“Alan” is an older gentleman I recently met.
He’s a tall, thin man in his ’70s with thin white hair.
He looks younger than his age.
We were sitting in foldout chairs at a foldout table while we talked.
Antebellum Homes, of all things, is what we were discussing when Alan began opening a small blue plastic box.
After he opened the lid, I saw that the box held Invisible Braces for his teeth. —You’ve probably seen their commercials, such as “Invisalign.”
“You probably think I’m too old to be wearing braces,” He says and continues, “A few years back, my Mother told me that she wished she had fixed my teeth when I was younger.” He said while grinning at the fond memory. “It caught me off guard.”
“Oh, really,” I said.
“Yeah, when she got into her ’90s, she began saying whatever she felt like saying—saying it like it is.”
I giggled and replied, “So now you got braces to make Momma happy. That’s sweet. You’re a good son.”
“Yeah. Momma won’t be able to see my new teeth, though. She passed away a few years back, but I’m still doing it for Momma.”
“The things we do for our Momma,” I say.
“Yes. Momma was a good woman.”
“Was she alive when you first got your braces?” I ask.
“No. It wasn’t until after she passed that I remembered that.” He says.
I could tell in his eyes and body gestures that he was thinking back fondly on the memory. He was grinning happily.
“Yea. She won’t get to see my teeth. I’m still doing it for her, though,” Alan says while still grinning.
“I don’t think you’re too old to get braces,” I say as I pat Alan on his shoulders.
“And I think Momma’ll see your new smile and be proud of you.”
