The Power of the Smiley

I love it when my family gets together.

As I get older, I find that each family meeting (in this case, a visit from my grandparents) grounds us firmly in the present, while allowing us to reminisce on events from our collective past. Getting together also lets us share by reaching back into our respective pasts, and offering forth things previously unknown by our loved ones. At such gatherings, I hear about and observe little superstitions, inside jokes, and rituals that serve to strengthen the bond between family members, and that unite them in solidarity against the negative. Family superstitions are not uncommon, and can even be replicated – perhaps through the collective unconscious – by multiple families from different locales.

My parents adopted one such superstition, and it's one that I will carry with me throughout my life. During their marriage, if either of my parents had occasion to spend the night in a hospital, the other would take a magic marker (felt tip, usually black) and draw a smiley face on the bottom of one of the patient's big toes. It was a particular smiley – two small circles for eyes (not darkened in) and a big, loopy, elongated smile that was proportionate to the pad of the toe.

I remember the first time I observed this ritual performed, and fascinated, I asked why my father was drawing a smiley on my mother's big toe, while Mother giggled away in the hospital bed. He just smiled and told me it was so she wouldn't be alone in the hospital. I learned that the smiley's job was to watch over her while she slept, and while she underwent surgery. It was a symbol of luck for us. It was also an effective non-verbal communication to the medical staff and surgeons that despite the circumstances, my parents could maintain a sense of humor.

I grew up knowing that if one of my parents was admitted to the hospital, a smiley would immediately follow. (I've not had occasion yet to wear the prestigious smiley, but I can't say I'm disappointed.) Smileys on toes don't seem to be proprietary to my family; several images of smileys on toes can be found on Google, PhotoBucket, and other sites. I don't know if any other families share our hospital tradition, however.

In 1993, when my father was admitted to the hospital for the last time, Mother confidently held the pen and administered the smiley. The smiley accompanied him from one hospital to another, and it stayed with him for the duration of his battle. In my mind, an eleven-day old smiley was an ancient fellow, as previously they'd only had a life span of a few days. Mother had instructed the staff to not wash the smiley off when they bathed my father, and I remember seeing it intact, on his left big toe, the very last time I was in his room.

Dad and his smiley fought the good fight together. When the time came for my dad to be buried, Mother's only special request was that the funeral staff allow the smiley to remain on Dad's big toe and not be disturbed. And that's how my Dad came to be buried with a smiley on his left big toe. It's funny to me how this little inside joke helped my mother and me through the process of putting Dad to his final rest; it was our small way of showing ourselves, and the powers that be, that we could maintain our sense of humor. I don't think my father would have settled for anything less from us.

I know that a smiley's power is definitely limited. Having a smiley on his big toe didn't save my dad's life, but it ensured he'd never be alone on his journey.