An Intergenerational Christmas Tale
AbstractWhen the police asked me for my father’s dental records via email on December 23, 2013, my heart
sank. It was two days before Christmas and the illtimed query was, to put it bluntly, inconsiderate. Although the police didn’t outright say they suspected my father was dead, and they needed his
teeth configuration to identify old remains, their line of questioning strongly suggested it.