The “Window” to My Soul

A short, autobiographical essay about how I lost my two front teeth. 

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            WindowFace.  This was the title that my classmates so generously bestowed upon me in kindergarten. 

It was not because I had my chubby, 6-year-old face perpetually pressed to a pane.  It was not because the actual shape of my head possessed qualities of a quadrilateral.  The rationale behind this initially nebulous namesake was…my teeth—or lack, thereof.

            The parting of the upper right and left central incisors—or, more commonly, the “two front teeth”—from the mouth of an adolescent is inevitable.  It is in fact, even more common for children to begin “losing” their teeth at age six.  Once a baby tooth departs from the mouth, the normal time span for this tooth to grow back can range from about a month to a year and a half, tops.

            My two front teeth took three years to return. 

            This abnormal time span of re-growth was attributed to the abnormal method in which my cherished chompers departed.  Mine were violently, viciously yanked from my upper jaw by an unrelenting, unscrupulous villain I like to call: my older sister. 

We were playing with those pliable foam noodles that can often be found leisurely drifting along the surface of a pool on a hot summer day—except we did not have a pool, it was not a hot summer day, and we were in our living room.  My sister decided that I was clearly undeserving of the particularly long noodle I had in my hands, so she proceeded to try stealing it from my grasp.  An intense game of tug-of-war ensued.  I was clearly losing; in a last-ditch effort to win, I decided to put the noodle in my mouth.  (Infallible Logic from My Six-Year-Old Mind: I thought that if my dog could win that way, why couldn’t I?)  It turns out, there were lots of reasons why I could not prevail this way—with the number one reason being my older sister not quite knowing her own strength.

 One forceful wrench, five frantic screams for my mother, three hours’ worth of tears, and one seemingly endless dental appointment later…my two front teeth had officially vacated the premises of my mouth.

For the next three years, every time I spoke, smiled, laughed, or whistled (well, attempted to whistle), I was constantly reminded of the gaping black “window” located dead center of my face. Kids can be cruel; my re-christening as WindowFace was proof of this. But the thing is, I truly didn’t mind.  I didn’t mind this mockery of my physical appearance that might have reduced other kids to tears.  In fact, I embraced it.  Every chance I got, I would proudly and ecstatically relay the terrifying tale of my tooth deficiency.  Storytelling had always been one of my favorite pastimes.  And my glorious gap just gave me one more conversation starter.  

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul.  For me, it’s my mouth.