My son chipped his tooth last week.
Of course, my son being who he is, knocked off a fair chunk of his already-prominent right central incisor after a headlong tumble off a jungle gym. (I have no doubt the overactive tween stumbled during an ill-advised stunt meant to impress the ladies, but that's beside the point, I suppose.)
Luckily, his mother works for an oral surgeon whose office happens to be right next door to the tooth patch guy (or whatever you call him). So keeping him from growing up as either a minor league hockey player or an extra from Deliverance isn't going to be a problem.
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