My dentist is a part of a family of dentists, a whole clan.

In the waiting room, you can see all their pictures on the wall. There's like a dozen of them, all with the same last name: Dana. The business is called Dana Dental Arts. There are fathers and uncles and cousins and spouses, all dentists, all smiling from their pictures with pristine, snow-white teeth.

As I sit there waiting for pain next to the stack of out-of-date magazines, a scenario involving their family begins playing out in my mind. It has to do with the one member didn't want to be a dentist. In my mind, I call him Tommy and he likes to rock.

At 4, Tommy taught himself to play drums with pots and pans and wooden spoons. His mom (who was a dentist like his father) chuckled. At 8, a relative (also a dentist) broke down and got him a cheap guitar for Christmas after repeated pleadings. Everyone thought it was cute. By 12, however, Tommy was a talented and versatile musician, purely through his own efforts. He knew what he wanted to do with his life. On his 13th birthday, Tommy announced to his family that he didn't want to be a dentist. He told them he wanted to rock instead.

The following morning, he was put up for adoption.