In eighth
grade I was a skinny, gangly female. I had nothing going for me in the way of
looks, skill, or popularity, so when my mom and dad announced that my braces
were going on soon, I thought, Oh, well,
what’s one more strike against me!
Braces were
not as common in 1962 as they are now and were definitely unthinkable if one wanted
to be accepted by their peers. I thought my teeth were plenty straight and they
were, somewhat, but I had an overbite that the dentist wanted to correct. During
the first year of my treatment I had to wear the small rubber bands that pulled
my upper jaw backward. The bands went from the top front to the bottom back. I
thought I’d never learn to get them in place, for often one would fly off its
hook and snap the inside of my mouth.
The second
year I had to wear one of those contraptions that was inserted into either side
of my mouth with two hooks that went along the outside of each cheek. A strap
was attached to one clasp and then stretched around behind my neck to the other
clasp to hold the whole thing in place. Thank GOD I only had to wear
this at night while I slept, which, by the way, was disastrous as far as
sleeping on my stomach or on my side was concerned. The wire gouged into my
cheek and the pressure against my face moved the wire inside my mouth driving
me into some serious discomfort. That’s when I learned to sleep on my back—very
still—all night!
One of my
classmates, Steven Fuller, a star basketball player all through high school,
also wore braces. I was shocked when I saw him play one of his games with that
same contraption around his neck. He also wore glasses that were held on by a
strap that went behind his head. He was a sight to behold but was one of the
most popular boys in school. It didn’t seem to bother him in the least to wear glasses or braces. Maybe girls are more
vain . . . I don’t know!
My dad,
being the comedian he is and knowing how I felt about my braces, always tried
to make me laugh. After every visit to the dentist he would ask me to smile and
show him what Dr. Bale had done. When
I did, he would say, “That’s the first time I ever saw teeth in a horse’s
arss.” I would pout disapprovingly and then we’d both laugh.
When I
turned sixteen, my dad let me go to the dentist office by myself since I now
had my driver’s license. It was a fearful trip for me as a new driver to go
down 23rd Street in Richmond through daytime traffic while the city
buses wove in and out and made their stops along the way.
Still and
all, I’m now thankful that my mom and dad sacrificed for me so that I could have
beautiful straight teeth.
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