Toothy memories and days gone by

Since I'm back in my hometown for a few days, I went to get my teeth checked today. No cavities, yay! 

My Dad is a dentist, and for as long as I can remember, he's had his own practice in a converted farmhouse in one of the quieter areas of Geneva. It's rather quaint: there are apple trees in the backyard, and while they're gone now, there also used to be donkeys when I was growing up.

When I was much younger, I used to love going to his office. It was exciting to go and see Daddy, to sit in the patient's chair and press the buttons to make it go up and down (I mean, it was practically a ride), to play with the button that sprayed mouthwash, to see my Dad dressed in scrubs and wearing a face mask and a funny cap. I always had to try not to laugh at him when he was checking my teeth.

Less than two weeks ago - after nearly 30 years - my Dad sold his practice to two other dentists. He's progressively retiring over the next couple of months, turning over his patients and reducing his weekly hours month-by-month, until finally he expects to be completely retired by about June 2017. 

I'm excited to hear about what he'll do in retirement, and I'm obviously very happy to see how excited he is about it. But it's also a little sobering. Like it or not, even though I'm fully grown now, there's something that's still little-kid-ish whenever I go visit him at work. And I'm going to have very many more opportunities to do that--maybe just another one or two. And that means that my Daddy is getting older, and that everyone else is getting older, and that *I* am getting older, and that things are changing. It's a little bit of a deep way to think about a trip to the dentist, but there you have it: I've had the same, on-call, 24/7 dentist my whole life, and how many people can say that?

So today I was mostly just happy to relive a little slice of my childhood, and to sit in the chair for perhaps the last time.

Thanks for the memories.