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According to Hofmann: Brace yourself

By Mark Hofmann mhofmann@heraldstandard.Com 6 min read
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As I was going through social media to see who I needed to be angry at this week, I paused in horror at what I saw. Well, it really wasn’t “horror;” perhaps more of a mild, sympathetic agony.

My cousin shared a photo of her daughter with braces on her teeth.

I know what you’re thinking because you subconsciously sent me an email that reads, “Mark, you nincompoop! ThereĢƵ absolutely nothing wrong with having braces, most kids need them.”

Well, I was one of those kids, and the experience of having braces still haunts me.

I’m sure a lot has changed in the 30-some years since my mouth had its metallic upgrade, and I know braces are now different colors, different styles, and able to pick up better radio signals, but when I see even the newest editions on the teeth of the current generation, a part of me still recoils.

As with any braces story, it started with my dentist, who noticed that my teeth weren’t properly aligned – maybe it was the few teeth that decided to grow sideways that caught his attention.

Anyway, he called my mother back to the torture chamber – I mean, exam room with me.

While I sat in the iron maiden – I mean, dentistĢƵ chair – he addressed my needing braces, and told me it was totally my decision to get them or not.

Before I could say, run out into the waiting room to read out-of-print issues of “Highlights” magazine, the dentist continued.

“Now, if you say you don’t want braces, you’re going to make me mad, you’re going to make your mom mad, you’re going to make your dad mad and you’re going to infuriate the American Dental Association, which means they won’t recommend toothbrushes to you anymore.”

Okay, I made up the part about the ADA, but with such a decision to make (either scenario leaving me with braces, but one scenario also causing the world to hate on me), how could I refuse?

Now, the procedure of getting braces wasn’t just like him slapping them on my teeth like I expected because, it turned out, I first needed whatĢƵ called a palate expander.

The device looks like a four-legged metal spider thatĢƵ placed at the roof of your mouth with the legs attached to your back teeth and along the base of your top teeth.

Sound comfortable so far? Well, just you wait.

At the body of the metal spider is a gear with holes in it; your parents are given a key to stick into those holes and crank the spider, which then pushes the legs out; therefore, expanding your palate.

If you’ve never had your palate expanded, the pain is…hmm…whatĢƵ the proper phrasing?

Exquisitely tortuous like an inverted vice grip mangling your mouthĢƵ interior.

After the first crank, your teeth feel like they’re swelling to the point of cracking, you can’t bite down without it feeling like you’re trying to munch on electricity and the dull aching when you’re not biting down or trying to do anything with your teeth is nothing but a pulsating ache.

For some reason, this was done to me the day before New YearĢƵ Eve and, for some reason, my parents decided to stick with their plans and drive us three hours to a relativeĢƵ house for New YearĢƵ Eve.

I think in todayĢƵ climate, I could have pretty much sued everybody involved in that particular misery; of course, the lawyer would tell me that, by doing so, I’d have everyone mad at me, and well, I can’t have that, can I?

The installation of the braces wasn’t too bad, especially when you take into account they are grafting metal to your teeth. In hindsight, I should have been more freaked out by that practice, but what made up for that was humiliation that followed – not by the braces so much because thatĢƵ an average thing.

For some reason, the braces were fitted to have these thin, tiny rubber bands that hook to the top row of teeth and down to the bottom row of teeth on both the left and right side of my mouth.

“Why is that?” I asked the dentist, or because his hands were in my mouth at the time, “Eye disat?”

“Because why not add one more thing?” he said and chuckled or maybe nitrous oxide was involved in some way, and I’m not recalling it quite right.

No matter, the thing about having braces with rubber bands attached is the band would occasionally break and when it did, I was normally in school and likely was talking to a girl who had to hide her repulsion when seeing a disgusting rubber band snap, spraying bits of saliva everywhere including in my eye and making my mouth look like I have a strand of angel-hair pasta hanging out of it like a squinting, drooling idiot.

“Oh, look at the time,” she said, looking at her bare wrist. “I have to go somewhere else for the rest of my life.”

With it all said and done, I do acknowledge it was a necessity for me to go through the process, which I spent the next 30 years destroying again through beef jerky, coffee and cigars.

Sometimes I wonder if we started going through all of these torturous dental procedures to further push ourselves away from what was then horrific dental health of the British.

Maybe thatĢƵ why I seriously thought of renouncing my citizenship back then, but I figured all of America would be mad at me, and I can’t have that, can I?

According to Hofmann is written by staff reporter Mark Hofmann of Rostraver Township. His books, “Good Mourning! A Guide to Biting the Big One … and Dying, Too” and “Stupid Brain,” are available on Amazon.com.

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