Dented: An AYM-Style Story

Some of you may be aware of your humble author's dimple. That is correct, it is singular. (Am I the only one who has trouble spelling that word because of a stupid cell phone company?) In case you aren't aware of the story, I'll share it. It has become somewhat of a legend within my family.

When I was about 5, I was running through the house, acting like the heathen child I was. When I was younger, I was prone to the occasional accident. (I say was prone. Who am I kidding? At least this one didn't involve flames, though. Right?) Well, I pulled a -B, and wiped out. I landed smack dab on the corner of the coffee table, cheek first. I'll be the first to tell you that back in those days, the good ole days, they didn't round off the corners of furniture. So, several screams and tears later, there it was. My dimple was born. You can see why I refer to it as my dent.

Just in case there's someone out there who doubts the story, all I have to offer is the proof that I've shown other doubters for years. It's made believers out of them. In my kindergarten picture, I'm showing off this huge cheese of a smile. No dimple. Not even an iota of one. The following year, for my first grade photo, my smile is toned down quite a bit. There it is, bigger than life. Now, no matter the size of the smile, when the lips curl, the dent graces us with its presence.

The reason I'm telling you about the dent is because it came up tonight. (This is the part of the story that really sounds like the AYM talking.) I was floating around the pool with -PB and -XV this evening. I don't even know what happened, but apparently something caused me to smile a bit. -PB then asks me, almost in a stunned voice, to smile again. I ask "Why?" He replies, "You only have one dimple." I proceeded to tell him the story of the dent. That really got me thinking.

You see, I think the moral of this story doesn't lie in the fact that I have a very observant son. Nor does it lie in the fact that I had never told him this story. The crux of it all, the really relevant part, is that I hadn't had a reason to share this legendary story with my very observant son. As observant as he may be, the dent had not been around enough for him to ask about it.

Pretty much anybody who knows me knows that I'm a pretty carefree guy, who is almost always in a good mood. I guess in a world of mortgages, car payments, yards that need mowing, and people who tend to disagree with me as to the value of their real property, I forget to relax from time to time. I should just smile more often, and recognize that more than a real estate appraiser, a homeowner, a taxpayer, and a neighbor, I'm a father. That fact alone should be enough to bring out the dent.