This set of caps, would be one of four sets that would be put on those front teeth in the next two years. I also enjoyed the “peg boards” at school, which are these boards hooked to the wall with holes in them. You would have two pegs that fit in the holes, and climb the board using the pegs. There was a low board, and a higher board for the bigger kids. Loving a challenge, and the shorter line, I would go for the high board. Every four months or so I would manage to break a set caps on them, going for a running jump to hit the high peg board, and forget to break my jump with the pegs landing face first into the board. The last set of plastic caps that was installed in my mouth were broken out with the actual peg, which I pulled from the hole in the board straight into my mouth.

Granted, this last time hurt as much as the previous times, but my tears were not from pain. Sitting in the dentist’s office the time prior to this, my father, at his wits’ end and patience, told me sternly “ No more Teri! Stay off the damn peg board! It’s expensive replacing these caps constantly, and finding a dentist whenever you choose to smash them out! I’ve had it! Now I want you to promise me you will stay off the peg boards!” I dutifully, in between sobs said, “I’m sorry daddy, I promise it won’t happen again. Really.” I mean’t it too. I was going to be WAY more careful on those damn peg boards! He would never know again. No more running jumps for me! No sir! And I didn’t run and jump head first this time. It was the damn peg that gave me away, smashing into my mouth as it came out of the hole headed into the next.

I really felt I had fulfilled my promise, in the sense that this was a completely DIFFERENT way that I busted them out. Plastic cracks really all jagged like, you can’t save these caps once a peg has nailed them dead on. Unfortunately my father didn’t see it quite the way I did. Whimpering on the way to the dentist’s office, I kept as quiet as I could. This was one pissed off Daddy at this point, and I didn’t want to push my luck.

Had I known what was coming, I would have let the wailing fly! Seems Daddy and the dentist had discussed other options, since I was continually breaking them up and out. Permanent caps were out of the question for a tom boy. They are four times as expensive and arcryllic will bust easier then the plastic ones. So this, the final trip in to the dentist, I received stainless steel, bright silver caps on my two front teeth. Rather big ones as my original two front teeth were a little on the big and long side. I wasn’t a happy camper to say the least. But as I was still in 5th grade, my appearance was still in the “Do I have to brush my hair, can’t I just put it into a ponytail?” stage.

I’d like to say I had learned my lesson, but that wasn’t the case. These stainless steel silver caps took a beating. There were a few dents in them, from my myriad of mishaps, but those suckers didn’t break or come out. They were there for the long haul. And I mean the long haul. My father left me in those caps almost clear thru 8th grade. I suffered the consequences, of going thru puberty, with the meanest and the cruelest age group of kids known to mankind: The Junior High years.

Permanent, normal colored teeth were dangled before me as a reward like most kids have new toys dangled as rewards. I worked hard to gain control of my limbs, and did go thru a rough and tumble fighting stage with other Jr. High girls that would rival WWF. (On a side note, I won most of the fights. ) I know my mother went to bat for me several times over those years, trying to get my father to relent and let me have normal caps. He would not be swayed, and in reality, was probably right. The guilt from going thru anymore sets of caps, would have been more then a little unpleasant. I had legitimately earned the nickname Miss Fart Stumble and Fall.

The character and humility going thru Jr. High with bright silver caps on my teeth would be hard earned. The ribbing, joking and sometimes downright meaness of kids built a strenth I don’t think I would have had in coming years had I not suffered thru it. From “Teri, our radio isn’t getting good reception, open your mouth. “Teri I need to brush my hair, and don’t have a mirror, smile would ya?” And then “High Ho silver AWAAAY.”. The worse one was in 8th grade, when the coolest and tallest and best looking boy with the most perfect feathered hair, who I had a crush on all year long actually spoke to me. (By the way, at that age, tall was very important when you’re 5’10") Mike said, “Hey Teri, ya know, you wouldn’t be half bad looking if you didn’t have those aweful silver teeth in your mouth.” I tried to see the thin compliment in the horrid insult. Couldn’t quite pull it off at that age. But it did motivate me to prove to my father that my tom boy days and cat fight wrestling with mean girls was over.

Just prior to starting High School he relented and I got a lovely set of porcelan caps to smile proudly with! I had proven my minimal grace, gotten straight A’s the prior year, and won those caps!

My favorite Norman Rockwell print hangs proudly in my diningroom to this day. A reminder of my days as a fighting, fart stumble and fall tomboy. It’s of a little girl, sitting outside of the principal’s office, with scraped up knees, messed up pigtail braids, dirty with a big black eye. She is smiling ear to ear.
She won the fight.