New parents often believe their offspring will spend their earliest years idolizing the people who brought them into the world.

This common misconception usually evaporates about the time the little darlings begin putting words together to form sentences. That's when moms and dads learn that the innocence of childhood is rooted in reckless cruelty.

I've been told my skin is wrinkly, my nose is long, I have funny-looking ears and my eyes are misaligned.

Sometimes I respond with a line from a Fleetwood Mac song:

"I can't help about the shape I'm in/I can't sing, I ain't pretty and my legs are thin."

Before coming down too hard on my kids, I should admit that I was at least as unkind to my parents. I remember asking my mother why she had so many bumps on her legs, and I made fun of the gnarly nails on my dad's big toes.

Yellow and rounded, Dad's toenails looked more like giant chicken talons, and I told him as much. He exacted revenge from the sofa more than once while I lay on the floor watching TV.

With his bare foot parked just outside my field of vision, he'd call my name, knowing that my natural reflex would be to turn my face smack into that hideously deformed toenail. Lately, my 5-year-old twins have been rather insensitive to the less-than-ideal tint of my teeth. Ironically, their thoughtless comments come while I'm brushing their baby-bright chompers before putting them to bed.

When an adult brushes a child's teeth, the adult instinctively displays his own to indicate the desired position.

When will I learn to stop doing that?

"Daddy," one or the other will ask between spits, "Tell me again why you have rotten teeth?"

"I do not have rotten teeth!" I snap. "I have dingy teeth. Dingy! Not rotten!"

It does no good explaining to a preschooler that your teeth are permanently discolored from certain childhood antibiotics. The only whitener that ever worked on my teeth is digital enhancement.

A trade magazine published my picture last year with a suspiciously brighter smile. If only my dentist were such a brilliant editor.

I don't recall saying anything so rotten to my parents about their teeth, but it wouldn't surprise me if I did. I remember them both missing a few molars when they mouthed tooth-brushing instructions to me.

My dad was never bothered by his dental deficit. Stare at him for too long, and he'd shake you from your trance by forcing out his partial with his tongue.

A friend visited dad a few years ago shortly after my father had received his first full set of dentures.

"That's one thing I can say," said the friend, "My teeth are still all mine."

"So are mine," dad shot back. "I don't owe a penny on 'em."

There are a couple of lessons here for the kids. Be true to your teeth, as the old saying goes, or they'll be false to you.

And be kind to your parents. You might have to brush their teeth for them some day after you put them to bed.

Mark Rutledge can be contacted at mrutledge@coxnc.com