They smile with all their teeth.

That's how you know it's hiding something.

When a child is truly happy, they laugh with their whole body. Their shoulders shake. Their eyes disappear.

But when a child is hurting, they give you a neat, perfect smile. 

A practiced one.

They smile when they are hungry.

They smile when their mates laughed at their shoes.

They smile when mama and papa shouted all night and they didn't sleep.

They smile when the teacher asks, "Are you okay?" because they have learned that "I'm fine" makes the adults go away faster.

Little children are small philosophers. They have already learned what took us years to learn:

That if you cry too loud, they will call you troublesome.

That if you tell the truth, someone might be sad because of you.

So they carry their pain the way they carry too-big school bags - straps digging into their shoulders, but still smiling, still walking.

They hide oceans behind dimples.

If you look close, you will see it -

The smile reaches the mouth, but doesn't reach the eyes.

The laughter comes too quickly.

They say "I'm okay" before you even ask.

So next time a little child gives you a brave, bright, too-perfect smile, don't just say "What a happy child."

Kneel down. Meet their eyes. And whisper,

"You don't have to smile if you don't want to. I'm here."

And watch how that ocean finally finds somewhere to go.