On Tuesday morning, I took Mac to the orthodontist's office. This is where we all smile politely at each other, the staff inflicts pain on my children, and I pay eleven-thousand dollars for them to do it.

Despite the nature of our relationship with the orthodontist, Mac and I were pretty content in the waiting room, just playing a game on my phone called Yazy. It's Yahtzee without the copyright, and I was winning.

Anyway, a kid came out of the torture chamber and tapped his dad, sitting across from us, on the shoulder.

"All done?" said the dad.

"Yep," said the kid. He grimaced a little bit, teeth flashing metal.

The dad stood up and something clattered to the floor. Neither he nor the kid noticed.

"Sir," I said, without looking, "you've dropped something." I stood up to grab it for him, planning to hand it up. But when I lunged toward it, I realized it was a huge knife.

A long, sharp knife! Like a hunting knife!

I paused.

"Oh," said the dad, and then realizing, "oh, geez!" He grabbed the knife and collapsed it and shoved it back into his pocket. I looked at his shoes. He didn't thank me for pointing out that he'd dropped a dangerous weapon in the lobby of the orthodontist's office.

I glanced over at him a few more times as we walked back toward the work stations. He seemed both sheepish and angry, like I might report to the over-friendly receptionist that he was packing. I didn't tattle, but I thought about it. Doesn't the orthodontist's office ban weapons? Why would that guy need the very sharp knife? Perhaps he was planning on negotiating a new payment plan?

It's not that I don't understand the impulse. But, violence is never the way.