When I was young and losing baby teeth, my grandfather convinced me that he could help me pull the loose ones… and his way wouldn’t hurt at all!

Intrigued, I agreed.

I watched with fascination as he tied floss around my tooth with enough drag for him to be able to grab on to it, but not be anywhere near my mouth.

We did a 3-2-1 count down together and BAM! At the exact same time he yanked the tooth out, he stomped on my foot.

Oh. My. Stars.

It hurt so bad! I was indignant! “You said it wouldn’t hurt!” I gasped as my siblings, at first horrified, snickered in the background.

“You weren’t listening, Sally,” he said. “I said your tooth wouldn’t hurt. I said nothing about your foot!”

He was right, though I can’t remember verbalizing it. I couldn’t feel anything in body except the throbbing pain in my foot.

I don’t think I ever saw him more pleased with himself, even when I picked up the clarinet (he used to play in school) or when I started working with him on genealogy… or even when I graduated from college, ha!

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