Have mercy

When I was growing up, going to the dentist was a family event. Our family of eight would climb into the car, and we would drive to Dundalk to see Dr. Towson. His waiting room always seemed full of magazines and sunshine.

He would look at my teeth and praise me for “the good tartar” protecting my teeth. I always left his office feeling that going to the dentist was fun. At some point, though, he retired.

It was then that I realized not every dentist likes tartar, and they often criticize you for not flossing enough. I moved from practice to practice until I finally found a kind dentist who didn’t make me feel bad about my teeth. Eventually that dentist retired, too, and he turned the practice over to my current dentist, who is not only a great, supportive dentist but also extremely creative. The last time I went for an appointment, he cleaned my teeth himself and then pulled out a guitar and played a couple songs. He has done the same for my husband. He is quite talented – and I enjoy going.

When the time came for us to start our children with orthodontia, we picked an orthodontist who is straightforward and knowledgeable. We spend a fair amount of time at the orthodontist’s office, and it’s usually a pleasant enough experience. But the other day I took one of our boys to the orthodontist to fix a broken bracket, and the young woman working on his mouth started scolding him.

“You keep breaking things,” she said in frustration. “You need to be more careful. If you keep doing this, you’ll have to have your braces on even longer.”

Her tone upset me. It’s hard enough to be a child in middle school with all the pressures and self-confidence issues. Then you add orthodontia. My children will have these braces for seemingly forever. They can’t eat any of the candy they want, and they have to use rubber bands and brush their teeth with extra care. It’s an enormous chore for everyone involved. A little empathy and understanding can go a long way.

“That bracket broke while he was eating bread!” I said. “I need him to eat well, and he was just having breakfast.”

The conversation went downhill, and I could tell I needed to let it go. So, I retreated to a bench, and I let her do her work fixing it. A minute later, though, I overheard the woman sitting in the next chair telling the employee helping her that her bracket had broken, too.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” she said breezily. “It’s frustrating when that happens, but it’s an easy fix.” Then she fixed it.

There, I thought. That wasn’t that hard. Why do we so often assume that children aren’t trying? Why can’t we show a little more empathy? If the person working with my son had acknowledged what a pain orthodontia is, she could have helped him feel invested in the process.

I started thinking about what inspires me to do better. If I were to confess sins and the priest scolded me, I would walk out feeling terrible about myself. I would not be inspired to live differently. But when the priest – with Jesus working through him – offers forgiveness and grace, I leave with tears in my eyes and a longing to make better choices the next time.

“Confession is an act of honesty and courage – an act of entrusting ourselves, beyond sin, to the mercy of a loving and forgiving God,” St. John Paul II said. 

Mercy goes a long way. Criticism gets us nowhere. I just hoped my son wouldn’t feel discouraged.

As I sat steaming in the car on the way home, I asked him how he felt about what the woman had said to him.

“Well,” he said matter-of-factly, “it was a pretty tough piece of bread.”

Fair enough. Maybe I need to give a little mercy myself.

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