Humor
Life and Other Fearless Adventures!
by Kristen Houghton
©2007 Kristen Houghton return to main page
Life and Other Fearless Adventures!
by Kristen Houghton
©2007 Kristen Houghton return to main page
The Brace Face Club
Three-thirty on a Thursday afternoon, I’m sitting in a room of brace-faced kids, all of them
wearing some type of appliance guaranteed to straighten teeth, improve your bite, and make
your smile gorgeous. None of them are older than fifteen.
None of them, that is, except me. I am brace-free and pretty far removed from the girl I was
at fifteen.
Actually, during my pre-teen years I was only one of a handful of classmates who wasn’t
wearing the so despised heavy metal braces. My teeth had come in nice and straight and
cavity-free. They were the one thing about my adolescence appearance that I liked. Glasses I
had, baby-fat, definitely, but my teeth? Perfect.
But so many years of teeth grinding over work, marriage, and life in general had taken their
toll, creating spaces between my front teeth. So at the age of forty, I found myself in an
orthodontist’s waiting room, surrounded by pre-teens and kid centered magazines.
“Are you Greg’s mother?”
I turn to the sound of the voice and I find that I’m face to face with a girl wearing a retainer
that circles halfway out of her mouth and looks like a medieval torture device. She has on
black nail polish and is sporting a short blonde haircut with a few strands dyed magenta. That
I am able to understand what she is saying is a commendable feat on her part. I could never, I
decide, even mumble coherently with that thing in my mouth.
“No, I’m not Greg’s mom, sorry,” I say with a smile and open a magazine that has a cover
question in bold pink letters shouting, “Have You Ever Stalked a Guy on MySpace?
Real Answers from Real Teens!”
Okay now.
“So, are you Jen’s mother then?”
“No, I’m not Jen’s mother either,” I tell her returning to the stalker article
“Taylor’s?”
“Uh, no.”
“Well, who are you waiting for then? Most of the kids here are from my school and I know
everybody, and their moms, well sort of. But I don’t know you. Of course, I’ve never even
seen Taylor’s mom. Are you sure you’re not Taylor’s mom?” Miss Magenta is on a roll here
and not to be stopped by polite negations.
“I’m not waiting for anybody,” I say politely, “I’m here to see the orthodontist for myself.
I’m getting braces today.”
She doesn’t say anything right away, just kind of sucks on that torture thing and picks at the
polish on her thumb. Then,
“Wow! That’s awesome! I mean, how mad years are you? Wow! Oops! My bad, I didn’t
mean you were, you know, like ancient times or anything but, wow! That’s so mad cool!”
Uh-huh. Fortunately I was a high school linguistics teacher before becoming a writer and I can
pretty much translate kid-speak.
“Oh, no, that’s okay. I guess it is pretty weird getting braces at forty.”
“Forty?! Wow! Forty! You’re almost as old as my mother and she’s already forty-seven!
Mad cool!”
She is only about twelve, I tell myself. To her, twenty is old, so don’t take it seriously.
“My name is Schuyler. I’m almost twelve. Wow, and you’re forty. Forty! You’re, let’s see,
you’re, omigod, you’re twenty-nine years older than I am!”
I nod and smile. She may be a little short in the manners department but she’s a child who
doesn’t need a calculator to do simple math. Yay!
“So…why?” Persistent little thing.
I’ve read the same paragraph on teenage female stalkers three times.
“Sorry?”
“Why do you want braces now? I mean, how come you didn’t get braces when you were a
kid? Didn’t they have them back in the day?”
I sigh, put down the magazine, and tell her nicely that, yes they did have them “back in the
day” but that I just didn’t need braces when I was her age.
“How come you want them now, then?”
“My teeth spaced out. See? As I got older I began to grind them at night and that made
them space out.” I demonstrate so she’ll understand.
“Oh, okay. So this is an age thing. Got it. When you get old and stuff, right?”
I wince. Oh, boy!
