A tooth is lost, and a 10-year-old’s innocence slips away

CRIMSON COMMENTS by Rose McGlew

   I write this with a heavy heart; my son is growing up.
   In that growing up, he’s growing out and away from me and away from that little, wonder-filled person I’ve treasured for 10 years. He’s becoming someone else and I’m not sure how I feel about that. I had been coming to this conclusion during this entire school year, noticing little changes here and there in attitude and demeanor. I knew it was time for these changes to begin and I had accepted their surfacing without too much rancor. But last Saturday, we reached the point of no return. Paul no longer believes in the Tooth Fairy. And his voicing this nonbelief has put a knife right through my heart.
   Jacob’s tooth had been loose for only a few days and on Saturday morning, as we were running out the door to get to soccer on time, he pushed it forward with the tip of his tongue just far enough to make me gag. (We all have those queasy moments and, for me, loose teeth will send me over the edge. I’ll clean up bodily fluid accidents all day long, but don’t make me look at wiggly teeth. That’s just another reason why I can never teach kindergarten.) I shuddered and informed Jacob that enough was enough with The Tooth. He and Paul proceeded to have a nauseating conversation the entire car ride about how loose The Tooth was and I turned the radio up louder and louder to cover the discussion.
   When I heard Paul say admiringly, "Wow, Jake; it’s just hanging on by a little thread," I felt my face flush and noticed my vision become a little blurry.
   "That’s it. We’re here. Get out and don’t mention That Tooth for the rest of the day."
   They shot me a brothers-in-cahoots-against-parental-unit look and scattered to their respective fields.
   Later that afternoon, we were heading over to Toms River and I was relieved to notice a significant silence with regard to The Tooth. We looked at horses and commented on the new rides at Great Adventure that we want to try this summer and generally held pleasant conversation until we pulled in for some cash and gas at the Wawa in Jackson. Paul noticed some large, probably-soft-earlier-in-the-day pretzels and asked if he and Jacob could split one. No harm there, I thought, until Paul mentioned that Jacob was likely to lose That Tooth when biting down on the pretzel. Jacob and I both turned a little green at that thought and Paul ended up with the whole pretzel for himself.
   Arriving at my aunt’s house in Toms River, Jacob bounded out of the car, anxious to tell my cousin about The Tooth. My cousin is the epitome of coolness to the boys, being of college age AND a drummer, so his opinion was of utmost importance with regard to The Tooth. Sure enough, Mick pronounced The Tooth cool. Great. More wiggling ensued, although I noticed Jacob was doing it with his mouth closed while I was within grossing-out distance.
   We stood in the kitchen discussing the recent basement-cleaning extravaganza when Jacob came up to me with The Tooth practically falling out of his gum. "Eeew!" was my practiced and mature Mom reaction.
   "I’m sorry, Jaker, but you better go ask Aunt Bon to pull that out. Here, take a piece of paper towel."
   I shoved the Bounty into his hand and sent him on his way. Paul intercepted him and, with quiet resolve, popped The Tooth from it’s socket and handed over the treasure.
   "Mom! Paul pulled it out!" Jacob came running back to me with a bloody mouth and impossibly small bit of calcified enamel in his hand.
   "Look at that! You are very brave." I was proud of him. We wrapped it carefully in a sandwich bag and packed it in my pocketbook to take home.
   A chaotic bedtime ensued that night, with the excitement level rather high due to the impending visit from the Tooth Fairy. We tucked The Tooth gingerly under Jacob’s pillow and said our goodnights quickly so as not to delay any visitors. I went back into the kitchen and Paul asked quietly but very matter-of-factly, "So, how much are you giving him?"
   "What?"
   "How much are you leaving him for his tooth?"
   "I don’t leave him anything," I said weakly, not meeting Paul’s eyes. "That’s the Tooth Fairy’s business."
   "Mom. I’m not going to tell him, you know."
   "I know. Go to bed." I sighed heavily, feeling part of that innocence slip away quietly, knowing that Paul felt more mature now, being in on an adult mystery.
   About five minutes later, he reappeared, looking just the least bit concerned.
   "Mom?"
   "Yeah?"
   "What about Santa?"
   Oh boy. "Well, Paul, really. Do you think Daddy and I can afford to give you all the stuff Santa brings?"
   "No, not really."
   "Well, there you go. Go to bed."
   I don’t think Paul will question too much about Santa; I told him that the Tooth Fairy doesn’t visit people that don’t believe in her. I think he still wants a little magic in his life.
Rose McGlew lives in Robbinsville. Her column appears weekly in The Messenger-Press.