A Household Word
Tooth-Fairy Tales

I thought the jig was up.

My daughter, Perry, lost a tooth. Not her first tooth, not her front tooth, just a run-of-the-mill baby tooth from the bottom row. Before I went to bed that night, I searched the house for appropriately ethereal pen and paper. I found a pink pad and a purple glitter pen in Perry’s room, dashed off the obligatory note from the Tooth Fairy, and left it under her pillow along with a shiny silver dollar. The silver dollar required a special trip to the bank. My advice would be: don’t bother. Your kids will think it’s a big quarter.

The next morning, the household was awakened by an announcement from Perry’s room that the Tooth Fairy had, indeed, landed:

"Hey! Rip-off! She only left me a quarter!"

By the time she came to the breakfast table, my daughter had turned her attention and her uncanny eye for detail to the Tooth Fairy’s note.

"The Tooth Fairy’s handwriting looks a lot like yours, Mom," she probed.

"Really? That’s interesting," I feigned surprise.

"No, Mom, really. The way she makes her r’s looks exactly the same as yours when you sign my report card."

I began to feel defensive.

"They don’t look the same to me," I said. "See, her i’s are all dotted with little teeth and her handwriting is way fancier than mine." I tried to keep the panic out of my voice. "Besides," I added triumphantly, "I never sign your report cards with a purple glitter pen."

"Mom," she countered, "I have a pen that writes just like that. You probably stole it from my room."

It was obvious that she was on to me. She knew the truth.

"Mom," she glared at me with steely determination, "you are the Tooth Fairy!"

I was cornered. There was no way out. My mind raced as I tried to think of some way to save her innocence, to preserve her imagination and retain the last vestiges of her precious childhood. If you believe in fairies, clap your hands!

"You’re right," I finally agreed. "I am the Tooth Fairy."

She looked skeptical.

"I never told you because I thought that it wouldn’t be fair if the other kids in the neighborhood knew. They’d be jealous."

"Mom, come on," she pleaded. "Tell me the truth."

I knew I had her.

"I am telling the truth," I explained. "The women in our family have been the Tooth Fairy for many generations. Do you think it’s a coincidence that Grandma is a dental hygienist?"

That was the clincher. She was a believer.

"But how come I never see you going out at night to collect teeth and give kids money?"

"Sweetie," I explained with fairy-like patience, "you know how I’m always dashing off to all those P. T. O. meetings?"

"Tooth-Fairy business?" she asked solemnly.

"Yep. And you’re next in line. Just like The Princess Diaries."