Dentition Phobia

  Today I had my temperature taken: it was 98.6.  The nurse said I was average, and then, a bit remorseful, changed my status to normal.  That's the way it's always been: I have no apparent outstanding characteristics;my life is  pretty much an open book.  When we were in 8th grade, our guidance counselor, who was a full-time business teacher, administered an official-seeming aptitude test and then met with each of us to go over the results and try to direct us into an appropriate vocation.  Some kids came out from the meeting declaring that they were meant to be a nurse, a secretary, or a mechanic.  When it was my turn, Mrs. P. showed me the line representing aptitude, and it was flat, no peaks or valleys at all; she didn't know what I wanted to be, said I may be open to any career.  I took it to mean I was so boring she was unable to help me. Part of the fault may have been with the way I answered the test, because there were many duplicate questions inserted throughout the pages of the booklet.  I still remember one question asked which choice  I would prefer:  helping a child to repair his wagon, reading a book, and 2 other options.  I loved to read, so chose that a time or two, but then figured I would need some fresh air and chose the wagon repair in a few other questions. After the same question appeared multiple times, I figured the wagon would be fixed by now, and it was time to do something else.   I think I followed this pattern throughout the test; I changed things up enough to earn a flat line when it came to aptitude.  Who knows; my first and only evaluation may have been a self fulfilling prophecy.  I grew up having no eccentricities or charming quirks, or even predictable behavior patterns.
    However, I have always had a phobia concerning teeth, mine in particular.  An unspoken phobia up to now, because who cares to hear such things, except you, Dear Blog.  (Jeopardy time--TBC)
    Back in the day, not much thought was given to teeth, or to dental care in general. Most adults had dentures, even those who were financially well off.  I think I first visited a dentist when I was 11 years old, for a toothache, and he wasn't much help at all.  Hardly any children went to the dentist back then, as my memory serves.  So I don't know where my tooth phobia came from.  I can only speculate.
    At one point in my childhood, the people who owned the former garage/ cinder block building next door to our house deposited a number of very large rocks on the property behind the building, next to our back yard.  Massive pieces of stone dumped off in a hodge podge assimilation, probably 15 to 20 huge rocks piled on top or next to each other.  These rocks attracted all the kids in our section of the neighborhood, and indeed from all over the town.  "The rocks" were a sort of informal gathering place; all you had to do was sit on the rocks on a sunny summer day, and you were sure to be joined by any number of friends looking for something to do.  A favorite game was a cross between "Follow the Leader"  and "I Dare You."  The rocks had been strewn in a random array, some piled as high as 3 atop each other, and some a distance apart.  Jumping across the chasms created from various heights was a real challenge, but we all participated at some level.  Each one of us at times failed to make the landing and our legs would slip down into the deep crevices between the rocks.  Skinned knees, bruised elbows, and even bumped heads were a common hazard, and I suffered my share of the injuries and observed more in others, especially among the smaller kids whose legs were too short to safely leap from rock to rock.  Even then, though, my greatest dread was that somebody would hit their mouth and knock out their teeth, though among all the injuries, no one ever lost a tooth on the rocks. 
     My mother cared for younger children, and one of their toys was a shark, evidently the kind of toy you had to put together..  The shark had its rows of teeth in a press-on assemblage, all the tiny sharp teeth on a strip which popped into little holes on its jawbone.  The toy was well played with to the point where the teeth would separate from the jaw, and the kids would ask me to fix it, which I did.  For a period of time, I used to have dreams where my teeth would similarly fall out, attached in a single strip.  Of course, I never told anyone because who would care, and what difference would it make.  Later on, according to Uncle Pete's Dream Book, and  the pseudo-dream analysts, I came to know that dreaming of losing teeth is common and reflective of some psychological issue or other, but that seemed irrelevant to me.
   Last week, during a dental visit, I finally, after all these years, told the truth, or at least some of it.  "No, I don't need any painkillers, or sedative, for a dental cleaning," I told the hygienist, "and no, I'm not afraid of the pain.  I have the feeling that the scaling instrument is going to cause my teeth to crumble away."  She assured me that would not happen and that my teeth were stronger than that.  I thanked her for her advice and confidence, but truth be told, there is no incentive strong enough to have me, for example, bite into an apple.  I'm pretty sure that with my first bite my front teeth would snap off and be lodged in that apple.