This is a cautionary tale for youth and dentists alike. We had three dentists in Syracuse who were related … an older gent and his two middle-aged sons all practiced together down on Onondaga Street. I did not like my childhood dentist whom I swore cut back on novacaine to save a buck. So, I made an appointment with the dad figuring he had been in practice for a gazillion years and probably knew his stuff. I was seventeen and ready for the adult DDS. For a new patient, it was and is de riguer to take xrays. It used to take about twelve years in the chair to get results and by then my nerves were frayed … not nearly as much as they would be when he returned, held up the xray, and said, “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?” He saw the blood drain from my face as I thought of my father and what would be my abbreviated lifespan. He quickly said, “Oh, I am sorry. I am just kidding.” I somehow got it together and we spoke of my next appointment where the drilling and filling would take place. Sadly, before that next appointment, old Doc went to his eternal reward. I was given a new appointment with DDS Son #1. Before THAT appointment, DDS Son #1 joined the patriarch in that Great Dental Waiting Room in the sky. When offered an appointment with DDS Son #2, I declined. In my kid mind I feared that the retribution for the not-so-funny pregnancy scare might not be over … I magnanimously allowed the last surviving son to carry on and hoped he didn’t terrify any other miscreant high school girls. And, yes, I now know dental xrays are not a good barometer for telling if one is on the road to motherhood. Never did I tell the parental units this one!!!