I remember my Dad yanking out my teeth. That sounds horrible in the re-telling, doesn’t it? He didn’t whip out the pliers or anything but, after two hours of hearing me hem n’ haw about how loose my tooth was or how gross it was feeling, he’d nod in my direction and ask to have a look. By the time I’d opened my mouth to reply, he’d reached in, twisted the (impossibly tiny) sucker, and thwacked it into the palm {Read More}