“I guess you could say it’s something like that,” I say a bit testily. “I mean, I’ve been
grinding my teeth for a long time so, I guess it has to do with getting a bit older.
“Yeah,” she continues, “my grandmother had to have her teeth pulled out and then they
planted new ones so she won’t look weird, you know so her mouth won’t cave in like this.”
She sucks her lips in over her teeth. “But because of the plants, now she can eat anything
she wants, even those candy apples which I think are gross.”
“You mean im-plants,” I correct, “not plants, she got implants.”
“Yeah, whatever. Except me and my brother still think she looks weird ‘cause
they’re too shiny, but, me, I would never say that to her. My brother might, though,
he’s only nine. He says the planted teeth look like tinsel and…”
“Schuyler?”
A dental assistant saves me from further comments about “planted” teeth and a little brother’
s big mouth. She takes my inquisitive new friend into the back to have that torture thing in
her mouth adjusted.
I pick up the magazine, leaf through the stalker article, and then hear my name called, asking
me to come to the front desk.
“Ms. Houghton? This is the estimate for the procedure and appliance. We just need you to
fill in the insurance form. Okay?”
As I’m filling in the form, I comment about how it feels a little strange to be getting my first
set of braces at forty.
“Oh, no, really, we have a lot of adult patients come in all the time. We even have a few who
are in their sixties. It’s not a big deal any more, people just want to have nice smiles and
look good. Actually, I think it’s a new type of status symbol for people our age. It’s almost
like being a celebrity,” the receptionist replies.
I remark that I’m the only adult here today. Where are my fellow celebrities?
“Oh, well, you requested an appointment early in the day. Most of our older patients come in
after six at night.”
Oh.
A woman with short blonde hair comes in and the resemblance is unmistakable. This is
Schuyler’s mom. She asks when her daughter will be ready, and just before she sits down to
wait, a whirlwind comes flying across the room.
“Mom!! You got here just in time. I only just got done!” Pointing to me she says,
“This is my friend, she’s not Taylor’s mom; I thought she was, but she’s not. She getting
braces and she’s forty! Forty!! Isn’t that mad cool?”
Schuyler’s mother smiles at me in embarrassment and discreetly shushes her daughter.
“And Mom, I told her about Grams Melinda and her shiny new teeth and how now she can
eat.”
A girl attached to an iPod comes in the door and Schuyler goes over to her. She pulls an ear
bud out of her friend’s ear and whispers to her. The girl looks at me and mouths, “Wow!!”
Schuyler nods her head and smiles at me.
“Schuyler? Daddy’s waiting in the car. We have to leave.”
“Okay, Mom! Just a sec.”
My magenta and blonde haired friend brings her girlfriend over to introduce us.
“This is Brittany.” Brittany just stares and says, “hi” in an awed voice.
Schuyler gets close to me and says in a stage whisper,
“Listen, about the braces? Two things. One, don’t chew bubble gum, even the kind that
doesn’t stick, ‘cause, believe me it really does get stuck. And two, well maybe you won’t
have this problem, but, about kissing? If you kiss a guy with braces, just make sure you
don’t get locked together. My fifteen year old cousin did that with her boyfriend and, boy,
they had a heckuva time getting loose. Mad crazy!”
“Schuyler? Let’s go honey.”
“Okay, Mom!” She looks at me and says, “Wow! Maybe I’ll see you next month! I’m going to
bring Taylor! Anyway, good luck! At least you don’t need to have your teeth planted!””
I am in a daze. The receptionist taps my arm.
“Ms. Houghton? Would you like me to make your next appointment at night?”
Oh, yes, please God; being with adult brace-faces sounds really good to me right now.
As I go back to the article on teen stalking, I have a thought:
I hope they change the magazines after six o’clock.
***
Content copyright© 2007 by Kristen Houghton. All rights reserved.
