If you haven't experienced it, a pediatric dentist's office is a wonder to behold; at once intimidating in its mystery while being frenetic with the activity of children expending nervous energy on the toys scattered throughout.
My son walks into the room with a confidence I can only pray he keeps into adulthood. I am not only proud watching him, but also a tad jealous as I have lost that confidence years ago.
Neil showed up knowing he required three extractions. Though he doesn't exhibit a noticeable amount of fear, I know there is some there, just beneath the surface. Even at such a young age he gets embarrassed when he is placed in a situation he's unsure of how to handle. He tries to act nonchalant, but those who know him (and I'm one of the lucky ones) can see right through it. His last experience with this much dental activity amounted to an anesthetist, a shot, three hours of sleep, and a silver tooth.
As I watch him playing with a few of the other children in the office, I wonder at his ability to adapt: He not only plays with the others, running around and climbing through the mock spaceship in the waiting room, he actually starts conversations, interacting with the other children with ease. Again, more jealousy on my part.
"I'm having a few teeth pulled today," he remarks to a newcomer.
"Wow, that's cool." I hear another say.
"Yeah, I guess. I'm a little scared, but it will be okay," he replies. And then playing resumes.
Amazingly, it seems that after his admission everyone is calling his name, asking him to "come see this" or "follow me." It is as if a tension is released, even if just a touch.
Later, as we follow the dental assistant to one of the examination rooms, I say how proud I am of him, telling him "it takes a pretty big man to admit to being scared."
"Well, I just figured if I told them I was scared that maybe they'd feel okay if they were scared too."
There are quintessential moments as a parent, moments that you grasp and hold on to throughout your life, moments you wrap in silk and tie with velvet, that you put on the mantle to display to the world, moments that make your heart burst with such pleasure, such pride, such adoration that you are certain it will kill you, willingly and completely. This is such a moment.
If I never do another right thing, I have this to hold on to. I have the innocence of my son, I have pure and unsullied hope, faith, kindness, compassion. I have a moment that has such beauty in it, it is almost painful.
He stops in the hallway, "Why are you crying dad?"
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