My 11-year-old son got braces last week. While I was at work, he texted me a picture of his mouth, which was brimming with blue and orange rubber bands.
Nice.
My thoughts drifted back to my own childhood.
When I was in second grade, I reached down to pick up a napkin in the lunchroom of Riverside Elementary School in Columbia, Tenn., and my mouth hit the edge of a cafeteria table — bang! When I sat up, one of my front teeth was shaped like Nevada.
Consequently, from second grade until I was a junior in high school, I tried not to smile. This was not conducive to good mental health.