Brace yourself

If there is one thing I can say with certainty, it is that I do not want to have someone stick a metal key in my mouth and crank a device that makes my mouth wider.
But go ahead and do it to my daughter twice daily.
Yes, she is in the beginning stages of braces, and I have been immersed in a world I know nothing about. And it’s not a world I like very much.
I was fortunate in that I never needed braces. All of my sisters had them, and plenty of my friends donned the mouth metal, too. But I never got up close and personal with them. Sure, I saw what happens when a basketball hits a braced mouth. Yes, I saw people climbing through Dumpsters trying to find a retainer that was left on a lunch tray. And I took great joy in watching my sister wear a gigantic headgear that looked like a patio umbrella without the fabric.
But that was as close as I had to get. I never got to experience personally what seemed like a nightmare. Now I get to go up close.
We knew Allie was going to need braces, but I was not aware that they put them on as early as third grade.
And it’s a multi-step process, designed to incorporate many acts into this exciting play.
The first step of the process was the spacers. These were little green rubber bands placed in between her teeth so that every time she smiled she looked like she had a mouthful of spinach. Those were in there for a couple of weeks in an effort to, well, I guess space things out.
That was pretty tame compared to her current addition, her “appliance.” My wife had one of these when she was a kid, and relayed some really fond memories. She said that the appliance fits snugly into the roof of the mouth. Twice a day, you stick a key into a little hole in the appliance and turn it, slowly widening the mouth.
The night before getting the appliance, I took Allie on an Internet adventure to show her what she would be getting. After showing her pictures of Hannibal Lecter, the man in the iron mask, and the James Bond villain, Jaws, my wife informed me that I was not funny. Brilliant social commentary is clearly dead.
So the next day she got the appliance, and the first thing I noticed is that this did not sound like my little girl. Rather, she sounded like the babysitter from “The Incredibles.” (If you have not seen “The Incredibles,” you may be excused from this column to go and do so.) It is starting to get a little more normal as she adjusts to having the roof of her mouth covered. (In case you are curious, she refuses to say “Sufferin’ succotash!”)
When it came time to turn the key, I will say that I was not the most helpful person in the room. For starters, I was expecting my wife to pull out this great big gothic key that we would put in her mouth and turn, the sound of cracking bones filling the room. When she opened a small envelope and pulled out something about the size of a sewing needle, it was clear that I was perhaps in need of a reality check. “But the sound ...” My wife told me that this was not a brutal pry bar that forced her jaw open, but rather a gradual and quite painless way to prep the teeth for braces.
Allie and I conferred and decided we did not believe her. While I tried to be encouraging, I think I subconsciously sabotaged the turning process so that I would not have to be part: “OK, Allie, here goes – your mother is going to turn the key. I feel confident she will not turn the key too many times, thereby shooting your teeth through your cheeks.”
After several attempts, we decided there would be no turning. She had an orthodontist appointment the next day, and he explained to her the need for the painless turns of the appliance, and, I am guessing that for this life event, ignore her father.
So it appears we have cleared the hurdle; and the month-long road of having an appliance is being traveled. Next will be braces, and then I guess a retainer (and possible trip into a Dumpster). Of course, she could have had it a whole lot easier had she just taken my approach and not needed them in the first place.