Root Damage: What My Teeth Taught Me About America
When we ignore the warning signs beneath the surface—whether in our bodies or our nation—the damage is harder to undo.
I’ve taken a couple of weeks off from cable news and political social media. Aside from the election of Pope Leo, I’ve been mostly quiet. Part of that silence was intentional, while the other part came from something I didn’t expect: dental issues.
The condition is called internal root resorption. It’s uncommon in adults. It occurs when the body—mistakenly—begins to break down the inside of a tooth, dissolving it from within. The same process helps children lose their baby teeth. In adults, it’s typically the result of an old trauma—a fall, a hit to the face, or even years of grinding—that never seemed serious at the time. But the injury sparks inflammation deep inside. Years later, quietly, the damage reveals itself.
In my case, three teeth were affected. That’s rare. I opted to try root canals to save them. For a while, it worked—until one bite of pizza loosened a tooth, and I was off to the periodontist. The news wasn’t good: I would lose two of them. I was devastated.
I’ve feared the dentist since childhood. The idea of painful procedures felt overwhelming. But my emotional response ran deeper than fear. I was ashamed and worried about how I’d look. Who would I be without my teeth? I hated that vanity factored in—but it did. People say appearances don’t matter. They’re wrong. Appearances matter. They shape perception. They can deceive.
And that’s when the metaphor hit me.
We talk about “the heart and soul of America” like it’s poetic fluff. But I’ve come to believe it’s literal. The people of this country are its connective tissue—its structure. And like a body, America suffers trauma. Sometimes the wounds are obvious. Other times, they go unnoticed. The surface appears healed, but inflammation lingers. If we ignore it, if we don’t examine it, it can dissolve the very structure on which we depend. That’s where we are now.
In the same way my own body turned on itself, this country is attacking its own roots.
Politics today is largely performative. We focus on appearances. We want to seem strong, competent, and unified. But real strength isn’t about looking good on the outside—it’s about addressing what lies beneath. The ongoing crisis at our airports serves as a perfect example.
For decades, air travel has seemed safe and efficient: Fewer major accidents, reasonable fares, and predictable delays. Most of us assumed things were functioning well, even as the infrastructure aged and staffing dwindled. Politicians didn’t address the issue—because we didn’t demand it. We weren’t looking under the hood. Why pay to fix what doesn’t seem broken?
Now we’re witnessing near-misses, accidents, and delays that cripple entire hubs. The technology in control towers is older than that of many pilots. The question being asked on the news is always the same: Why? The answer is simple: appearances were prioritized over substance.
That lesson extends well beyond transportation; it applies to our health care system, our energy grid, our schools, our climate, and, yes, even our democracy.
Aging has taught me that staying healthy—physically or spiritually—requires vigilance. You don’t wait until something breaks to care for it; you examine it, maintain it, and accept discomfort if it means avoiding catastrophe.
That’s true for teeth. It’s true for politics. And it’s true for nations.
We are overdue for a serious check-up. We have to be honest about what is decaying. This may mean discomfort and possibly delay. It will almost certainly require letting go of false comfort and cosmetic fixes.
But healing—real healing—starts when we stop ignoring the pain and begin to listen to what it’s trying to tell us.
We live in a culture obsessed with how things look—from filtered selfies to political stagecraft. But strength built on appearances is hollow. It may hold up for a while, but eventually, time and pressure reveal the truth underneath.
The goal isn’t to reject appearances entirely; it’s to ensure that what we show the world is rooted in substance. A confident smile should reflect healthy teeth. A strong democracy should reflect engaged citizens and responsive governance. A nation that appears whole should be whole—because it has done the hard work to address the illnesses and traumas that lie beneath.
Substance and appearance shouldn’t be at odds. The healthiest and most resilient systems are those where the surface matches the core—where what we see is a true reflection of what’s within.
That’s not just possible—it’s essential. If we want to be a nation that truly stands tall, we can’t just shine the exterior. We have to tend to the roots.