Grandma’s Yellow Teeth
Grandma’s Yellow Teeth
The tradition began when my grandchildren were very young, on a special day set aside just for them and me, with no parents, no siblings, and no distractions. “Grandma’s Day,” as we called it, became a sacred part of our family. Each grandchild takes their turn: enjoying a fun activity, lunch at their favorite spot, and a shopping spree where they pick out their favorite outfit and toy. For me, these days aren’t just about spoiling them; they’re about creating precious bonds that connect our hearts together, one laugh, one question, one memory at a time.
Of course, spending an entire day alone with young children means fielding questions that can catch you completely off guard. Children have this remarkable ability to ask the most innocent questions that require the most complex answers.
It was five-year-old Gage’s turn, and we’d chosen the Children’s Museum, a wonderland of hands-on exhibits where young minds could run wild. I watched him race from the miniature grocery store to the construction zone, his eyes bright with wonder at every discovery. His boundless energy reminded me so much of his father at that age.
We settled into our usual lunch spot at the Black Bear Diner, Gage swinging his little legs from the chair that seemed too big for him, happily munching on his chocolate chip pancakes.
Then, in that startling way children have of shifting gears, he looked up at me with those impossibly brown eyes and asked with complete innocence, “Grandma, why are your teeth so yellow?”
Time seemed to stand still. I felt my face grow warm as a thousand thoughts raced through my mind. How do you explain to a five-year-old that your grandmother grew up in a different world entirely? How do you describe a childhood where poverty wasn’t just about having less money, but about living without the basic necessities that his generation takes for granted?
In my mind’s eye, I was suddenly eight years old again, living on my grandparents’ farm where running water was a luxury we couldn’t afford. I made that long trek to the outhouse, especially dreaded on cold winter mornings or in the dark of night. I remembered gripping the sides of that wooden seat, terrified of falling through the hole into the depths below, while hornets buzzed menacingly from their nest in the corner.
I thought of the old hand pump by the kitchen door, where we’d fill bucket after bucket with ice-cold water for drinking, cooking, and the weekly bath that we all shared in a metal tub by the wood stove. The luxury of brushing teeth daily with store-bought toothpaste was as foreign to us then as space travel.
But how do you explain years of simple living to a little boy who has never known a world without fluoride toothpaste, electric toothbrushes, and dental checkups every six months?
I looked at this beautiful, trusting child across from me, his face still round with baby softness, his teeth like perfect little pearls, and felt the weight of bridging two completely different worlds. This was one of those moments that would stay with both of us, I knew. How I handled it would matter.
I reached across the table and gently touched his small hand. “You know what, sweetheart? Grandma has lived a very long time, and many things about my life might seem different or hard to understand right now. Some of those stories are for when you’re a little bit older and can understand them better.”
His face scrunched up in that adorable way children do when they’re thinking hard. “But why can’t you tell me now?”
“Because,” I said, smiling at his persistence, “some stories need you to be bigger to understand them, just like some rides at the amusement park need you to be taller. But what I can tell you right now is something very important.”
He leaned forward, suddenly very serious.
“One of the most important things you can do every day is brush your teeth really well, so they stay strong and white and healthy. That way, when you’re a grandpa someday, you’ll have beautiful teeth to smile with.”
Gage nodded solemnly, as if I’d just shared the secret to the universe. “I brush my teeth every morning AND every night,” he announced proudly.
“And that’s exactly why your smile is so bright it could light up the whole museum,” I told him, and watched as his grin spread wide across his face.
These are the moments that make Grandma’s Day so much more than just a fun outing. They’re the moments when love speaks louder than words, when wisdom passes gently from one generation to the next, and when the simple act of sharing a meal becomes a memory that will last a lifetime.
Some stories can wait. Some can’t. But the love behind them? That’s immediate, unconditional, and yellow teeth or not, it’s exactly what both of us needed that perfect afternoon on Grandma’s day.
Bobbie Bennett
2023