“Why don’t you smile more?” If I had a quarter for every time I’ve heard that question in my life, I’d be a multi-millionaire. Friends, relatives, and sometimes even total strangers have felt that they have the right to demand that I ‘smile’ on cue, and when I refuse to do so, go even further to lecture me on the fact that a smile is the appropriate way to greet people.
I beg to differ. It’s not, mind you, that I’m an unfriendly person – quite the contrary. While I was pretty shy around people before I started high school, and even today, I find more pleasure and comfort in the company of a book than a gaggle of nattering people, I am not antisocial. When I think it is merited, I even smile – on occasion.
What I do not do is walk around with a loopy smile on my face. It’s primarily out of habit now, but there was a solid reason for it that goes back to my early childhood, or, at least, to when I started school at the age of six.
When I lost my milk teeth and the more or less permanent choppers grew in, I was blessed with a noticeable gap between the two front upper teeth. As a result, when I smiled, it was like looking at the entrance of a tunnel.
As it happened, I was the only kid in my school so blessed, and whenever I opened my mouth, it generated comments and titters from my classmates – yes, even in the 1950s, children were cruel. My reaction to such treatment won’t surprise you. I stopped smiling and kept my mouth closed as much as possible whenever there was anyone in a position to see that gap.
Even at that age, I preferred to be alone reading, so it was no great task, and by the time I reached high school, I had a reputation as the grouchy kid who hardly ever smiled.
When I left home and joined the army in 1962, the ‘why don’t you smile more?’ queries started coming more frequently and became more bothersome. I grew weary of explaining to people that my lack of a smile wasn’t an indication that I didn’t like them. I didn’t have a habit of smiling without good reason.
Somewhere around the age of thirty, I gave up trying to explain things to people, and whenever someone asked why I didn’t smile, I just shrugged and said that I hadn’t seen anything to smile about. If they were obdurate enough to persist, I would then point out that my actions should be proof enough of my favorable disposition toward people, so a smile shouldn’t be necessary.
What you see is what you get, and you should look at everything, not just some outward show that is often really meaningless. After all, how many times have you been maltreated by someone who smiled at you during the process?
So, if you meet me and nothing funny is happening, don’t expect to see me smile. Don’t worry, though. I still might like you. | NWI
