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Marking 5 years and silver molars

By Mary Pat Rowland
Sunday, July 1, 2012

My son, Jarid, lost a molar last Monday. I suppose it wasn't monumental when you consider all that has happened in his life and all that will happen. He's 11 and boys lose teeth, but, to me, it a big moment.

The tooth he pulled out by himself was the first molar on the bottom right, and like so many of the baby teeth he has lost over the past few years, it was capped in silver. I thought it was the last of those silver teeth, a real benchmark, but he has two more molars in the back on the top jaw — one of each side — that are still encased in silver.

Jarid is adopted and, I guess in my mind, the silver teeth are a symbol of what he has been through in his young life. He was taken away from his parents when he was 6 because of abuse and neglect. His baby teeth were rotting in his head from bottle mouth, a condition that occurs when babies and little children are allowed to suck endlessly on baby bottles filled with sugar water, soft drinks, fruit juice or other liquids capable of rotting their teeth. It keeps them quiet, but ruins their mouths.

Sometimes the rot goes down past the roots of the baby teeth and destroys the buds of the adult teeth. Jarid was lucky that didn't happen to him. The price was a lot of dentistry, a mouth full of silver and a slight speech impediment from having no front teeth for most of his early childhood.

The poor kid had to wait until he was between 8 and 9 years old to finally grow front teeth. And every time he pronounced the letter "S," it came out sounding like "SH." Our English setter "Sally" became "Shally," and when Jarid gave the command over and over for "Sally" to sit, the results were both obscene and hilarious. Replace "S" with "SH" in the phrase Jarid would say in a loud, clear voice: "Sit, Sally, sit. Come on, girl. Sit, sit, sit," he would shout. He was always so puzzled by the gales of laughter that followed from his siblings.

The loss of Jarid's silver tooth got me thinking that it has been more than five years since this story started. My husband, Dan, and I became foster parents to Jack and Jenn, Jarid's oldest siblings, in January of 2007. We met Jarid, Jeff and Jake three weeks later after their dad died at 37. Eventually we adopted all five of the children.

As you might imagine, it has been a rough road and so difficult at times it wasn't a road at all, but more like a jungle or a wilderness without even the narrowest of trails to follow.

Though we have been at this for more than five years, sadly, Dan and I have had very little impact on the children. We have fed them, clothed them, tried to educate them, listened to their sorrows and kept them safe, but they are still firmly rooted in their old life, some of which was not good.

That painful truth is in front of me every day, but I try not to dwell on it because I have not given up. I am still trying to influence them, even if it is just in some small way that will help them later in life.

"Can you please take your dishes to the sink?"

"Don't forget to brush your teeth!"

So, Jarid and I will continue the countdown for the last of his silver teeth to come out. Lately, on these warm summer nights, we go for three-mile walks together in our neighborhood (he rides his rip stick while I push hard to keep up with him). We watch the bats flying around at dusk and stop to listen to the bullfrogs that sound like out-of-tune guitar strings.

I tell him stories about my life and how I see things. He likes my stories, but I have no idea if any of it will stick with him.

His two remaining silver molars will likely be gone by the end of the year. A trip to the orthodontist and silver braces are in his future.

Five years have passed and there are two teeth to go. I have no idea how this will turn out. I just know I love him.

Mary Pat Rowland is the managing editor of Foster's Daily Democrat. She may be reached at