My only comfort was the knowledge that I was not alone. Huddled in the smoky hallways and making the mostof our pathetic French, my fellow students and I engaged in the sort of conversation commonly overheard inrefugee camps

Refusing to stand convicted on the teacher's charges of laziness, I'd spend four hours a night on my homework,working even longer whenever we were assigned an essay. I suppose I could have gotten by with less, but I wasdetermined to create some sort of an identity for myself. We'd have one of those "complete the sentence"exercises, and I'd fool with the thing for hours, invariably settling on something like, "A quick run around thelake? I'd love to. Just give me a minute to strap on my wooden leg." The teacher, through word and action,conveyed the message that, if this was my idea of an identity, she wanted nothing to do with it.