On Smiling

 

   For several years my husband and I walked the paths of a neighborhood park most week days; for exercise, yes, but also for a wonderful chance to be in an open space. During these years an older, Japanese man was walking also, only he walked in the opposite direction from us and would regularly cross our paths. He ambled along just about as slowly as my husband did, so our crossings came up in a measured way. I could easily see his grim face, a stern, closed visage. He never smiled, and we did not speak.

     I am a great believer in the effectiveness of non-verbal communication, and I know of the invitation that smiling brings. Some think that we smile to keep people at bay, as if to say, “I’m harmless.” I don’t think so. I think that a smile, genuinely given, is an extension of ourselves to another, a gift of silent greeting. So I decided to smile this man into submission. Every time we would pass one another, I would smile a big, wide, kickass smile and accompany it with one of my favorite, silent greetings…I love you. Time after time I would do my little routine, and time after time he would simply pass me, stone-faced.

     One day something different happened. The man smiled…not a big, toothy grin but a small pursing of lips with the corners turned up. And this continued, with the eventual uncovering of a few teeth showing. Over a period of months that eventually passed into years, those breaking smiles grew into short commentaries, exclamations about the weather, questions about our mutual health. Before our spate of time together finished, my Japanese friend and I became aware of each other’s families, how many children we each had, when he would visit his daughters in Hawaii and such other things that people who grow to care about each other exchange. Over time both my friend and my husband became unable to walk the park’s trails much and so only occasionally would we spot one another. At these times while my husband was seated, I would hurry over to him to catch up on our shared stories until eventually our contact slipped away.

     These days as I think about the park times, I am amazed at how such a small gesture grew into a relationship with a life and history of its own. I wonder whether or not my friend still walks the earth…he was elderly when I first saw him...I wonder if he is enjoying the warm Hawaiian sun. I wonder if I were walking the park’s paths again, would I make the same invitation once more to another solemn walker?

     I think these are the questions that beset us all. In a world where technologies connect us through gadgets, we can find it easier to become isolated physically from others. It takes time and effort to craft a breathing relationship, and I fear time becomes contracted through the lack of need for personal connection. If another unsmiling person walked my way again, would I crack the first smile? I hope so.