Everyday
Thoughts
My Dad’s Teeth
My dad and I had something besides genetics in common when we met on my birthdate. Neither of us had teeth, except for the couple of molars the dentist had spared to hold dad’s lower bridge of dentures in place. He was only 27.
Although I missed the message about betrothed couples giving each other gifts on their wedding day, dad didn’t. He gave mom a new set of choppers so she could enjoy his perfect smile every minute of wedded bliss.
Dad had several smiles in my lifetime – the result of new dentures. I didn’t understand why he couldn’t have the same alignment every time until an older lady I know explained it when she caught me looking too long at her new teeth. This person who was familiar to me looked so different.
A toothless jawbone and gums shrink, changing the fit of the dentures. New dentures are necessary for a better fit. Also, most false teeth aren’t as strong as real teeth, so they wear down over time. My dad got his last smile shortly before he died. His final formal picture, taken for the church directory, rests on my dresser. Mom chose to display an older picture, perhaps because she liked the familiarity of dad’s previous look.
Seeing my dad’s changing teeth – whether or not they were in his mouth -- was part of normal family life for us. We saw them soaking in the fizzy Polident solution at night. By morning, the fizzy foam had cleared and the upper plate and bridge were visible. I remember the smell of Polident – but I also remember the taste, so the recollection probably comes from me soaking my retainer instead of reverence for dad.
My dad’s parents had dentures, and grandma used them in an unusual way. In a room full of grandchildren, she whipped out her upper plate and chased our tiny heinies with it as we shrieked with laughter. In a less cognizant but purposeful move, my great-grandmother removed her top dentures to lick off the last bit of Fanny May maple creams, her favorite.
What has shocked me more than my family’s denture adventures, however, has nothing to do with false teeth. After my mom died three years ago – with all but one of her natural teeth, I found a tiny head-and-shoulders shot of my dad with his real teeth. They weren’t the perfectly shaped pearly whites that I was used to, no matter the decade of his dentition. But they didn’t look too bad.
I stared at the picture for a long time, wishing I could pinch my fingers together and then spread them out to enlarge the tiny image. I grabbed a magnifying glass, but the picture still wasn’t large enough to see it in detail. Then, in a combination of old and new, I took a picture of the picture and enlarged it. I stared at it for a long time. And many other long times after that.
I’m unsure why my dad needed new teeth. Perhaps he didn’t. Sixty-five years ago, dentists were quicker to pull teeth and fit a person with dentures than they are now. Every time dad got new teeth, he adjusted to the new feel of them, and we adjusted to the new look. The newly discovered picture confounds me because it shows a man I never knew.
Purposefully shifting my view away from his teeth, I recognize his nose, his lips, his hairline and his ears, which protruded just enough to be noticeable. Just like I never saw dad’s real teeth, I never saw his heart either. But it was always there, loving me through my many changes during our 31 years together.
Gina is currently a correspondent for the Community News Brief. She has worked in healthcare marketing and communications for 34 years. Gina is a graduate of Western Illinois University, where she was editor-in-chief of the Western Courier. The Community News Brief is proud to have Gina on staff and we hope you enjoy her 'Everyday Life' column.
