A father sits at the dinner table with his wife, son, and daughter. His daughter cries because she doesn’t believe herself to be beautiful. Her parents disagree, but she knows not to listen to them. To add salt to the wound, her mother is beautiful and was beautiful from an early age. Her mother tries to console her, telling her that adolescence is an awkward time for everyone, but the daughter knows that that rule did not apply to her. The father observes, wondering what he could do or say that would make the situation better. He laments that his daughter inherited his goofy figures. After dinner, the father comes up to the daughter, who’s locked in her room. He invites her on a car ride. They drive, listening to the oldies station, and he remembers what he should’ve said but didn’t: that she is a kind, smart person. That beauty doesn’t matter. They take the exit to the airport. The father helps his daughter onto the roof of the car. They watch a plane take off.