Quigley's Tooth

One of the tricky things about being a teacher before you’re a parent is that many of the common experiences from childhood are too distant to access.  Like losing teeth, for instance. Seems like a little-kid thing, right? Maybe you don’t realize that many sixth graders are still actively losing teeth.  During my first year of teaching sixth grade, I certainly didn’t realize it, which is why when Sammy Thorne approached me—a bit glassy-eyed, wadded tissues in her hands, even more tissues stuffed in her mouth, with a bit of blood starting to eek through—my first question was, “Who punched you the face?”

While digging through a box of office supplies, I came across a tooth I’d confiscated during my final year of teaching. Don’t let your imagination run wild, here. I did not extract it from anyone’s mouth. You know how teeth gross me out!

When a kid loses a tooth at school, the nurse provides a tooth-shaped container for storage. The little container is threaded on a string that’s about the thickness and color of cinnamon dental floss. Instant necklace to ensure safe passage home for the Tooth Fairy’s visit. Or whatever.

Then the student returns to class.

Very rarely do the tooth necklaces remain around the student’s neck. More often, they become lassos, yo-yos, and whips. I’ve taken up many of these through the years, volunteering to impound them until the end of the school day for the safety of, well, everyone.

Quigley’s tooth had been circling his head in propeller fashion when I’d seized it.

The classroom is not a hangar.
Helicopters are not allowed in the building.
You’ll get it back after school.

I put it in my pocket and forgot about it. So did he, apparently, because he did not arrive after school to retrieve it.

The next time I saw the tooth was at the bottom of our washing machine basin. Oops. I rescued it and put it somewhere safe so that I could bring it back to Quigley. Trouble was, I couldn’t remember where. Quigley asked every day for about a week. Then he asked sporadically throughout the remainder of the semester and school year.

I looked, when I remembered to, but I still couldn’t find that darn tooth necklace.

Finding it was a triumphant coincidence, so I held it up over my own head and shouted, “YES! FINALLY!” which prompted Russ to ask me what on earth that was, and what on earth I was doing with it.

I explained the whole situation, and then I mused about where to put it. Now that it had been located, I needed to put it somewhere REALLY safe so that the next time Quigley saw me and asked about it, I could return it and finally rid myself of the creepy sense of responsibility that’d been lurking around in my conscience, stirring up guilt.

“You mean you’re not going to,” Russ began cautiously, “throw it away?” His expression captured his horror and canceled out his casual tone.

“How could I? You know how obsessive Quigley is. Obsessive to the point of creepy. You know he’ll ask me about it the next time he sees me.” And he would. I was certain of it.

“It’s been, hmmm, about a year since he last saw you. It’ll probably be at least another two years, maybe more, until he sees you again. If he is as obsessive as you say, you’re right-- he might ask you about it. But you know what would be even more creepy? If you said, ‘As a matter of fact, I do still have your tooth from three years ago, and I know right where it is. I’ve been waiting all this time for this very special moment when I could finally return it to you.’”

He had a good point.

I handed over the tooth and directed him to throw it away in a distant trash basket when he was sure I wasn’t looking.

 
Throwing it away was logical, but I still didn’t want its disposal on my conscience.