They call me the ‘wisdom tooth,’ a joke in rotten enamel. A name that drips with the dark colours of irony and misunderstanding. Late to every party, I arrive just when you think you’ve got it all figured out – your young adulthood. But I am not welcomed with fanfare – it’s all screams and throbbing jaws. However, some lucky folks never have to deal with me.
I start from deep within the gums and rise to the surface. You see, by the time I make my appearance, the human jaw often has no room for me. Evolution has shrunk your mouths, but I still confirm my attendance. In earlier times, I was the key to coarse diets which required more chewing power. Oh, how times, and teeth, have changed! My neighbours, the incisors and canines have lived in this sector for long – confirming their roles of cutting and tearing. I come with a purpose in the mastication of tougher foods, left short-lived.
But me? I battle for every millimetre. Stuck down here in the shadows, crammed against bone or wedged between my smug roommates. It’s a constant fight for space in this shrinking jaw. Back in the good old days, I’d be a champ, but these humans with their fancy utensils and food so soft it practically dissolves? They don’t need a heavyweight like me.
They blame me for the trouble I cause. A little throbbing here, a bit of swelling there – all my fault according to them. But hey, can you blame a guy for trying to get noticed? When you’re stuck in the back with no room to breathe, sometimes you gotta make a scene. Besides, it’s not like I asked to grow sideways or push against a nerve.
This pain is my war cry. My way of saying, “Hey up front, remember I’m back here? Deal with it!” And they do. Eventually, they can’t ignore the throbbing any longer. They drag me out into the blinding lights, those shiny tools glinting with the promise of eviction. It’s a barbaric process, if anything.
They tear me from my roots and separate me from all I have ever known. Discarded, each person leaves behind a tiny piece of themselves as the dentists perform the procedure that is now a rite of passage for them, so insanely common.
In my final days, I reflect – named for wisdom, but rendered obsolete by the very advancements of life. I try to contribute, to be a part of the whole, but instead, I become a casualty of progress. My revenge, once fulfilling, now feels hollow. The pain I caused led only to my own demise.
In the end, I am but a tooth, a small hard remnant of a forgotten era. My story is one of conflicts and misplacement, a journey cut short by relentless modernity. I stand here for the ever-changing human body. And so, I bid farewell, leaving behind a space that will heal, a gap that will close, and a legacy of dental history, as the wise, wistful and wounded wisdom tooth.