Wisdom
Wherein the author explains that she still has her wisdom teeth because she’s gay.
In my early 20s, I was a Junior Arabic Language Analyst stationed at Ft. Meade and was deeply uncomfortable with the fact that I’m gay. (Who knows why?) I was also cowering under the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy and watching America’s ongoing “culture war” over the level of acceptance gay people should receive in society. (It’s a mystery, really.)
Soon after returning from Iraq in ’07, I had a dental appointment. It should have been the most mundane part of my day, but it ended with me frantically insisting to a Lieutenant Colonel (Lt Col) that I did not need to have my wisdom teeth removed. I can’t exaggerate how out-of-character this was. A much saltier, future version of myself would one day debate senior officers for fun, but Airman Rouse still jumped to attention when a Lieutenant walked in the room. I normally wouldn’t speak to an officer, much less argue with one.
This officer was telling me that I needed to have my wisdom teeth removed and somebody would have to give me a ride home because of the drugs they use for the procedure. I was familiar. At the time, it was trendy for people to record family or friends after this same procedure for a laugh at how the anesthesia affected them. Clips of people saying ridiculous things with no explanation went viral, like the teen who landed on Ellen for deliriously asserting that Ellen DeGeneres should have been present for her surgery.
These videos were harmless fun for people with nothing to hide. For people like me they displayed an unacceptable and terrifying risk. What if I outed myself accidentally? I knew folks who had been investigated. Other Arabic translators were discharged during some of the roughest years of the war for being gay.
So I argued my way out of that procedure. The Lt Col finally relented, telling me I couldn’t be forced while assuring me that my wisdom teeth would cause me problems someday. He was right about that. He was also clearly confused about why I opposed the procedure so vehemently. How could he have understood? How could I have explained?
Twice a day I brush my teeth and think about the odd, unforeseen consequences of bigotry. Having my wisdom teeth is less a traumatic experience and more a physical reminder of traumatic experiences. It reminds me of the intangible harms that even now I struggle to describe: shame, isolation, suffocating fear. Some days I wonder if I’ll ever be rid of it all.
Just like these damn wisdom teeth.
