Smile Power

At the Newark airport where we had a 6 hour layover, we met a young American couple returning to Germany after a visit with family in the U.S.. The young man, Brett was a marine, stationed in an Army base in Stuttgart for the last 2 1/2 years. His wife, Sarah, a Panamanian-American, was also a marine but had been discharged in order to give birth to their now 20 month old daughter, Zarati (rhymes with karate). Elle and little Zarati had emptied Elle's carry-on and backpack. 

Scattered books, toys and games between two rows of chairs acted as a perimeter for our little lay-over camp. The girls sat playing on the floor while Scott exchanged travel destinations with Brett, and I grilled Sarah about her life in Germany. 

 "Do you like living in Germany?" I asked Sarah. 

 "No," was her simple and direct answer. 

She was easy to talk to and readily answered my questions, but I noticed a hint of guardedness, as if she were holding back some extra bit of enthusiasm or animation in her answers. 

 "If you could tell me one bit of etiquette that to us would seem completely natural, but to Germans would seem just plain ridiculous, what would it be?" I asked her. 

 "Small talk," she again answered simply. "They don't just ask, 'How are you?' to strangers. "If you ask 'How are you?' they will tell you how hard work is or how sick their mother is; it's not just a polite thing to say, so they think it is strange to ask unless you are a friend who really wants to know." 

 Brett chimed in to expound, "Strangers won't just talk to you to be polite. They won't even say hi to you. They will actually walk right by you and stare at you right in the eyes and not say a word...not even a nod or a smile." "Really?! Not even a smile?" I clarified, incredulous. 

"Really! They stare right at you without even a little smile." 

 As the time passed, more passengers gathered, taking up seats around us. We eventually had to tighten up our belongings and use only 7 chairs between our two families rather than the breadth of 22 seats across which we had sprawled ourselves over the last several hours. I started to hear the curly gutteral sounds of German conversations happening around us and craned my neck to try to understand words here and there.

 I was still reeling from the idea of strangers not smiling at me in Germany. While in Ghana, every single person, young or old, male or female, black or...well black, not only looked at us, but said, "Good Afternoon, How are you?" Every single person who passed by. I actually left Ghana with the self-imposed challenge to do the same in America. I found quickly that it is not our nature in the U.S. to speak to every person who passes us by in the street, but we at least we nod and smile to each other. Now I would have to fathom a place where not even that is the norm. The value of our meager nod and smile set in at that moment. 

 I remembered a sermon our pastor, Andre Daley had given about how close heaven is. He talked about how we can actually make a heaven on Earth simply by being kind to each other...a smile at a passing stranger who is lonely can bring heaven that much closer to them.

 I thought of the loneliness I might feel while in Germany for three months without friends or family, and of how powerful a smile from a stranger could be...along with how painful the absence of the mere smile from a stranger would be. 

 I decided to test Sarah's theory about Germans as we filed into the airplane. We were certainly not flying first class, so we had to pass many rows of Germans returning to Deutschland as we found our seats. I watched each and every face as little Elle, wearing her pink tutu and pulling her Tinkerbell suitcase, passed by them. On domestic flights in the past, nearly every person smiled at Elle and me as she toddled by, assuring me of her sweetness, and in turn mine. But this time, I was devastated to find that every face was stone. They watched us walk by without even a smirk at her cuteness. Just as Sarah said, the Germans did not nod or smile at us. We were strangers. 

By the time I sat in my assigned seat, panic had set in. "Scott," I worried aloud, "I don't think I can handle not having people smile at me for 3 months!" He laughed it off, knowingly.

 For hours, I continued to feel anxiety cramp my insides at the thought of a hell on Earth where fellow human beings stared at each other but didn't share a warm smile. But I realized later, as the plane flew at an altitude of 39,001 feet, 559 mph into the sunrise 2 hours from Stuttgart, that anxiety wasn't the only thing fluttering in my stomach...excitement was there too. I studied the clouds below, a huge pink mountain range supporting a dark blue and lavender horizon, and I reflected. 

Until now, I had honestly not been too excited about this trip. After our adventure in Ghana, where my whole identity had been challenged, where I had found in myself a totally new and stronger person, I felt that no other destination could possibly measure up. I guess I thought, nothing could ever be as powerful of an experience. Yeah, it would surely be interesting to see Germany and tour Europe, but would I come out the other end a whole new me?

 For the first time, I was able to identify a challenge I would have to overcome. I foresaw a scary circumstance I would have to face, a possible weakness within myself that I would have to hone. Sure, it was scary to think of the rejection I may naturally feel when a passerby didn't acknowledge me with a smile, but it seemed that the opportunity to examine myself and change was exciting to me. The chance to see myself differently motivated me to push through this trip and come out the other side a new and stronger person. Maybe Germany would be an exciting adventure after all.