I remember the trauma of losing my milk teeth. When the first one became loose my parents checked it regularly to see when it was ready to be pulled. When they deemed it ready, dad pulled it out. That was a very traumatic experience and after it I refused to let him touch my teeth.
My parents seemed to have a strong fear of me swallowing a tooth in my sleep and kept insisting on checking them.
Eventually we reached a compromise – a string would be attached around the tooth and then to a door handle – dad would pull the door and with that the tooth would come out. How that was different from my dad pulling it with his fingers I don’t know but somehow in my mind, it was better and that is how most of my teeth were pulled out.
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* This memory was triggered by this weekend’s Trifextra prompt which was the word tooth.