I see little plastic mallets, bright blue-colored drills. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hippopotamus, but I'm afraid we're going to have to pull the tooth." Ketchup blood, actual Chiclet teeth. Or perhaps made out of Play-Doh. Everything is something else.
I wanted to make the obvious joke: "Hey, Charlie, did your son fail out of make-believe medical school?" But I didn't get it in before Charlie said, "It's the only thing that keeps him focused anymore."
"Dentistry?"
"Looking for cavities, filling them in, gassing, pulling teeth. Seems a little sadistic maybe but I guess you can say that about any dentist." My Hippo's mouth was bleeding. "I got him the doctor's outfit to play in, white coat and everything. But he went straight to dentistry." Charlie's smile was faint but strong, the Proud Parent, the only one left. That boy, Michael, was flossing a monkey puppet. He was finally playing.
"Hey," I said, "you got one hell of a kid."
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