The scowl on the Colonel's manly mug doesn't necessarily mean he's unhappy with something or someone.
And, confronting him with the well-meaning admonition to "Smile!" ain't often gonna reward the well-meaner with much more than a meaner demeanor.
Don't take it personal.
The Colonel don't dance; the Colonel don't paint; and the Colonel don't smile... much.
The Colonel comes from a long line of frowners. Study the portraits of his progenitors as far back as you care and you'll not find any of the men grinning like a mule eatin' briars.
The congenital cloudy countenance has actually served the Colonel well. He didn't have to work hard to master the "war face" required of Marines. The Colonel's mien was already in a facial fighting crouch long before the Corps' master trainers even began their duty of turning him into the steely-eyed deliverer of destruction and master of mayhem, abject fear of whom kept the Red Army in barracks for the better part of three decades.
One of the activities enjoyed most by his family is following the Colonel in a crowded public event. The Colonel's frown alone parts throngs like Moses at the Red Sea.
The Colonel would have a bank account rivalling Trump's if he had a dollar for every time someone told him to "turn that frown upside down," or informed him that "it takes more muscles to frown than it does to smile."
If the foregoing was fact, the Colonel's visage should be far more muscular and far less wrinkled than is clearly the case.
Now, lest the multitudes of you who liberally imbibe in the literary libations ladled out in posts hereon think the Colonel is completely bereft of emotive capability with which to display happiness and joy (the two being quite separate), there are indeed things that make the Colonel smile:
Any sighting of the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda, following an absence of more than a few minutes.
The sight of the Colonel's grandsons (the Hope of 21st Century Civilization, Dashes 1 and 2) scampering merrily ahead of him down a forest-flanked path leading to one or more of the far-flung fields comprising the Colonel's vast holdings here at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere.
A Marine joke told by a member or veteran of a sister service. The Colonel always smiles when he is about to get to do something he really likes to do, and the Colonel really loves to fight.
A Rebel touchdown against 'Bama or LSU.
Lots of practice at frowning in that department lately.