Pop-Pop: I'm sorry. I clearly can't play this thing. I mean, my hair is all slicked back and they got me in this bosomy lady's garment.
Joyce: Still, I-I appreciate the effort. It's nice.
Pop-Pop: Mm.
Joyce: You're nice.
Pop-Pop: No, I'm not. I just made up some things to impress you, and the truth is, as a father, I'm kind of a putz. I just thought if I got lucky, you'd never find out.
Joyce: Ben, I don't want you to be perfect. I just want you to be yourself.
Pop-Pop: Really?
Joyce: Really.
Pop-Pop: This might be a little late, but, uh, you wouldn't want to go to a Thanksgiving dinner now, would you?
Joyce: You know what? I would. Not every day somebody stands outside my door and serenades me. I'll get my purse.
Pop-Pop: And that, my boy, is why the accordion is the most romantic of all the instruments you wear.