Mark E Halpin, DMD

I’m hurt Dr. Halpin. Really, I am.
I’ve been coming to you for a dental checkup/​cleaning my whole life. You were there when I got my first baby tooth, and are still telling me to angle the brush and floss. For the record, I do these every day, and you don’t seem to believe me.
I remember when you recommend to my sister she get braces. She went through years of hell, and I was terrified at the prospect of having to do that myself. Then, some years later, «the talk» of braces came up. I did have a small overbite, and you thought that it would be fine and braces were not necessary. You were right — my overbite, though not ever significant, is only a fraction of what it once was. I could make a few adjustments here and there, but in general I’m pretty spot on in the straight tooth department.
But really, I didn’t write to talk about any of those things. You see, in your old office, when I was done, you opened the toy drawer and let me have my pick. I’d always pick the bouncy balls because well, they were cool colors and bounced super high. This ritual carried itself out even when I was far too old to get a toy. But I still ask for the lollipops at the bank too, so, that’s just the way I am.
Then you renovated. You put in more rooms, brought on your son as a dentist, and I go back for another checkup. Same ritual repeats. You’re not angling the brush and flossing (I am), pick pick scrub scrub, spit sucker rinse. We’re all done, and I’m ready to leave. I’m just shooting the breeze with you for a moment, anxious for the conversation to be over so I can get my bouncy ball. You thank me for coming in, and we do a handshake. No offer of toy. I guess when you renovate your office, you become to much of a big shot for that, huh? Trying to drop a hint, I glance down to where the toy drawer used to be, unaware if it had moved or been repurposed. I step out of the room, almost dumbfounded at the current turn of events. Walking down the hall to the front desk, I think to myself «Maybe they give you the toy at the front desk… right… RIGHT?!» Of course I knew the answer. There was no toy.
That walk through the parking lot to my car was a lonely one. I would throw the ball against the pavement as hard as I could, to see how high I could make it fly into the air. I looked over and imagined my 6 year old self doing just that. All I had in my hand this time was a crummy old cell phone, long overdue for an upgrade.
It didn’t bounce.