Mom and her magic teeth

Mom grew up on a farm in Depression-era eastern North Carolina. Money was tight, with little room for luxuries like going to the dentist. She was embarrassed by her crooked and gapped teeth and she covered her mouth when she laughed. That and the giggles were garments she never broke. Thank the good Lord for this last one. Her laughter was the medicine of my childhood.

That she laughed is often an understatement. She lived to make people laugh, and she was good at it. She darling smile. She wanted other people to laugh. So she had all of her teeth pulled and dentures put in when she was a young woman. She was delighted with the results! Mom was so proud of her new look that she beamed at the camera for the rest of her life.

Once she made a small chip in a front tooth. She was upset at first, then she decided that her chip made her teeth look more natural. Her glass, even the ones that held her teeth all night, was always half full.

Mom didn’t just use those teeth to smile and eat. She used them for pure entertainment value. They were props to her humor. I have yet to see someone who can move their teeth out and back that fast while keeping a perfectly straight face. My cousins, over twenty, loved it. They would beg him to do it for them. “Show me your teef, Aint Annie!” (That’s right: “Aint Annie.” We Piedmont kids call our aunts “aint.” So did Mayberry’s Opie and Sheriff Andy Taylor, who must have thought that was okay for Aint Bee.) .

As for gnashing your teeth, even the church was not forbidden. There she generally, and I use that word loosely, just used her ability to correct children who misbehaved during preaching services. Let a kid do the wiggles on a hardwood bench and those correction tools came out, hard and fast. I can’t count the number of times I’ve seen kids slump on their benches, duly grounded and not a little scared.

It was amazing how quickly he could get those suckers in and out before returning to his pious, watchful gaze, the open Bible pressed against his ample chest. From time to time, she was caught by adults who spent the rest of the service trying so hard not to laugh that tears streamed down her cheeks. She once she brought down the whole choir. My poor pastor had to wonder what the hell he had just said or thought: “Is my fly open?”

Mom left twenty-six years ago. She was only three years older than me now when she left us. I’d give anything to see her “get the tef out” one more time. On the other hand, I know I will see her again one day. She will wear a perfect smile, no doubt attracting heavenly choirs if she gets the chance.