The end of the school year each November was a time of mixed emotions.
Before the unrestrained joy of summer holidays at the beach and the impending arrival of Santa Claus was the anxiety of end-of-year exams and the terror of the annual visit to the dentist.
At the end of World War II employment opportunities for ex-Nazis were a bit limited in countries other than Brazil, and divisions (I think this is the appropriate collective noun) of former Waffen-SS volunteers, naturally seeking an occupation in which their acquired skills could be gainfully employed, chose dentistry.
But to combine this honourable occupation with a Hitler moustache in the early 1950s, as did my dentist, was a brave decision indeed, and in the days of belt-driven drills and optional anaesthesia, when the foreplay included such calming small talk as "Would you like a needle, little boy?", showed an astounding lack of self-awareness and empathy.
And so it was with my dentist.
I may have imagined it, but, every year when my answer to this question was invariably "NOOOO!", his face seemed to light up, his eyes seemed to glitter, his pupils dilated and his breathing became harsh.
Which brings me to coping mechanisms for pain, which was an inseparable companion of low-speed, belt-driven dental drills.
Because the dentist knew my father, I felt that it was important, even for a seven year old kid, to be brave, and especially not to cry or pull away.
I decided to concentrate very hard on the sensation of pain. To try to analyse it. I found it was pretty hard to describe the sensation in words that weren't simply adjectives, although "greenish-black" seemed to more or less fit the bill.
This technique, remarkably, helped.
And when that sweet little dental nurse grinds her pubis into my shoulder as she concentrates on her sucker-technique, I keep hoping the dentist won't rush his work.
**************
July 2020
Last week, a court in Hamburg found a 93 year old former Nazi SS guard at the Stutthof concentration camp guilty of accessory to murder of 5,232 people, mostly Jews, between August 1955 and April 1945.
His surname was the same as my childhood dentist.
Coincidence? I think not.