Winsome fairy can be creature of confusion

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Edge closer, friends, and lend me your ears.

Let us speak of a tale until now untold.

It was a dark night — a very dark night, a very dark night without sun.

We saw not this nocturnal creature but discovered her visit come morn.

A child previously sleeping, now awake. In his hand, a quarter, a dollar, maybe $5. In his mouth, a missing tooth. And his joyful cry: "Look, Mother. Look, Father. Look what the Tooth Fairy has brought!"

Egad, friends: Our children, beholden to a mercurial pixie who at times appears tightfisted, but is otherwise capable of staggering generosity.

And in today's age, this tooth-to-pay scale demands scrutiny.

One would swear this to be a matter of make-believe. If only such testimony did not exist.

Ladies and gentlemen, an accounting of the Tooth Fairy, Charleston area and beyond, circa late summer 2008 and other epochs:

First, let us call upon Joey Hansknecht, a smart 11-year-old from North Charleston. Joey gets $5 per tooth, and with 20 baby teeth, that makes $100.

He refers to the proceeds as a "pretty sweet deal," particularly in comparison with his mother, Heidi, who as a wee lass earned a quarter per tooth. Joey scoffs, pointing out the 2,000 percent increase.

"Myth or not," he says, "the money is real."

In her defense, perhaps even the Tooth Fairy feels the sting of inflation. A national study this year found the price per baby tooth to be 22 percent steeper today than a year ago. Securian Dental, a company that offers dental plans, surveyed 647 parents, determining the Tooth Fairy to pay $2.09 per baby tooth on average, up from $1.71 last year.

Incredibly, the payout is subjective. One parent reported the rate to be a nickel, another $50 per tooth.

Closer to home, Ava Fanning, daughter of Summerville mom Gina Fanning, gets $7 per tooth, the same as 5-year-old tyke Sullivan Wheatley of Mount Pleasant. By comparison, Jennifer Goins' daughter, Krista, had four teeth pulled, netting $4.

Clearly, this violates pay equity regulation. Yet, the national report suggests nothing of the Tooth Fairy's other practices. We must rely on anecdotal evidence.

In the early 1970s, Lindsey Butler says, her children received $1 per tooth. Strangely, the Tooth Fairy also kept coupons in her billfold, mistakenly leaving one. The next morning, Butler awoke to her daughter's shrieks: "Guess what?! This time the Tooth Fairy left me a dollar and a coupon for Dunkin' Donuts!"

Odd, yes. But what of Charline Grafton of Ladson and her 5-year-old cousin, Shawn?

In 1973, her father grew a huge garden for his family, paying Shawn one penny for every Japanese beetle he found. One morning, Shawn mentioned to Grafton he was "quitting his job."

But why, she asked.

He pointed to a hole in his mouth where two teeth had been. "I make better money when my teeth come out," he said. "The Tooth Fairy paid me 50 cents for each of these teeth."

Tooth Fairy, pro: Cold cash, good enough in the early '70s for a pair of sodas and candy bars.

Tooth Fairy, con: Contributing to the idleness and delinquency of minors.

And then, we have testimony from Richard Carriere in North Charleston: "When I was growing up in New Orleans in the '50s, my family didn't have a Tooth Fairy. We had a Tooth Rat. It would sneak into the house and leave a quarter under our pillow."

Shame, Tooth Fairy, shame.

Michele Bright in Ladson points to the cost-of-living index. Her three children are curious as to how much the Tooth Fairy will leave, especially with 5-year-old Jaylen soon to lose his first tooth.

"A quarter probably doesn't buy much at the end of the candy counter anymore," she says.

And yet, her arbitrary nature notwithstanding, the Tooth Fairy is often given to extraordinary acts of compassion and diligence.

Exhibit A: The eldest daughter of Angelyn Crawford Taylor. She lost her first tooth nine years ago, had it accidentally knocked out. The Tooth Fairy felt awful and left her $20.

Then there is the case of the Bobos.

Some years ago, the eldest son of Deborah Bobo dropped his tooth in a drain. Assured the Tooth Fairy would retrieve it, David woke to find $1 in the sink. Deborah's youngest son, Dylan, also lost a tooth at school, and still the Tooth Fairy delivered.

So, what to make of this? What to make of a sprite at odds with herself, her rationale unknown?

A final story from Summerville now, a final attempt to demystify the Tooth Fairy:

When Mandy Saunders' youngest daughter, Lauren, was 4 or 5, her mother asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up. The response was shocking.

"The Tooth Fairy," Lauren told her.

Mother and daughter e-mailed the Tooth Fairy regarding the possibility. She was thrilled, Saunders reports.

She had too many obligations, too many children with loose teeth, and she needed help. Saunders' daughter became a "Tooth Fairy in Training."

Lauren was told to collect as much change as she could from around the house. When her little brother lost his first tooth, the Tooth Fairy contacted her by e-mail.

That night, Mom woke daughter, who was already dressed in a pink ballerina tutu. Lauren crept into her brother's room, leaving several quarters under his pillow. The Tooth Fairy wrote once more to praise her work, and Lauren's education, Mom says, continued for years.

Curious, is it not? The Tooth Fairy pawning her responsibilities onto an unsuspecting child.

But a question: Could it be? Could the Tooth Fairy be courting her successor — or perhaps a band of successors — to uphold tradition?

We should revisit in 20 or so years. This bears watching.

Reach Rob Young at 937-5518 and ryoung@postandcourier.com.