"I Don't Want Eight Waffles! I Want Twelve of Them!" -- Jeffery Dallas

October 3rd, 1984, was a significant day for me.  It was 30 years ago today.  I was in second grade.  My baby sister Cherith had just been born.  She was two weeks old.

I walked home from school that day and then commenced playing with my other sister Katrina.  We were climbing on the batting cage by the baseball field that was practically next door to our house, which stood on the property of Pensacola Christian.

It was an ordinary day until something unexpected happened.

My oh-so-daring, older brother Stephen had shown me a day or two earlier how to climb to the top of this batting cage, scoot out to the middle with his feet dangling several feet above the ground, let go of the bar with his hands, and then drop to the ground.  Now was my chance to try this.

I was a bit apprehensive at first, but my adventurous self wanted to know how fun it would be, so I threw caution to the wind and tried it.  I climbed up exactly how he had shown me.  I then scooted out to the middle where my feet dangled much further from the ground than my brother's, considering I was three years younger than he.  I let go and dropped.  It was exhilarating.  I had to try this again.

I ran back around to the place where I had first climbed up.  I took one step up onto a bar.  I took another-- Or did I?  This is where my mind cannot clearly recount the events of the rest of this very significant day in my young little life.

I fell that day.  After one or two steps up onto that batting cage, I fell.  As I fell, my two front teeth caught one of the bars and were knocked completely out.

I have pieced together the events that took place after I fell by listening to the stories I've been told by my dad, mom, sister, and my brother.

My sister Katrina ran into the house first to tell my mom what had happened.  This I'm sure softened the blow somewhat because if I had run in the house first with all the blood that was pouring down my face and all over my clothes, she may have had a heart attack.  So here's six-year-old Katrina telling my mother that I am hurt.  My mother, who is still caring for an infant, is mortified when she sees me come in the door.  She calls my dad who was still at work, and he comes home to take me to the hospital.  My brother is somewhere in there.  He has his own (suspicious) side to the story.  (My theory is that he somehow caused the fall, but that is another blog entirely.)

My first clear memory is of my dad driving me to the hospital.  I was in the front seat of our station wagon with a yellow washcloth held to my mouth to catch the blood.  My dad said to me, "It's going to be all right.  I'm taking you to the emergency room."

At the hospital, my head was x-rayed.  The teeth had indeed been knocked out and not pushed up inside my head.  So, word was sent home for my brother and sister to look for the teeth.  My brother (suspiciously) found the teeth six feet from where I had fallen.

This is the part of the story that I get tired of telling.  Yes, Katrina always says, "When we found the teeth, they had ants crawling on them!"  Yes, they did put those teeth back into my mouth.  Yes, it's gross.  Anyway, I had braces for a short period to hold the teeth in place.  After the braces came off, one of the teeth slowly started making its way back out until finally one day my gums split back open, exposing the root, and that tooth had to be removed.

The other tooth had to be removed eventually as well because it had fused to a bone and wasn't lined up with the rest of my teeth.  By then I was in the sixth grade.  I got braces again to straighten the rest of my teeth and to also make room for a bridge to fit in the toothless gap.

I went from 2nd to 8th grade without a proper set of front teeth.  Yeah.  As if my glasses wearing face needed something else to make it look awkward.  Thanks a lot, God.

I say that sarcastically, but I actually mean it.  I'm glad that this happened to me.  As a child, I did not understand the importance of something bad happening to a person.  I always wondered why.  I was really shy and awkward as a child.  This added to that.  I can remember crying at night as I was falling asleep wondering if I would ever have teeth again.

This was all part of His plan.  He was turning me into something He needed me to be.  He needed me to smile without showing my teeth for about six or seven years.  He needed me to see life through those nerdy, thick glasses.  He apparently needed me to ride around my school on a scooter for four to six weeks when I was 36 years old.  And you know what?  I needed Him to help me do those things because if I were in charge of it all, I would never choose to do the hard stuff.  And without the experience of these things, I could never build my own character.

I will say it again.  Thanks a lot, God.  I do blame You for this, but I also sincerely thank you.