This material was written by Kristen Houghton and may not be
published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed, wholly or in any
part, without the expressed written permission of Kristen Houghton
Copyright additionally covers all material written by the author under the
name CK Houghton
***********************************************************************************************************************
Three-thirty on a Thursday afternoon, I’m sitting in a room of brace-faced kids, all of them
wearing some type of appliance guaranteed to straighten teeth, improve your bite, and make
your smile gorgeous. None of them are older than fifteen.
None of them, that is, except me. I am brace-free and pretty far removed from the girl I was
at fifteen.
Actually, during my pre-teen years I was only one of a handful of classmates who wasn’t
wearing the so despised heavy metal braces. My teeth had come in nice and straight and
cavity-free. They were the one thing about my adolescence appearance that I liked. Glasses I
had, baby-fat, definitely, but my teeth? Perfect.
But so many years of teeth grinding over work, marriage, and life in general had taken their
toll, creating spaces between my front teeth. So at the age of forty, I found myself in an
orthodontist’s waiting room, surrounded by pre-teens and kid centered magazines.
“Are you Greg’s mother?”
I turn to the sound of the voice and I find that I’m face to face with a girl wearing a retainer
that circles halfway out of her mouth and looks like a medieval torture device. She has on
black nail polish and is sporting a short blonde haircut with a few strands dyed magenta. That
I am able to understand what she is saying is a commendable feat on her part. I could never, I
decide, even mumble coherently with that thing in my mouth.
“No, I’m not Greg’s mom, sorry,” I say with a smile and open a magazine that has a cover
question in bold pink letters shouting, “Have You Ever Stalked a Guy on MySpace?
Real Answers from Real Teens!”
Okay now.
“So, are you Jen’s mother then?”
“No, I’m not Jen’s mother either,” I tell her returning to the stalker article
“Taylor’s?”
“Uh, no.”
“Well, who are you waiting for then? Most of the kids here are from my school and I know
everybody, and their moms, well sort of. But I don’t know you. Of course, I’ve never even
seen Taylor’s mom. Are you sure you’re not Taylor’s mom?” Miss Magenta is on a roll here
and not to be stopped by polite negations.
“I’m not waiting for anybody,” I say politely, “I’m here to see the orthodontist for myself.
I’m getting braces today.”
She doesn’t say anything right away, just kind of sucks on that torture thing and picks at the
polish on her thumb. Then,
“Wow! That’s awesome! I mean, how mad years are you? Wow! Oops! My bad, I didn’t
mean you were, you know, like ancient times or anything but, wow! That’s so mad cool!”
Uh-huh. Fortunately I was a high school linguistics teacher before becoming a writer and I can
pretty much translate kid-speak.
“Oh, no, that’s okay. I guess it is pretty weird getting braces at forty.”
“Forty?! Wow! Forty! You’re almost as old as my mother and she’s already forty-seven!
Mad cool!”
She is only about twelve, I tell myself. To her, twenty is old, so don’t take it seriously.
“My name is Schuyler. I’m almost twelve. Wow, and you’re forty. Forty! You’re, let’s see,
you’re, omigod, you’re twenty-nine years older than I am!”
I nod and smile. She may be a little short in the manners department but she’s a child who
doesn’t need a calculator to do simple math. Yay!
“So…why?” Persistent little thing.
I’ve read the same paragraph on teenage female stalkers three times.
“Sorry?”
“Why do you want braces now? I mean, how come you didn’t get braces when you were a
kid? Didn’t they have them back in the day?”
I sigh, put down the magazine, and tell her nicely that, yes they did have them “back in the
day” but that I just didn’t need braces when I was her age.
“How come you want them now, then?”
“My teeth spaced out. See? As I got older I began to grind them at night and that made
them space out.” I demonstrate so she’ll understand.
“Oh, okay. So this is an age thing. Got it. When you get old and stuff, right?”
I wince. Oh, boy!
“I guess you could say it’s something like that,” I say a bit testily. “I mean, I’ve been
grinding my teeth for a long time so, I guess it has to do with getting a bit older.
