When my father was five years old, my grandfather wanted to help pull his first-born-son’s first loose tooth out of his mouth. Well, my dad wasn’t having it. My grandpa promised him that it wouldn’t hurt. My dad didn’t believe him. Another tactic was used. “If it hurts at all you can hit me on the head with that hammer,” said Grandpa. That little boy was finally interested in the minor surgery.
Grandpa tied a string onto the tooth and pulled, but the tooth didn’t come out. Blood filled my dad’s mouth, mixing with saliva. Grandpa tried to pull the tooth again before the bottom lip released the mixture and spilled onto my dad’s arm resting on the table beneath them. Grandpa tried a second time. This time the tooth was loosened more but it didn’t come out. The intense jerk forced a bit of bloody spittle out of my dad’s mouth and it splattered on his arm. Upon seeing this display for the first time in his life, my father squealed and pulled away from the menacing sport. That is when the tooth came out and dangled on the string in front of him.
After my grandmother cleaned up her first son’s mouth, justice came calling from this future lawyer’s mouth. “My turn, Daddy!” he yelled!
Grandma said, “Oh Ralph! You aren’t really going to let him hit you on the head with a hammer are you?”
“Yes, I am,” he said. “I told him if it hurt, he could hurt me. I stand by my word.”
The tall and strong World War II veteran crouched down in front of his son in that kitchen and handed him a hammer. “Besides,” Grandpa said with a sly smile, “how much damage could a five-year-old do?”
Grandpa was released from the hospital the next day with a minor concussion, but he never made a bargain like that with any of his seven children after that.
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