We had just put our Quinn to bed and settled down on the couch, and now he was calling. My wife went up to see what was the matter, and came down a couple of minutes later. He had lost his first tooth a few days ago, and now he was wiggling a second. My wife said he was asking for me.
I went to the junk drawer and pulled out a pair of pliers. Suddenly, my wife called me from the living room. She sounded anxious. I stood in the doorway, pliers in hand.
"What on earth are you doing?"
"He wanted some help with his loose tooth, right?"
"What is wrong with you?"
"I was trying to be funny." I paused. "Wait, you actually thought I was going to yank out his tooth?"
"I was thinking of your dad."
Which was not unreasonable. My dad is practical in the old country way, which is considered batshit insane in the modern way. I have seen my dad nearly cut his thumb off, shrug, finish what he was doing, and then go looking for something to use as a tourniquet. It would not be inconceivable that my dad would have gone to his toolbox before starting some dental work. My dad, however, would've considered the size of a 6-year-old's tooth and selected needle-nose pliers.
In this way, at least, I am not my father. I rolled my eyes and headed upstairs.
"So you've got a loose tooth?"
"Yes. Why do you have pliers?"
"I was trying to be funny."
"Oh."
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