I’ve heard so many childhood injury stories over the years; for example, the one about how my brother almost lost one of his testicles because he stabbed his nut sack with a fence when he tried to jump it. All of these stories were very unique and interesting, as if someone had made them up so they could impress their families. However, none of these stories are as unique and random as a mine; I consider mine one in a hundred form the way it happened and what happened. How little me could chip his tooth. I know it doesn’t sound interesting at all, I mean people chip their tooth all the time but not quite like this. If there was ever a time when I was at my most stupid phase, it definitely had to be during elementary school and the moment that defined my elementary school experience was during my fourth-grade spring. I was never a friendly kid, I had plenty of friends but that didn’t make me friendly; one day I decided to actually interact and play hide and seek like a normal little boy, I regret my decision. Even though I couldn’t hear him counting, I could feel the kid going by the numbers faster than I ate my bag of chips before I joined the game. Teachers and other kids could see my little fat legs trip on each other trying to get to a hiding spot as fast as they could. As I saw my other playmates running towards the safe spot, I knew that he was done counting and that I had to get to the safe spot. Once again, my little fat legs found themselves going as fast as they could. All of a sudden, I meet the seeker at one of the squared school chapel’s corner. In that immediate moment we both knew we had to get to the opposite corner to decide if I got saved or if I was the next seeker. We took different directions, as I was running, I could already feel sweet victory but as always, my fantasies ruin my plans. As I turned the corner to claim my save, I felt the crash and tumbled down to the floor. I opened my eyes and I was on the floor, only a few seconds had passed since the crash; I saw the seeker still on the floor, as I got up and patted the dust of my shoulders, I felt my mouth empty, then my tongue confirmed it, my tooth was three quarters gone exactly. Immediately my face turned white and a teacher came close to me and asked me what was wrong. I heart brokenly yell, “My tooth is gone!” Everyone turned immediately to me, but the real scare was when the other guy turned at me and I saw his forehead, I saw blood flowing down and falling on the tip of his nose. I saw the three quarters of my missing tooth stuck in his dirty forehead; my friends let me tell you that at this moment my concerns about his dirty forehead had stepped aside, and the only thing I could think of was how I must look without a tooth; my vanity was simple shattered. I immediately started crying and ran as fast as I can to the principal’s office. The very little self-esteem I had built over the course of my first four years in elementary had vaporized into the air when I saw everyone trying to take pictures of me in tears through the office window while the Principle tried to make them go away. Everyone blamed me for the accident, which was no surprise since I had more enemies in elementary school than the ones I have now. They laughed at me for crying for losing a piece of my tooth while the other guy had stitches to his forehead. What my classmates didn’t understand was that I couldn’t care less about my tooth. What frightened me to my bone was the woman with the 80’s haircut, the Prada sunglasses and the nude lipstick that was waiting for me outside the school. I could already feel my mother’s destructive stare: the one that makes one want to disappear. She only has to take a quick look at you, and you feel she is absorbing your soul and all you can do is stay quiet and listen how she criticizes you. As I walked out the principal’s office in shame and fear, towards my mom’s pearl-white SUV, I hear everyone saying “Diente Mocho” which means “No tooth” or “Chipped tooth” I didn’t really care, all I could focus on was how I could feel her stare burning through me.
Pablo Padres is from Mexico and the youngest of four. He grew up writing as one of his many hobbies like painting, running, traveling, and more. He enjoys sushi and attending parties. He wishes to study marketing and business administration abroad and then continue to be a PR executive or even found a media company.