Jason M. Jones

“How old are you?” the hygienist asks.

My daughter tells her.

“When’s your birthday?”

“Sixty-five!” my daughter shouts. I have no idea what she means. I intervene to correct her.

“So she’s a new three then,” the hygienist says. “I would have thought she was closer to four. She’s so smart. And so pretty…”

Ignoring the fact that my daughter just said she was born in the month, year or day of “sixty-five” whatever that means, I’m lapping this up. Don’t all parents? I think my daughter is both, and I like confirmation. But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here about her teeth.

My own teeth are expensive. I don’t know how else to put it, and they got that way because I didn’t take care of them as a teenager. Some people have bad teeth because of genetics. Mine are bad from laziness. I take good care of them now. My dentist is often complimenting me. And I believe if I’d taken care of them this well when I was a kid, I wouldn’t have the problems I had now, so I’m trying to get my daughter started early. Imbue her with habits that are healthy for her. After all, once a tooth gets a cavity, it’s pretty much done for. It dies a slow death, but a death nonetheless. It gets filled. The filling wears down and gets replaced. Each time, they take a little more of the tooth with it until it needs to be crowned, and a crown is the financial equivalent of your first born or a pact with the devil. To put it succinctly, a crown is around five hundred dollars on my insurance. I have five, maybe six of them. I can’t remember, and I’m not going to try to count them in the mirror right now. That’s around three grand in my mouth. Not to mention the filings and root canal. All told I’ve probably spent about five grand on my teeth in the past ten years. So I think about my daughter’s teeth. She’s young. There’s time to set her on the right track. Time to make sure she doesn’t follow in my dental footsteps.

I took a half-day from work to bring her here. I do this twice a year since she turned two. My wife does the doctor’s visits and I do dental. I like the practice we chose, too. They have a nice way with children. They’re friendly with them and gentle. My first dentist was Dr. LaRocca. Elderly. Old-school. I remember him looking something like the Crypt Keeper from HBO’s Tales from the Crypt. I’m not entirely certain he even kept Novocaine on the premises. And while remembering him as the Crypt Keeper is a child’s embellishment, my parents have since confirmed they made a mistake in bringing me there. I started off intimidated by dentists. Rather than put me on a path where I kept good care of my teeth so I wouldn’t have to return to him, I ignore them, pretended plague and decay didn’t exist except the two times a year I had to go for a cleaning. I should mention, I only saw him once or twice before my parents found someone else, who I also remember as having a kind gentle demeanor. In any case, all dentists are good with guilt-trips, and even a look askance from the current hygienist questioning my daughter imbues me with a sense of this shame.

“Are we brushing and flossing mornings and nights?”

“Well, the morning times are more difficult…”

She tilts her head.

“Your daughter’s teeth are close together. Food can get stuck. It’s important to stay on top of this.”

So I have to try harder mornings too. It’s just that we’re always running around, scrambling to get her to daycare and get myself to work on time.

How does one instill a value for clean teeth in a child? It’s so easy to be lazy about them. My teenage years are a testament to that. I didn’t have to pay the dental bills, so I didn’t think of it. Once I did, you can be damn sure I started a new regimen. Flossing, mouthwash, brushing, twice daily. I didn’t eat many sweets. They hygienist takes her first X-rays, and they look good. The dentist comes in and does a final check. I want her approval too. Last time, they recommended that I start flossing my daughter’s teeth. It was tough with the regular kind of floss, but we bought the floss picks and it became much easier.

“Water or white milk is good. Avoid juice…”

“We don’t really buy it in our house…”

She nods and smiles approvingly. Just the look I wanted.

Can I explain how important this is in terms my children will understand? A filling is the equivalent of five trips to the movies. A crown, a Play Station. It’s materialistic, and I don’t want to imbue them with the sense that gadgets are important. The material I care about is irreplaceable, is their teeth. If putting a consumeristic price on them helps it sink in, then I’ll do it. My daughter is only three, and we’re okay so far, but she likes chocolate and candy. How long can it last? I need to remain vigilant.

“Any other question?” The dentists asks.

“Her physician insisted on giving us a prescription for fluoride. I’ve read it’s only really useful if applied topically, that ingesting doesn’t do much good.”

“There’s different schools of thought on this. I would say, it doesn’t have to be administered regularly. If you want to give it to her every other day, that’s fine. You’re not helping the teeth in her mouth right now with it. You’re helping the teeth coming in.”

She gives that nod of approval then, the one teachers give when their pupil is getting it, and I feel like, yes, I’m a good dad. Yes, I care about these things. There’s a transparent moment of ego in it. It’s semi-ridiculous, if not fully ridiculous, the way this gives me a thrill.

“Also, my own dentist keeps pushing an electric toothbrush. At what point would you start a child with one of those?”

“They’re good for your teeth and she can try it now. They sell battery operated ones, and you might want to get one of those and alternate. She’ll get used to the feel. You don’t want to run right out and buy one of the regular ones though. They’re expensive.”

When it comes to dental care and teeth, isn’t everything?