Root Canal
I went to the dentist today, and was told that I need a root canal. That brought back memories of my last root canal in 1950. Cousin Gary and I lived in a house with an open porch on the second level. One day a group of tough neighborhood kids were yelling at us from the yard below, and we decided to get ‘em. Several movies of that era had scenes where the inhabitants of the castle threw boiling oil on invaders. We decided to copy their strategy, and heated water to a boil on the stove. As Gary boiled, I took the pans and threw them off the porch at the throngs below. It was a slow process and did not achieve the intended result since they had time to get out of the way. After two or three pots were thrown I was ready with another when a well-placed rock from below hit me on the front tooth, breaking it in half. The tooth turned black shortly thereafter, and required two treatments a week apart. As I mentioned before, this was a tough neighborhood.
