“Help! A piece of Gramma just broke off!”

You stood there horrified. It was the first time you had ever seen your gramma devoid of teeth! You were freaked out and you know it. Not only were her teeth astonishingly gone — I mean GONE as in vanished! — but her cheeks and lips had also unexpectedly disappeared, sucked inward as if she’d taken a big swig of quick sand.

Scared speechless? You bet you were. After all, a major part of Gramma had just dropped off right before your eyes. And, come on now, didn’t you reach up to your own teeth, give them a tug and a wiggle to check how securely fastened they were? Such assurance, unfortunately, wasn’t always the case for the grammas. A good sneeze could send their dentures flying across the room.

In the ‘40s and ‘50s, almost every old person had false teeth. Either that or no teeth at all! And didn’t the bedside tables of all grandparents hold water glasses with full sets of submerged dentures in them? Talk about macabre! They were straight out of a Halloween Horror House and nearly as appalling as those folks who kept their gallstones in mayonnaise jars on the fireplace mantle!

To have your teeth fall out by age 60 was practically expected. That’s just the way things were. Personally, I always thought dentures looked funny, as if the wearer had overnight grown long horsey teeth, no longer fitting their old familiar faces. Then there were the denture pranksters who carelessly (or purposely) allowed their false teeth to shift bizarrely around in their mouths. It was engrossingly weird (while at the same time fascinating) for us kids to watch as the artificial choppers slid in, out and sideways, the alarming ludicrousness of it stunning!

All of us kids grew up with cavities; something as normal as bologna sandwiches on Wonder Bread. We couldn’t help it. The word “fluoride” hadn’t been invented yet.

How well I remember going to the dentist, a place where I was unfortunately a regular visitor. The first time Dr. Lang asked me if I’d like to have novocaine, I was struck dumb with terror. There he stood with what looked like a knitting needle as big as a rock drill; a distressingly long spear which he intended to insert into the soft tissues of my mouth! What little girl would choose such a torture? I rejected it flat out and instead had all my childhood fillings done with no pain killers.

Talk about brave! Talk about heroic! Talk about dumb! If you’ve never had a filling performed without anesthesia, you will never know about this special kind of hell on earth. But, despite how religiously I avoided sugar and regularly brushed, the cavities just kept coming. They were always filled with silver amalgam, a mixture of mercury, silver, tin, zinc and copper. Doesn’t that sound suspect to you? I mean, putting a mishmash of compounds like that into a person’s body to stay there for a lifetime?

I never got a gold filling. Not sure why. Kids always got gray fillings. Only adults got gold. I guess adults were worth more … or at least they appeared to be when their teeth glinted in the sunlight.

Children today don’t have to contend much with cavities. This is a good thing. They open their mouths to sing, laugh or shout and anyone close enough can see a dazzling array of perfectly flawless pearly whites. It’s a beautiful sight.

As a grade schooler I wanted more than anything — even more than a pony — to have eyeglasses and braces on my teeth; two things I was sure would make my life complete. I never got glasses, but I did get braces. What was I thinking? For Pete’s sake! Despite their high-minded purpose, those old braces were repugnant.

A stranger could begin a conversation with a beautiful girl only to have her smile and — bam! Her open mouth revealed a miniature construction site. Gray steel bands wrapped around every tooth in her head with enough connecting wires on which she could hang a week’s worth of laundry! All this for beauty’s sake? She hoped so.

The stainless steel bands covered most of surface of our teeth and were jammed up into the gums in a death grip. Every single tooth we owned was required to shift to accommodate the width of two of these metal bands. Shove two slices of sheet metal between every one of your teeth all at once and you will begin to appreciate this particular kind of agony. It was comparable to the poor little rich girls in China who were having their feet bound.

We kids had to stifle our suffering as our parents stifled their groans over the stacked dental bills, an expense they trusted would turn their children into Austin’s version of movie stars. Did any of you even once see a talent scout rushing into Austin? Neither did I.

Any child who wore braces will surely remember being at a critically important social event when he/she took a bite of something sticky and the wire attached to his/her very back molar was abruptly pulled out from its socket. This child in his/her Sunday best … with combed hair and shining shoes … was left with a long obvious stretch of stainless steel wire jutting out of his/her mouth and now wrapped around and poking into the tender flesh of his/her cheek. I know from experience that such a sight was not conducive to successful socializing. Nothing could be done about this tribulation other than to somehow get to the dentist — if it didn’t happen on a weekend. But, then, of course it always happened on a weekend because all fancy social events happened on weekends.

As young children, we were taught to furiously brush our teeth with our jaws clenched much on the order of Tom Sawyer vigilantly painting that picket fence. We were startled to be told years later, that we should brush by gently working the brush away from the gum line, not toward it, a maneuver that held the promise of keeping our gums from receding into our hairlines.

Furthermore, we were stunned to learn that evil resided on our tongues. Who knew? Tongues were something to which we gave no thought … other than keeping them off the playground turning poles in December. Now, just like that, we were informed that tongues were the receptacles of unspeakable disquietude. Like halitosis! I felt not only hygienic, but also sainted and mature when I got right on the bandwagon with that and began brushing mine. Like I was some kind of charter member of the Pink Polished Tongue Society! Heady stuff!

Then one day, after two or three years of living as a metal mouth, my braces were removed. Gone was my steel-cage-smile leaving my mouth suddenly stark naked. My exposed teeth were no longer chill tolerant as even the smallest intake of Minnesota’s January air caused them to shudder from the shock of the cold. Furthermore I was dismayed when I looked in the mirror to find I no longer recognized the girl I used to be. My teeth looked like little empty billboards … very straight little empty billboards … lined up across a smile that was no longer mine.

Some unfortunate teens had their braces removed only to find their teeth permanently stained as if mildew had imbedded itself under the metal caps. It was a heart break of unparalleled proportions. When they smiled, they looked like young ghouls with gray, albeit abnormally straight, fangs. Capping every tooth was the only recourse.

It made a girl wonder if all that expense and torture had been worth it. Were straight empty billboard teeth even natural? And would they send someone like me straight onto the super highway to Hollywood? I didn’t think so.

I should have asked for that pony instead!

Peggy Keener of Austin is the author of two books: “Potato In A Rice Bowl” and “Wondahful Mammaries.” Peggy Keener invites readers to share their memories with her by emailing pggyknr@yahoo.com. Memories shared with Keener may be shared or referenced in subsequent editions of “Full Circle.”