Under Repair

So, you might think a dentist could do all kinds of practical stuff, like fixing things around the house.

It’s like, if you can restore millimeters of little teeth within a pocket-sized environment, with an active squiggly tongue in the middle and looming cheeks on the sides, fixing everything else should be super-simple? And using power tools, sharp instruments, needles, and a water hose while being assisted by another set of hands and tools? No problem, we do it every day. And just to be clear, I didn’t even mention all the claustrophobic protective wear including two masks, a shield, a cap, a gown, loupes, plus laser filtering lenses. Installing a door or a shelf sounds way easier.

But not so fast my friends, if you believe in stuff like U.S. History, it makes sense that while I’m old, I had nothing to do with the Reconstruction Act of 1867. In fact, you can add construction or reconstruction of any kind. And an interesting aside: In 1864, I would’ve voted Republican.

Nope, I’m useless repairing anything not involving teeth or gums. Electricity helped Thomas Edison figure out 10,000 approaches to using it that didn’t work. But the negative feedback given from power mistakes seems way out of proportion; scares me just adjusting the driver’s seat or changing a light bulb. We’re NOT perfect, right? And electrocution is more serious than a posterior open bite or a kidney stone.

And when I’ve seen former President Jimmy Carter working at building a house with Habitat for Humanity, it takes me back to when I was a teenager. Why? Back when I was in high school there were two solid questions I couldn’t answer: (1) What football position can I play that guarantees my health and safety? and (2) What job can I hold that doesn’t involve doing yard work? When I see a TV report showing President Carter building a house at age ninety-whatever, I wonder about what I could do to be just like President Jimmy? “Stay outta the way” doesn’t seem like enough.

To tell ya the truth, being a dentist and owning my own practice since the Carter Administration was a great fit for someone allergic to repairs outside of the realm of dentistry. One of the earliest leadership concepts I embraced was the power of delegation. There are people, in addition to Jimmy, who freakin’ enjoy fixing all kinds of stuff; they have a passion for it. My own uncle could’ve had a PhD in repair (who knew I might even have repair DNA in my blood?) Am I a dictator? No. Do I believe in Jewish space lasers? No. Is “Fun” a core value? Yes. Do I enjoy empowering others? Yes, I’m a true believer. My 11th Commandment soon read, “Surround yourself with people who are enthusiastic about engaging in everything you find potentially dangerous, uninteresting, and totally necessary…like repair work.” Empower to the people!”

And now for the irony, inspired by Mother Nature, a long-ago ill-conceived Sicilian curse, and/or (you know) the freakin LA Dodgers.

I had been practicing dentistry and been the owner of Temple City Dental Care for over 10-years, six months, and several days to the minute, when I realized I was truly nothing more than a glorified enamel drilling, tooth filling and removing, root scraping repair man. Where was the art? Where was the creativity? I had memorized the Krebs Cycle, worked full-time in a warehouse for 3-years (didn’t fix a damn thing), and learned the meaning of TMJ, but I was a repair man. Was I fit for the job or not? Imposter Syndrome hadn’t even been invented but I had all the symptoms.

And just when I realized what I had become, technology, new materials, artistry, and a mentor who dished out microbrew during afternoon continuing education breaks, saved me. Another mentor added confidence and a “10” to my forehead (and with his help, I installed THAT myself.)

My Uncle Tony used to fix everything for our family and the entire Blandino famiglia; he also secured a recommendation from a boyhood friend who happened to be the strongest politician in the history of LA County (including the University of Southern California School of Dentistry.) My uncle could complete engineering projects simply by lifting the hood or removing a panel; he was a plumber, electrician, auto mechanic, carpenter, small business owner and an entrepreneur.

Uncle Tony was also my patient. In his later years and my early dentist days, my uncle visited me at the office for dental care. I clearly remember him, one time, looking up at me and then my DDS degree on the wall and asking, “What are you doing here?” Uncle Tony had a twinkle in his eye. It was like, “Kid, I’m glad you finally found something you could fix.” It was a great day to be a nephew and a beautiful day to be acknowledged as a repair man.

Sometimes it’s interesting thinking about a minute that became a lasting memory.