The silence of the house was unfamiliar and I was alert. This was my chance. The family had gone to school and work. As long as they didn’t forget something and come back in, I would be ok. I could finally see for myself.
Heedful not to disturb its contents, I opened the wooden drawer. There couldn’t be any evidence I was here. Immediately, I saw them. They were lying right on top, in plain view. Three containers, each holding physical remains. And I had known it all along. I’ve never seen so many parts of humans gathered like this. Why did she have these? Was she planning on collecting more?
This story is absolutely true.
I opened the door using just one of the eight keys the mortgage officer had given us.
“Don’t drop me,” Nicole said as I picked her up and carried through the threshold of the doorway. July of 2009 was ‘Florida hot’ as some say—humidity that makes armpit sweat a popular fashion statement. We were walking into our newly built home. This is something we had planned together for years. Aiden was just a few months old, sleeping in his car seat which we carried into the house for the first time. The smell of new paint and wood met us as our two-year-old, Evan, ran passed us holding his tiny Lightning McQueen car shouting “Ka-chow!”
“Now it’s a home,” I thought to myself.
There wasn’t a need to feel rushed or hurried since our movers wouldn’t be arriving with our furniture until the following day. This gave us time to introduce ourselves to the new home, room-by-room as it greeted us back. We made our way around with feelings of anxiousness and excitement, studying every feature of the home.
Saturday, March 19, 2013: 1,352 days after we had moved into our new home, something pivotal happened. It would take me years to realize how important this event was. But what a beautiful night! 63 degrees. Summer temperatures would be here shortly but in the meantime, a welcomed cool breeze blew over our Northern facing yard. I was in our backyard when suddenly the door opened up.
“It is really loose,” Nicole said. Her eyes were wide and enthusiastic. She quickly shut the door and ran back upstairs. I took one last deep breath outside and walked back in. Evan met me at the top of the stairs, his blushed face told me he had been crying. But only a little. He stared at me and then smiled. Between his tiny teeth was a gap. His very first tooth. I had just missed it.
Evan loses his first tooth
“Wow! Evan, you did it!” I said. This had been many days in the making and we knew it was going to take great courage from Evan to have this tooth finally fall out. He looked overjoyed and accomplished. I can also tell you that he was relieved.
I watched as we tucked him in that night. How proud was he? He carefully placed his tooth under the pillow along with a note to the tooth fairy. I never did read that note. I wish I had.
Like other kids, Evan’s moments of dental history began to line up one after another. Each one was exciting. Each one with a cheer and congratulations from every family member.
Aiden Matthew was a bit of a late bloomer as far as his teeth were concerned. Being such an active kid, I was convinced he would knock out a tooth while playing before one would come out on its own. I was wrong. In 2016, we celebrated his first tooth coming out. In a style only fit for a kid like Aiden, a loose tooth was an opportunity to gross other people out. He wouldn’t miss a chance to flip it back and forth in front of his sister or show everyone how he could make it look crooked. He probably never wanted the thing to come out.
It was when Aiden’s second tooth came out in May of that same year that I should have noticed something. Do you know when you learn something, how you can easily retrace your events into specific defining moments? Aiden’s second tooth was one of those moments.
I was doing dishes after dinner. This meant that Nicole made dinner that night. We usually traded duties that way.
“Why do I want to write that?” Aiden asked. I wasn’t sure what they were talking about. It had already been a long day and I was focused on cleaning up and running to the store. I needed cash.
Fast forward to February 16th, 2017. I had a business trip to Jacksonville. That night, Emma and I chatted over Skype.
“Look at how wiggly it is Daddy!” She said. “1-2-3,” she said and would pull. It only loosened it. I was afraid I was going to miss her first tooth coming out. Thankfully, I didn’t. 9 days later, we went over to have a quick dinner with Pop-Pop and Grandma at their house. After many attempts that night, Emma Grace’s very first tooth came out. 
When we returned home, Nicole and Emma Grace sat down to write her very first tooth fairy letter. Just before Emma went to bed, I read her note:
Dear the Thoothfairy,
We ate with Grandma and Pop-Pop. Then my mom said can I pull my thooth out. I said you can and then it came out. Thoothfairy, please can I keep my thooth?
Love, Emma Grace.
“Please, can I keep my thooth?” I read to myself. Why would she want to keep her tooth? What is she going to do with it? That night, as I lay in bed, this bothered me. If I wasn’t mistaken, I had heard the boys ask for the same thing, right? But why? Was it just my imagination? Eventually, I dozed off only to wake up abruptly at 3am.
It hit me. Is it possible that Nicole was saving these teeth? Was she collecting them one-by-one over the last 13 years of our children’s life? Why would someone do that? Was I crazy? Was she?
The next morning as the family left for school, I announced I was working from home. I carefully opened the drawer and there they were. I lined them up in disbelief as the hard enamels hit the top of the dresser. It was true. My wife was collecting teeth. The evidence was there. Then the thought hit me: When I’m old, will she collect mine?
Children, listen up.
For you creeping kids, the nosey kids, the ones who rummage through your parent’s items hidden in a dusty wooden drawer. You know who you are. Beware. You too may find an unexpected surprise. A box of teeth perhaps. A collection of hair tied with yarn. Maybe even, a black crusty umbilical cord. These are the things your mother keeps.
They were yours. But they’re hers now.
My Plowshare 