by Anease Lacaze

Created on: October 11, 2008

I began school early. I was only 5 when I entered the first grade. Fundamentally, I was among peers, but physically, I was behind. Naturally, occasions would come up where my difference in age was extremely apparent. I can remember children in my kindergarten class losing their first teeth during lunch, or hearing them talk about the tooth fairy. I did not have clue. I mean, I had heard of the tooth fairy, and read books about losing teeth as a child. But, she had certainly never paid me a visit. When I entered the first grade with every last baby tooth still firmly intact, the divide grew further. Month after month, my friends lost teeth. My teacher even made a big deal out of each one, allowing each student to tell their story. Sometimes, the same child would talk about his experience more than once in a week! I was missing out on everything.

In the spring time, I finally felt a wiggle. One of my bottom front teeth was just slightly beginning to loosen. I fooled with that tooth incessantly. I made my mom move it probably every hour; it was her job to track its progress each day. Although, I am not sure she knew of this responsibility. During school one day, we made caramel apples. We took turns dipping our apples into the warm caramel, and then we enjoyed them for the rest of the afternoon. While taking a gigantic bite, I felt a tug. MY TOOTH! I was worried at first. Did I swallow it? Luckily, I did not swallow my tooth. Unluckily, however, my tooth was still very much attached, and quite sore. Bloody and disappointed, I went home.

My mom was full of ideas. Not necessarily good ideas, but they often did the trick in the end. We ate dinner as usual; all the while, they convinced me to let them "remove" the tooth. Just how the removal would occur, I was not sure. After dinner, I brushed my teeth. My mom told me she was going to tie a string around my tooth and then tie me to the front door. She told me I was going to have to close my eyes while she slammed the door, thus pulling out the stubborn tooth. I conceded- begrudgingly. I winced before the string was even tied to the door. My heart raced, my stomach tossed. I closed my eyes as told, and my mom began to count to three. Bad idea, I knew what was coming at three; I lunged forward, leaving the tooth in place. My mom left me there initially, but then said "wait, come into the kitchen." I followed the order. "I'm going to tie you to the cabinet, and you will slam the door when you are ready." I gasped, although I thought it was a decent idea.

I knelt on the kitchen floor, waiting for the right time. I closed my eyes and tried with all my might to slam that door. I just couldn't do it. Angry with myself, and being a bit of a hot head, I stood up. I was irate and just plain riled up over this ordeal. Just then, I realized that my parents were both laughing and looking at me in disbelief. My tooth, now lying on the floor with a thin thread tied around it was no longer in my mouth. I felt the fresh space between my teeth. Oops. At first, I was even feistier. Embarrassment is not my friend. But I soon grew excited for my first visit from the tooth fairy. And when I awoke the next morning: $1 under my pillow. Sweet!

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