“Yeah,” she continues, “my grandmother had to have her teeth pulled out and then they
planted new ones so she won’t look weird, you know so her mouth won’t cave in like this.”
She sucks her lips in over her teeth. “But because of the plants, now she can eat anything
she wants, even those candy apples which I think are gross.”
“You mean im-plants,” I correct, “not plants, she got implants.”
“Yeah, whatever. Except me and my brother still think she looks weird ‘cause
they’re too shiny, but, me, I would never say that to her. My brother might, though,
he’s only nine. He says the planted teeth look like tinsel and…”
“Schuyler?”
A dental assistant saves me from further comments about “planted” teeth and a little brother’
s big mouth. She takes my inquisitive new friend into the back to have that torture thing in
her mouth adjusted.
I pick up the magazine, leaf through the stalker article, and then hear my name called, asking
me to come to the front desk.
“Ms. Houghton? This is the estimate for the procedure and appliance. We just need you to
fill in the insurance form. Okay?”
As I’m filling in the form, I comment about how it feels a little strange to be getting my first
set of braces at forty.
“Oh, no, really, we have a lot of adult patients come in all the time. We even have a few who
are in their sixties. It’s not a big deal any more, people just want to have nice smiles and
look good. Actually, I think it’s a new type of status symbol for people our age. It’s almost
like being a celebrity,” the receptionist replies.
I remark that I’m the only adult here today. Where are my fellow celebrities?
“Oh, well, you requested an appointment early in the day. Most of our older patients come in
after six at night.”
Oh.
A woman with short blonde hair comes in and the resemblance is unmistakable. This is
Schuyler’s mom. She asks when her daughter will be ready, and just before she sits down to
wait, a whirlwind comes flying across the room.
“Mom!! You got here just in time. I only just got done!” Pointing to me she says,
“This is my friend, she’s not Taylor’s mom; I thought she was, but she’s not. She getting
braces and she’s forty! Forty!! Isn’t that mad cool?”
Schuyler’s mother smiles at me in embarrassment and discreetly shushes her daughter.
“And Mom, I told her about Grams Melinda and her shiny new teeth and how now she can
eat.”
A girl attached to an iPod comes in the door and Schuyler goes over to her. She pulls an ear
bud out of her friend’s ear and whispers to her. The girl looks at me and mouths, “Wow!!”
Schuyler nods her head and smiles at me.
“Schuyler? Daddy’s waiting in the car. We have to leave.”
“Okay, Mom! Just a sec.”
My magenta and blonde haired friend brings her girlfriend over to introduce us.
“This is Brittany.” Brittany just stares and says, “hi” in an awed voice.
Schuyler gets close to me and says in a stage whisper,
“Listen, about the braces? Two things. One, don’t chew bubble gum, even the kind that
doesn’t stick, ‘cause, believe me it really does get stuck. And two, well maybe you won’t
have this problem, but, about kissing? If you kiss a guy with braces, just make sure you
don’t get locked together. My fifteen year old cousin did that with her boyfriend and, boy,
they had a heckuva time getting loose. Mad crazy!”
“Schuyler? Let’s go honey.”
“Okay, Mom!” She looks at me and says, “Wow! Maybe I’ll see you next month! I’m going to
bring Taylor! Anyway, good luck! At least you don’t need to have your teeth planted!””
I am in a daze. The receptionist taps my arm.
“Ms. Houghton? Would you like me to make your next appointment at night?”
Oh, yes, please God; being with adult brace-faces sounds really good to me right now.
As I go back to the article on teen stalking, I have a thought:
I hope they change the magazines after six o’clock.
***
Content copyright© 2007 by Kristen Houghton. All rights reserved.
This material was written by Kristen Houghton and may not be
published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed, wholly or in any
part, without the expressed written permission of Kristen Houghton
Copyright additionally covers all material written by the author under the
name CK Houghton
***********************************************************************************************************************
