building block of sustenance and not a crumbly mess that falls to the floor and sticks to the bottom of your shoe.
We didn’t all vote for the same candidate. Of course, out of the four of us we can barely get two to agree what to eat for supper, so it’s probably too much to ask that we see eye-to-eye on the person who will hold the highest office in our nation. The only thing we ever agree on is the need for high speed Internet access, and even then fights break out about cost, time-sharing, and the reliability of Wikipedia for research purposes.
But no matter who you voted for, Inauguration Day is about the American people, exercising the right to be governed in a way that gives them a voice. Come to think of it, sometimes I’d willingly vote for the candidate who could do something about the voices in my house.
“Why does it matter that he’s black?’ says the kid who has always used race more for identification purposes than anything else. His posse has more different nationalities than the opening ceremonies at the Olympic games. He’s as likely to say, “the tan kid with the curly hair” as he is “the one in the green shirt” or “that kid who’s so awesome on Guitar Hero.”
“He’s the first African American president. That’s historically important.”
“I’m the second Pokemon Professor in South Carolina. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
“Well, I’m proud of you, but people traditionally celebrate the first person to do something. The first black president. The first man on the moon. See?”
“I have a Pokemon Professor T Shirt.”
“Mr. Obama has a plan to revive America’s economy.”
“Does he have a T Shirt?”
About that time an enthusiastic supporter waving to the cameras on the National Mall held up a T Shirt of the first family, featuring a smiling Mr. & Mrs. Obama and their two daughters.
I grinned. “Yep. There it is.”
He studied the television screen and shook his head. “Well it’s a good thing he got the job. Maybe now he can get his own T Shirt instead of having to share.”
“You want to watch the inauguration?” I asked, eyeing the living room’s big screen TV.
“Ummm. No,” he answered, sending a random Italian pizza maker to his death with the push of a button.
So, strictly speaking, we didn’t watch the inauguration together, but we were in the same house. While he was playing video games in the living room, I was in the bedroom with Barack Obama, his wife, Michelle, and about 40 zillion other American citizens. But the door was open. AND I had the sound up.
Two months ago, we packed the car full of hope for the future and took the kids to vote. Taking your kids to vote in their first presidential election is like baking biscuits without a recipe for the first time. You know you put in all the right ingredients, but you’re iffy on the amounts of everything, not quite sure if you left something important out by mistake, and you hope you turn out with a basic building block of sustenance and not a crumbly mess that falls to the floor and sticks to the bottom of your shoe.
We didn’t all vote for the same candidate. Of course, out of the four of us we can barely get two to agree what to eat for supper, so it’s probably too much to ask that we see eye-to-eye on the person who will hold the highest office in our nation. The only thing we ever agree on is the need for high speed Internet access, and even then fights break out about cost, time-sharing, and the reliability of Wikipedia for research purposes.
But no matter who you voted for, Inauguration Day is about the American people, exercising the right to be governed in a way that gives them a voice. Come to think of it, sometimes I’d willingly vote for the candidate who could do something about the voices in my house.
“Why does it matter that he’s black?’ says the kid who has always used race more for identification purposes than anything else. His posse has more different nationalities than the opening ceremonies at the Olympic games. He’s as likely to say, “the tan kid with the curly hair” as he is “the one in the green shirt” or “that kid who’s so awesome on Guitar Hero.”
“He’s the first African American president. That’s historically important.”
“I’m the second Pokemon Professor in South Carolina. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
“Well, I’m proud of you, but people traditionally celebrate the first person to do something. The first black president. The first man on the moon. See?”
“I have a Pokemon Professor T Shirt.”
“Mr. Obama has a plan to revive America’s economy.”
“Does he have a T Shirt?”
About that time an enthusiastic supporter waving to the cameras on the National Mall held up a T Shirt of the first family, featuring a smiling Mr. & Mrs. Obama and their two daughters.
I grinned. “Yep. There it is.”
He studied the television screen and shook his head. “Well it’s a good thing he got the job. Maybe now he can get his own T Shirt instead of having to share.”
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
You Might Be A Parent If. . .
You have ever stood toe to toe with another adult at Christmas time, clutching the last action figure on the shelf at Wal-Mart and spewing spittle into one another’s face, because that action figure is second only to "Surprises" on The List.
You have ever entertained ten cake-throwing preschoolers wearing party hats in your living room so that Johnny will have warm birthday memories and extra presents.
You have ever sat through three showings of Pokemon, The Movie because it’s Precious Child’s favorite film.
You have ever stood in line during your lunch hour to exchange the Spiderman bookbag for the Iron Man bookbag because NOBODY has a Spiderman bookbag. (Feel free to substitute Barney, Dora the Explorer, Bob the Builder or your own animated choice.)
You have ever taken time off work to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for Parent’s Lunch Day at second grade.
You have ever thought the sixth grade band played the most beautiful and spirited version of Frosty the Snowman that has ever been witnessed the world over.
You have ever worked overtime to make up for the time you were late taking Billy’s lunchbox to school because he left it in your car and you know they’re having ugly food in the school cafeteria.
You have ever climbed into the driver’s seat of your car only to come in contact with the business end of GI Joe’s assault weapon.
You have ever told one child not to “look at,” “touch,” or “smile at” another child?
You have ever uttered the words “Because I Said So!” because if you said what you were really thinking it would scar the listener--and bind your psyche with guilt--for life.
You have ever entertained ten cake-throwing preschoolers wearing party hats in your living room so that Johnny will have warm birthday memories and extra presents.
You have ever sat through three showings of Pokemon, The Movie because it’s Precious Child’s favorite film.
You have ever stood in line during your lunch hour to exchange the Spiderman bookbag for the Iron Man bookbag because NOBODY has a Spiderman bookbag. (Feel free to substitute Barney, Dora the Explorer, Bob the Builder or your own animated choice.)
You have ever taken time off work to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for Parent’s Lunch Day at second grade.
You have ever thought the sixth grade band played the most beautiful and spirited version of Frosty the Snowman that has ever been witnessed the world over.
You have ever worked overtime to make up for the time you were late taking Billy’s lunchbox to school because he left it in your car and you know they’re having ugly food in the school cafeteria.
You have ever climbed into the driver’s seat of your car only to come in contact with the business end of GI Joe’s assault weapon.
You have ever told one child not to “look at,” “touch,” or “smile at” another child?
You have ever uttered the words “Because I Said So!” because if you said what you were really thinking it would scar the listener--and bind your psyche with guilt--for life.
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