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Sustenance

Susie Gharib

    Yes, I have protruding teeth, engendered by my thumb sucking in my earliest years. A psychologist once told me that the act could be attributed to lack of emotional sustenance, with which I fully agree. I could not sleep without absorbing the sap from my shriveling membrane, but it had to cease when she bandaged my finger, like a mummy, to stifle what gave me relief. She then went as far as rubbing hot pepper paste round my thumb to assassinate my bliss. It was an ordeal, the sleepless nights without my soothing cream. She eventually gave up because I solidified the habit during the day, twirling my hair as I sucked my finger’s milk.
    When I look back at those days, I feel certain that the habit was instigated by emotional impoverishment, a debilitating absence of tenderness that gave me the frail stature of flower’s stalk. I always pined for the juice of my self-generated love until I became nine years old.
    I was shopping the other day in one of Melbourne’s affluent districts when I spotted a girl in a pram in one of the supermarket’s isles; I could not avert my eyes from her transgressing hand. I deliberated for a while then approached the mother, who was filling the trolley with all sorts of dessert, with an introductory smile and commented on the subject of thumb sucking with a brave heart:
    “My teeth are misaligned because I had this habit as a child,” I gently remarked, fixing my eyes on the child’s vigorous, half-hidden thumb.
    She amiably returned my smile and responded to my genuine concern with a short statement that gave me a life-long enlightenment.
    “I can repair my child’s teeth anytime in the future, but how can I fix any emotional problems that might arise from depriving her from what gives her comfort and joy,” she softly replied.
    I acquiesced with a respectful bow and decided to retain my half-permanent, expansive smile that I had been attempting to curb for quite a while.

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