A Gap-Toothed Woman
Back in the ‘80s, the documentary filmmaker Les Blank made a short film called “Gap-Toothed Women.” It was basically a collection of interviews with women who had little in common except the gap between their two upper front teeth. Some were famous—the actress Lauren Hutton, for example—but most were unknown, from various walks of life. It’s a quirky, sweet movie.
I loved this film, and I’m sure I loved it because of Mom. Mom was proud of her gap-toothed smile, and she would have loved this tribute. She grew up in an era when you didn’t have the idiosyncrasies of your appearance corrected—and in a family that never would have considered the idea anyway. You took your genetic roll of the dice, and that was that.
She didn’t worry much about appearances in general. She was pretty and would put on her rouge and red lipstick for occasional nights out, but in my mind’s eye she is always causally groomed and dressed in simple sun dresses, her curls tied up in a red bandana for housework. I have this special memory from when I was four years old, and we had just moved into the Cape Cod in Hamilton Gardens. Since Ted was a year older than I was, he took the school bus to kindergarten every morning; Maggie was just a baby. So I kind of had Mom to myself for several hours every day.
Mom was a full-time housewife, as were most of the other mothers who lived in Hamilton Gardens, and they had this tradition called “come as you are” parties. What that meant was that one of the mothers would ring up the others—half a dozen or so—and announce a spontaneous gathering at her house for coffee. That was it, but the idea was that you wouldn’t take any time at all to primp or change anything; you were supposed to drop everything and head off in whatever state of undress you were in.
Mom explained this to me in a conspiratorial way. She told me that it was possible one of the mothers might get the phone call when she was naked, for example, and if she were honest and played by the rules she would have to show up at the party that way. I found that idea hugely entertaining, but it never happened. The worst that ever happened was that someone showed up with her hair still in rollers, or in pajamas and a housecoat. That happened a lot actually, but since women went to the grocery store like that, it wasn’t all that interesting to a four-year-old. Still, I loved it each time one of these phone calls came, because you never knew who would get caught off guard one day.
I used to say that I hated when women started wearing sweatpants and sweatshirts around the house. But what I really hated was Mom wearing sweats around the house. I wanted her in that sun dress and bandana, flashing that gap-toothed smile. If she were alive she would be 86 this month.
I loved this film, and I’m sure I loved it because of Mom. Mom was proud of her gap-toothed smile, and she would have loved this tribute. She grew up in an era when you didn’t have the idiosyncrasies of your appearance corrected—and in a family that never would have considered the idea anyway. You took your genetic roll of the dice, and that was that.
She didn’t worry much about appearances in general. She was pretty and would put on her rouge and red lipstick for occasional nights out, but in my mind’s eye she is always causally groomed and dressed in simple sun dresses, her curls tied up in a red bandana for housework. I have this special memory from when I was four years old, and we had just moved into the Cape Cod in Hamilton Gardens. Since Ted was a year older than I was, he took the school bus to kindergarten every morning; Maggie was just a baby. So I kind of had Mom to myself for several hours every day.
Mom was a full-time housewife, as were most of the other mothers who lived in Hamilton Gardens, and they had this tradition called “come as you are” parties. What that meant was that one of the mothers would ring up the others—half a dozen or so—and announce a spontaneous gathering at her house for coffee. That was it, but the idea was that you wouldn’t take any time at all to primp or change anything; you were supposed to drop everything and head off in whatever state of undress you were in.
Mom explained this to me in a conspiratorial way. She told me that it was possible one of the mothers might get the phone call when she was naked, for example, and if she were honest and played by the rules she would have to show up at the party that way. I found that idea hugely entertaining, but it never happened. The worst that ever happened was that someone showed up with her hair still in rollers, or in pajamas and a housecoat. That happened a lot actually, but since women went to the grocery store like that, it wasn’t all that interesting to a four-year-old. Still, I loved it each time one of these phone calls came, because you never knew who would get caught off guard one day.
I used to say that I hated when women started wearing sweatpants and sweatshirts around the house. But what I really hated was Mom wearing sweats around the house. I wanted her in that sun dress and bandana, flashing that gap-toothed smile. If she were alive she would be 86 this month.
posted by Wray Herbert | 3:16 PM
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