Texas Tooth Step

Circa 1971 I was twelve years old and traveling to Canyon, Texas along with my family. We were going to spend ten days with my step dad’s family on his brother’s farm.

For someone raised in the big city I had no idea what to expect. My grandfather on the other hand seemed to know everything there was to know about Texas. In the weeks leading up to our trip he shared his homespun wisdom concerning the ins and outs of the great lone star state.

“In Texas,” he would say; “You will be hard pressed to find a single tree from horizon to horizon. It is without a doubt the flattest, barest, driest land I have ever had the pleasure of driving across.”

“The insects that call Texas home must have been created by the devil because God would have never allowed such creatures to crawl upon the earth. Cockroaches the size of my thumb. Grasshoppers that sound like a fleet of helicopters just over the horizon. Ants the size of almonds whose bites leave their victims wishing they had never been born. I am telling you the insects alone are enough to prevent me from ever returning to lone star state.”

He seemed to have a tall Texas tale for every situation.

“It is so hot in Texas that the devil prefers hell he claims the climate is much cooler down below.”

“God must have been in a bad mood when he created Texas. Heat, insects and tornados so powerful they will pick up your farm land and all depositing the whole spread in the next county.”

Nope, I did my time in Texas you can have it I will never go back.

Of course when we finally arrived the extent of his exaggerated tales came to light. The farm was covered in cottonwood trees with a stream and small lake occupying a prime spot on the spread.

The insects were just your average garden variety. Nothing we had never seen before.

It was hot but no hotter than the San Gabriel Valley in the middle of the Santa Ana winds. There are tornados but none dropped by for a visit while we were there.

What grandpa failed to mention was the beauty of the land. The clear blue skies dotted with cotton ball clouds. The smell of corn ripening on the stalk. Just waiting for lunchtime and a quick dip in boiling water to satisfy even the finickiest of eaters.

A large, rather muddy field filled with dairy cattle brought a certain charm to the place. Rising with the roosters to help my cousins bring the cows into the milking barn. Running wild while the machines acquired the morning allotment of sweet, fresh milk.
It was the milking barn that led to one of the more memorable and rather painful events of the entire trip.

While waiting for the last of the cows to give up their sweet nectar my cousins and I were playing tag outside the barn. We were running, laughing, yelling basically having a typical fun filled summer morning.

Except no one mentioned that the milk barn was playing, not only playing but currently it. I was running for all I was worth to avoid being tagged, throwing quick glances over my shoulder I never saw the obstacle in my path.

I turned glanced to the front and POW I ran mouth first into an exhaust port sticking out of the barns wall shattering the bottom half of my right front middle tooth. When I say shattered I mean shattered there was not even a recognizable piece of tooth on the ground.

With blood streaming out of my mouth my cousin threw me on the back of his motorcycle and racing back to the sanctuary of the farmhouse. Several bags of ice later and I actually began to look human again. Hardly any swelling but a very sensitive half a tooth to remind me of the day’s events.

Upon our return to LA the dentist wrapped my tooth in some god-awful piece of silver, hermetically sealing my tooth for years to come.