My Dad’s Teeth

     “My smile, my pale skin, my skinny figure, my long toes… etc.” I was listing the things I was most insecure about. We were discussing how funny it is how everyone sees themselves differently than others do-my mom and I, that is. Some of the things I mentioned even seemed funny to her, she had never looked at me and thought two cents about the random out-of-place freckle on my wrist. 

       Then we began talking about people we knew and the things they were self-conscious about. She mentioned my dad’s hair. She said he had been going bald since he was 20. But funny enough, he had never been insecure about it. “Sometimes the things that makes people self-conscious are not what we think they would be,” she said. I inquired what she meant in relation to my dad. “His hair has never bothered him, but he has always hated his smile, he doesn’t like his teeth.” 

       Her statement surprised but bewildered me for two reasons, one-I had the same insecurity, and never realized we had that in common;I also realized that we both never smile with teeth in pictures, and two-I just loved my dad’s teeth. 

       That might be an odd thing to say, that one loved their dad’s teeth, but I truly had since I was a kid. I remember well the day I realized it. I was in a heap of trouble-I had lied about my schoolwork. I was promised a sleep over with a friend on the condition that my math test was finished. I assured my parents it was all said and done. But alas, my lie was quickly uncovered when there on the table was found my incomplete test, covered by some books in an effort to conceal my falsehood. 

        After my punishment was complete, it was still a somber night in our house, at least to my 8 year old mind. My dad’s phone rang and he quickly answered, whoever was on the line said something that he found funny. He grinned and let out a chuckle. I remember seeing his teeth-his biggest insecurity-and thinking how I loved seeing them, because I only saw them when he smiled. I remember wishing with all my heart that I could make him smile too and see his teeth, but it felt completely impossible that night, and at that moment, for the rest of my life. Of course that proved untrue in a day or so. 

        While my mom and I talked, I contemplated how I loved my dad’s biggest insecurity, and began to wonder if maybe other people loved the things about myself I was also insecure about. Maybe my cousin was glad I had long toes, we were the same shoe size-and she liked to steal my shoes all the time. Maybe my cousins liked my pale skin, I was always the scary character in our homemade movies. I thought of all the silly reasons someone might like something about myself that I hated. I vowed to be more forgiving about the things I can’t change about me. And now today, as I hold my three-week-old baby, I realize that he smiles just as big at me whether I’m wearing a milk-stained stinky shirt or one that’s ironed and pressed. So when you find something you don’t like about yourself, remember that the people that truly love you see you completely different than you do, and just might love all those silly details about you.