When I told my friend Marissa I had to go to the orthodontist, she laughed and replied, “I thought we grew out of that phase, like, 10 years ago.” For normal 21-year-olds, that may be true. I’m not so normal.
That really hit home in the waiting room of my childhood orthodontist’s office. Uncomfortable and embarrassed are the words I’d use to describe how I felt sitting there, surrounded by framed Looney Tunes pictures and the latest edition of Seventeen. The mothers around me gave me strange looks—probably because I was closer in age to them than some of their children.
“Calderone! You can go back and see the doctor,” the receptionist called. I gladly got up. As I approached the front-desk, the receptionist immediately recognized me. “Well, hello! We haven’t seen you here in a while!” she exclaimed. All I could do was smile politely and walk through the doors.
I walked into the back room and noticed everything was the same as my last appointment years ago: four lounge chairs lined in a straight row over the length of the room, a Looney Tunes wall clock, and the radio tuned into Washington DC’s contemporary soft rock station, 97.1 WASH-FM. The orthodontist’s assistant directed me towards one of the middle chairs—sandwiched in between a 10-year-old boy in a Spiderman sweatshirt and a tween-aged girl in her school uniform.
My orthodontist walked over to me, still wearing the same Bugs Bunny tie from years ago, the one where he had cleverly sewed braces on Bugs’ buckteeth.
“It’s been awhile, Leslie,” he greeted me. “Let’s take a look. Bite down. Interesting. Hey, guys, come on over and take a look at this.”
His two assistants, both clad in their purple striped shirts, bright white pants and matching shoes came over to where I sat, feeling like a vulnerable test-dummy with my mouth wide open. “Look at her bite,” he said. “Can either of you tell me what’s wrong?”
They suggested everything. Does she grind her teeth? No. Is it an underbite? Does she have extra teeth? Are her teeth just really really small? Is she a mutant? No, no, no and no. I was in a growth spurt. At 21, I was growing again.
My doctor warned me when I was 11 that there was a 20-25% chance I’d start growing again somewhere between 18 and 22 years old—and in the process move my already messed-up jaw out of place again. Apparently six years of braces (four of which were in high school) and religiously wearing my retainer at night weren’t enough to combat the problem. The numbers worked against me. A month to the day before my 22nd birthday, I found out that not only was my 5-foot-9-inch frame getting longer, but I was going to need braces.
I knew it wasn’t the end of the world, but it felt damn close to it. Images of food caught in my “invisible” braces during a job interview appeared in my mind. I’m a senior in college—how am I supposed to go on job interviews with braces? I’m supposed to look mature and sophisticated, not like a 15 year old. The situation seemed unfair. On the cusp of graduating college and starting a new era in my life, I was also taking a huge step back into a time of adolescence and insecurity.
My mother tried to cheer me up by informing me that Marcus Washington of the Washington Redskins also had braces. I was briefly comforted by knowing a linebacker from my favorite team shared a similar struggle for the perfect set of teeth. Then I realized he’s a professional athlete and worth millions. He doesn’t have to worry about impressing future employers or members of the opposite sex.
I suddenly became aware of all the adults around me with braces. Family friends, my friend’s mother and even a grocery clerk came to mind—all of whom seemed adjusted and confident with themselves, despite their braces. Maybe it is possible to have both a professional life and braces. As long as there’s no spinach involved.
