Especially if you're already an extraordinarily awkward self conscious young teen girl.
I got my braces on a Monday.
I'm sure it was a Monday, because we had dinner at my Grandpa Frank's house, just like EVERY Monday.
Sometimes we ordered pizza, sometimes roast beef sandwiches, but when the vegetable garden was in full swing you could bet your bottom dollar we'd be having what papa Frank clearly considered to be the only correct formula for a meal:
1 meat + 2 vegetables + biscuits + dessert
The favored meat was chicken in gravy- a recipe he'd gotten from a Campbell's soup can and taped to the back of a cabinet, the biscuits were from a can, but always hot out of the oven, dessert: strawberries or Pecan Sandies.
The vegetables were out of the garden- thin sliced fried okra, or cantaloupe, but on this particular night like many others, it was fresh corn on the cob.
I, the posterchild of all moody unhappy teenage girls, declared my teeth hurt and that I wasn't going to eat anything. My mom tried to bend me to her evil evil will of sitting inside and enjoying a delicious dinner with the family, but in the end I escaped to the deck with a book where I read a paperback and sulked about the misery of life and dentistry.
A couple minutes later my Brad brought me out a plate. He could've just brought me a fork and knife, but instead he took the time to cut the corn off the cob so I could eat it without hurting my teeth.
He did that every single time we had corn at a family dinner all 5 years I had braces.
I never had to ask.
Like a thousand other times, he just did what a good dad would do.
Happy Father's Day.