Smile
BY JOHNATHON WILLIAMS
I grew up in Denver Colorado a long way from where I am now. Google maps say its about 1,728.4 miles and takes twenty-five hours of non-stop driving. If you count the miles as the crow flies I'm sure the numbers are a little different but the basic principle is the same. That's a long way to go. How in the world I got to Middlesex Virginia is a story meant for books not pages, but if my life were a book, there is one obvious theme my story would have. It would be a thrilling tale of optimism and daring and overcoming dozens of challenges. It would be a story of strength and a story of my smile. Strength, is the singularly most important value in my life. My definition of strength is a lot different from most people's though. Most people see strength as a large man turning down help when he obviously needs it. Most people think he is strong because he has chosen to shoulder the burden alone. I think the man is simply being stubborn and unreasonable. The kind of strength I revere is much more silent and persistent. The strength I admire is resistance. I believe the greatest strength in our world is the ability not to remain un-scarred but to smile through those scars. Life is a series of challenges meant to test and temper us but not break us. A person is only truly strong if they can pass these tests and still be able to smile when they fall asleep at night. In my mind strength and optimism are an indistinguishable blend of concepts. To be strong is to be optimistic and to have optimism is to posses strength. What is stronger than to smile in the face of all the sadness in a lifetime?
There is nothing stronger than that smile. There was a time I almost lost this smile, but I made a promise I will never go back on. This is how I almost lost my smile.
Growing up in Denver Colorado presented a unique set of challenges. Everyone's life gives them some unique set of challenges, but I think I have the right to say that mine were more considerable than some. In a world where "ends" didn't ever exactly "meet" nothing came easy except more of the same. I grew up as the poster child of "tough love." I got spanked whenever I stepped out of line and I thank god every day for
that. The cleaning and other torture, was less amusing however. When my dad would ask me to clean my room I would put in a pitiful effort with a similar result. He would come in and silently run his finger across my old wooden desk. When it came away covered in dust he would go diving under my bed and mining through my closet, and suddenly the nest few hours were filled with more work than I knew could exist in one single
room. Over the years I learned what it meant to do something right the first time and I learned what it meant to take consequences. I learned much strength from my parents. In school I was bullied with a clockwork
predictability. For years I lived with a menagerie of colorful names and sometimes bruises both inflicted upon me by the brutish creatures around me with enough audacity to label themselves children. It didn't happen all at once but I began to observe my older brothers and how they handled when the other kids made fun of our clothes. I listened to mom when she told me "sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me," I learned to lash back at the kids with a forked tongue and I learned how to ignore them. I grew stronger, and through all of this I smiled. Because back then it seemed like the right thing to do. It wasn't until much later that to smile had to become a choice. February 6th 2008, my mom rushed into the house. I was in my parent’s bedroom by myself watching television when I heard the commotion in the other room. I didn't get up because I assumed it either didn't concern me or it would reach me eventually. I knew bad things came every day and there was no sense in running toward them. So it ran towards me.
My mom came into her room with a flushed face and gasped out "James is dead." Her eyes were wide with shock. At first I didn't comprehend what she was saying because my brother James had been by my side less than an hour ago and I knew no other James that would draw this wild reaction from mom. "He's gone" she repeated almost as if she was convincing herself. Then it hit me; dad went by James as well as John. Dad was gone. My mother's friend came in the room and together they described how dad had died on the side of a road from a massive coronary. Dad had left the house about two hours earlier to walk mom home from work. He walked there and had a heart attack on the way back. My dad was 69 years old but I had never seen him as anything but a strong giant. She talked about how within minutes an off-duty nurse had stopped on the side of the road to give him CPR until the medics arrived. She described how her desperate screams had summoned the herd of cars parked on the side of the road to help. In the end he had died anyways. I remember mom talking about the cake he was bringing home for us. She had said that if it was too heavy then he could put it down and we would have one some other time. He had replied, "This cake is for my kids," and kept walking. That night I cried and went to sleep crying. The next day I woke up and got to work. Over the next two weeks I helped my mom plan the funeral and became the de-facto "man of the house." My younger twin and three other 16-year-old brothers were too depressed to help much, but I managed it. At eleven years old I sifted through massive piles of paperwork and attended every meeting with mom to plan the funeral, and through it I was strong. I smiled during the day and only cried during the night when nobody could see me. I was determined to stay happy and stay strong for my whole family. The horrors of an inadequate funeral home are too passionate a subject to discuss in appropriate terms, but nonetheless he was buried. In half a year my family had taken a heavy backslide into drugs. I had grown up around the use of drugs but this time I saw the desperation in it. Eventually social services got involved. The courts on behalf of social services ordered that my three older brothers, who had been entangled in
all manner of illegal activities for a while now, could not leave the state under any circumstances. My mom was smart enough to realize that her kids may be going into foster care. However, the names of my brother and I were forgotten on the court order by some chance act of providence. I was rushed out of Colorado with only a night to say goodbye to a lifetime of friends. My new family until mom was stabilized would be an aunt and uncle that I had met only briefly once before at my grandfather's funeral about a year prior.
According to Google maps, I crossed 1,728.4 miles with a group of strangers I hardly knew. I flew away from my family and landed in the exotic destination known as Middlesex in the middle of nowhere. There was something wrong with the air and they called it humidity. Despite everything making no sense I kept my manners and smiled through the pain. I don't remember when exactly the night came that it all hit me, but I remember that night better than I have ever lived through. I don't know what made it happen but I wanted to be alone so I went into the pitch black guest room in my new home and silently crawled onto the old four poster bed. I burrowed into the old quilt and cried behind closed eyes. I stopped being strong. I stopped smiling. I almost gave up. I imagined just laying there for the rest of my life and letting this hopeless, numbing weight chain me to the bed. It was so nice to just lay here with my body full of lead. I could disappear. I remember seeing in my mind's eye the small light I imagined as my strength. It was so pitifully weak and started to blink out. I wanted so badly for it to go out. I wanted to be able to stop being strong
and I wanted to stop smiling. I'm not sure how long I lay there but eventually a thought slipped into
my mind. I told myself that night no matter how hard things got in life I would never let that light go out. I would never stop being strong and I would never stop smiling. I smiled because there is nothing more satisfying than to smile in the face of a lifetime full of sadness. There is nothing more exciting than to be able to celebrate your triumphs over your losses. After that night I was stronger. After that promise I was happier. I made that promise for my dad, for my mom who never did get me back, for my brothers that finally fixed themselves, and for everyone that ever helped me. I knew my smile would make them proud. Then, I smiled for myself. I have let my smile waver many times since them but I have never and will never let it be wiped from my face. My aunt fought my mom and didn't let us go back to live with her after my mom got clean. Years later I left my aunt's house and I'm still not with my mom. The truth is life never stops testing us. Life will never cease trying to wipe this smile from my lips, but every time it tries I just become stronger, and smile brighter. My smile is the best value I have. My smile is my strength, and I will never let that go.
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