There is something inherently vulnerable about sitting in a dental chair. You’re reclined, mouth open, staring at a television mounted on the wall—hoping for a good report and, in my case yesterday, keeping a close eye on the weather.
I was at South Point Family Dentistry for my routine six-month cleaning. Outside, the sky was doing that ominous mid-March dance. Surrounding schools had closed due to predicted thunderstorms, but Gaston County remained open. As the hygienist worked, tornado warnings scrolled across the bottom of the TV screen.
In that suspended moment, I felt a wave of déjà vu. I told the hygienist, “I’ll never forget where I was on 9/11. I was in a dental chair just like this in Chattanooga, watching the world change on a screen just like that one.”
She smiled kindly and said she had been ten years old then, sitting in a classroom.
It’s interesting how a dentist’s office can mark the passage of time. We measure life in six-month increments—watching children grow, hairlines recede, and years quietly stack up under bright exam lights.
I’ve been seeing Dr. Gary McCord for years. In fact, our connection goes back further than my own dental records. My grandfather knew the McCord family from the days of McCord’s Aero Service, and Dr. Gary was my grandfather’s dentist before he passed.
Whenever I think of him, I’m reminded of Stephen Wilson Jr.’s song “Gary,” which notes that “there ain’t a lot of boys named Gary these days.” The song honors the steady, hardworking, often unnoticed people who quietly keep a community running. They aren’t chasing recognition—they’re simply showing up and caring for their neighbors.
I’ve never seen Dr. Gary with a cigarette “glued to his face” as the song jokes about (though I’m told he does play his own music in the office!).
But I saw the spirit of a “Gary” years ago when my grandfather passed away. In the middle of a busy workweek, Dr. McCord stepped away from his practice to attend the funeral. He wasn’t just our dentist—he was part of our village. That simple act of presence has stayed with our family.
The day I penned this article happened to be St. Patrick’s Day, a day associated with luck. It makes me think of the final phone call my grandfather made to my grandmother, Violet, when doctors told him there was nothing more they could do. He didn’t sound defeated. He said, “Violet, this is it. I am the lucky one.”
In counseling, we often talk about finding our anchors. Rarely are they grand or dramatic. More often, they are found in everyday faithfulness: the local dentist who remembers your grandfather, the hygienist who listens while tornado warnings scroll across the screen, the steady “Garys” who show up consistently.
Thankfully, the storms passed without harm, and I left with a “no cavities” report. But more importantly, I was left reminded that we are woven into a web of connection.
Those who trust in the goodness of their community—and in something greater beyond it—may very well be the lucky ones.
Today, take a moment to appreciate the “Garys” in your life—the steady hands and kind hearts who make your corner of the world feel like home.
Reflection Question:
Who is the “Gary” in your life? The person who shows up consistently and makes you feel seen? Maybe today is the day to say thank you.
