Since I was very young, I have had an intrinsic understanding of the power of a smile. As babies, we humans react through our tiny eyes' blurry first vision to the eyes and smiles of our adoring parents. Experiments have shown "an infant is able to recognize smile faces, then he or she could know that despite differences in amount of teeth showing, how crinkly the eyes are, or the extent of upturned lips, a smile is still a smile, and it projects happiness (Bornstein & Arterberry, 2003)."
My mom was a smiler. Her face in its resting state had a pleasantness about it, unless maybe she was frowning in concentration over a recipe or a crossword puzzle clue! Otherwise, she smiled and others responded in kind.
Baby and childhood pictures show that I was not as free with my smile with portrait photographers who did such absurd things to coax a grin -- making quacking noises, waving stuffed toys, whistling -- and more than a few poses in the proofs show me looking quizzically off towards my waiting parent for reassurance.
I started school smiling. I could not wait to be there, in school, where there were other kids, books, toys and something new everyday. Miss Lovelace, my primary teacher, was a kind young woman who greeted us each day with a smile that I realized years later belied saintly patience with 23 five-year olds, not all of whom relished the kindergarten experience as much as I did. My crayoned artwork showed beatific expressions on kittens, birds and Mr. Sun in the sky as well as on the stick figures I crafted to represent myself and my family and friends.
I smiled as I sang in the music festival, took part in the school plays, and went off to summer camp for two weeks every summer. I used a warm beaming countenance very genuinely for most encounters with everyone unless I was under some threat of danger or too sad or disappointed to produce even a fake one. My grandfather, always singing, serenaded me with "Let A Smile Be Your Umbrella", "Pack Up Your Troubles In Your Old Kit Bag (and Smile, Smile, Smile!)" and the First World War song that went:
Smile the while you kiss me sad adieu
When the clouds roll by I'll come to you.
Then the skies will seem more blue,
Down in Lover's Lane, my dearie.
When the clouds roll by I'll come to you.
Then the skies will seem more blue,
Down in Lover's Lane, my dearie.
Wedding bells will ring so merrily
Ev'ry tear will be a memory.
So wait and pray each night for me
Till we meet again. . .
Ev'ry tear will be a memory.
So wait and pray each night for me
Till we meet again. . .
and later became the closing theme song of Don Messer's Jubilee
on Saturday nights on CBC.
Then along came the late sixties and the goofy yellow happy face "smiley" that lives on in the form of an internet icon. I had a huge pin-on button that I carried pinned to my enormous handbag like a beacon. One older guy who played in a band, lit up every time he saw me and nicknamed me "Smiley". He probably thought I was constantly high, but that was just my natural demeanour.
For thirty plus years teaching high school I smiled at new class after class as we got to know each other, tried each other out, coaxed reluctant learners to "just try". Sure, there were times when my smile had to be more subdued in order to convey my seriousness and that I was not going to brook any insurrection, but it was easy to smile more often than not. It was work I did with such love and passion.
In my final few years of teaching, one of my students with high-functioning autism said something profound to me. Facial expressions can be a hard read for someone with autism, but a smile is taught to be a very concrete indication of pleasure or happiness. "Miss Smith, you are not happy or pleased with me." "Why do you think I'm not, Devin?" "Because your smile is very small today." He was genuinely worried that the degree of smile was the measure of how well he was behaving.
I look around so much more at people's faces than I once did. How many of them go through their own days with serious faces, or worse, ones with near grimaces of worry, pain, disappointment or anger. How has it happened that they seem so consumed, troubled and sad? When was the last time they felt liked smiling? Some might think me an idiot, but if I can catch his eye, I give a big smile. Some avert their gaze. Some immediately look away. But a few, genuinely surprised, smile back. I don't care if I look like a fool, I will never underestimate the power of a smile.
