“I’m going to have to have a root canal next week. . .”

I might have heard these words uttered by any number of relatives in my childhood. These words were usually met with a sort of sympathetic response from my mother. This response might have been, “Oh, dear. . .” or “Oh my. . .”

The conversation would usually gravitate toward, “Paulie, if you don’t ever want to have a root canal, you will need to brush and floss better.”

These root canals. . .they could be avoided seemingly. It would come down to my ability to work a little harder at the one thing I was being asked to do three to four times daily.

If I didn’t want to have a root canal.

Here’s the thing. When I was a child, dental hygiene was talked about as regularly as the state of the family at large. It was falling part, and we were losing members, some to age and some to decay. The bone was giving way and some of the originals could not hold their root.

My family–to the best of my knowledge–rarely carried dental insurance. Or at least it was not known to me that we had dental insurance. My experiences in the dental chair as a child can be reduced to an a need for a filling. Or in my midteens, the trauma that would result in the loss of teeth and bone in my upper palate.

No. . .I couldn’t tell you the name of one single dentist I ever saw as a child. Not one. Not the first time I ever heard that my bite was incorrect from ___________. Not a bad experience in ____________’s chair. Not a super check up or a prize awarded from __________’s office.

All of my dentists are archetypal. They are male. They are clinical-looking. They could have been principals or presidents of local lodges had they not dedicated their life to teeth. They were a look of shame and all of their heads touch alternate shoulders in a sort of disapproval that never ends. If I saw them today, I’ll be their heads are still turning from left and right like some kind of turn signal that refuses to correct itself.

All of their offices are are some Colorform place with colorful stickers cut into the shapes of high back chairs, highlight magazines, and Paul W. Hankins. We are all temporary here. When you are finished with the visit, you simply lay the magazine back on the  table. pat down the high back chair, and peel Paul away from the scene.

Today, I had a root canal. It is the first step in the journey that will eventually see my teeth healthy. And my bite. . .better. Early consultations say that my bite will never be picture-perfect. I had to laugh today while under the care of my endodontist when her assistant was asking if she should have her midline shift corrected or not. Midline shift. . .hello. . .the man in the chair is a Class III Maloclusion. You’ve never seen anything like this young lady. I know because people much older than you have told me that they have never seen anything like my bite.

Midline shift.

The man in the chair is in midlife crisis.

He wonders if he should have this corrected.

Of the two scheduled root canals this morning, only one was performed. There were phone consultations between the endodontist and the dentist regarding the viability of the other tooth in question (the only tooth with which we can make a bite contact at this point). It seems that like some song from “Oklahoma,” that Tooth #3 has “gone about as far as [it] can go. . .”

I find that if you can sing about such things it keeps you from crying over such things. This was not the setback we were expecting this morning. A bridge was suggested in this space. Good. Another bridge. My mouth is like the Ohio River. We just need one more bridge. Maybe right here. And here. And here.

Endodontists are specialists. They are very business-like. I left thinking, “I don’t have a relationship in this office. I have a report. I came with a need for services. Those services were rendered. Time to go back to my dentist now for more work. Note to self. Specialists are amazed that you are sitting in their chair with the bite you have. They suspect that you will be in a orthodontics journal sometime soon. They look forward to reading the article.”

Specialists speak to the condition. Pracititioners speak to the concern.

This is where I am going with this today. Are we specialists or practitioners when it comes to our readers in our rooms. Do we speak to the condition of the reader and the ability to read, or do we work diligently to speak to the concerns of the reader?

We’ve talked about my dentist’s question about my normality within the place from which I come. Yes. To my people, I look normal. But it has been the question, “Are you physically, socially, and psychologically ready to leave your heritage?” that has had me ruminating on the idea of what it means to “leave one’s heritage” when it comes to the ability to read.

A pre-reader who doesn’t read probably looks normal at home. Perhaps an older relative is coming home at the end of a twelve-hour shift. There are boots left by the door. A lunch pail placed upon the counter. A falling into an easy chair with a soft “umph.” Maybe this relative says, “If you don’t want to work as hard as I do, you need to stay in school.” There will be no book that is taken from a TBR pile here. There will be no discussions about what is being read at school. There will be no concern that a book is overdue to the public library.

A heritage. A heritage that looks normal.

But don’t we “leave our heritage” every time we open a new book? We give ourselves over to new settings, to new situations, to new siblings for the moment that we enter into the pages. . .the plot. . .the place.

A new heritage.

These are the words I shared with Noah (13) today:

“I had a root canal today. They seem to be necessary for the health of your mouth. . .your teeth. . .your smile. Someday, you may need one. But, you can see that I am fine. I was silly to have worried. Thanks for taking me to my appointment.”

We are creating a new heritage.

And on Thursday afternoon, we will piggy-back our orthodontist appointments. Noah and Maddie are about mid-way through their orthodontia treatement plan. I am just going in. . .there are no need to level these kinds of things. I do not feel like I am just catching up or that I am too far behind.

I know this. . .a root canal is a necessary part of the treatment plan.

Reading Counts is a unnecessary part of a teaching approach.

I am a practitioner. I practice what I teach.

I am not a specialist. Our chairside manor is based upon a long-term relationship with reading. And books.

I am working on creating new heritages.

My people are helping me with my smile.

I will help my peope with their stories.