NewMexiKen was on the wrong end of a root canal this morning (my face is still numb all the way up to the right eye socket). And it wasn’t even my fault. It’s my sister’s fault.
NewMexiKen was 7 (I was MichiKen in those days). My sisters were 5 and nine months. The older one was in the back seat of our Nash with me, the younger one in a car seat hooked over the back of the front seat. (No one had seat belts 52 years ago.) Our mother was driving us home from our cousin’s birthday party. It was rush hour and dark in December. The traffic was stop and go.
I was being peaceful, mature and totally well-behaved. My sister Martie was — no doubt — encroaching on my half of the backseat. I was keeping Mom well informed about this behavior. Things were escalating. At some point Mom turned around to tell Martie to stop (I being totally innocent). While Mom was distracted, the stop and go traffic stopped. Mom continued to go.
From the back seat I flew over my baby sister and hit the windshield — with my face. My mother bumped her head. No one else was injured; though our car was totaled (it didn’t take a lot to “total” a 1951 Nash, even in 1952). The car in front of us had been shoved into the car in front of it. The car in the middle was totaled. It was being driven home from the dealer’s showroom.
The man whose new car was totaled was kind. I remember he gave me his handkerchief at the scene because I was bleeding. I also believe he gave me the $5 bill I found in my blood-stained jacket’s pocket some time later. ($5 was a lot of money in 1952.) Mom and I were taken to the hospital emergency room where I received three stitches in my cheek. No big deal; end of story.
Except that, more than likely, the impact of hitting the windshield 52 years ago did some slowly evolving dental nerve damage. Twenty-five years ago my right-front-tooth went berserk out of the blue. I had to have a root canal. Long-term trauma the dentist decided. Must be from that accident I realized (I didn’t remember any other facial injuries).
Today, it was the next tooth over (#7 for you dental aficionados). Undoubtedly it was from the same injury 52 years ago.
If only my sister had stayed on her side of the backseat.
I think we would like to hear Martha’s side of this story.
Well told. For me, it was #9 30 years after riding my bike into a brickwall. peace, mjh
I guess my side of the story wouldn’t count, since I was only 9 months old at the time. Funny, here I thought my 3 root canals were all due to poor dental hygiene as a youth, combined with poor dental genes at birth. Maybe there is a more interesting story that I am forgetting all about. Did my big brother bang my face on his way into that windshild, perhaps? And to think it’s all Martha’s fault! (Just kidding, Martha.) It could have been that baseball bat to the right eye and cheek that knocked me out for a few seconds when I was 10 or so. That one took stitches.