Well, to start, there was Mrs. Rosenberg, my fourth grade teacher. She was an older woman, obviously, Jewish in the glaringly anti-Semitic atmosphere of the Soviet Russia. She was thin, in her forties, I think. What fascinated me the most, though, was her nose. It was thin and bent. In fact, it looked like it had a few twists on it, like a roller-coaster. At its very pointy end, there was a big wart. The wart had a strategic importance: it kept Mrs. Rosenberg's glasses from sliding off. I felt a certain affinity for a fellow Jew, but she was bent on making my life difficult. Perhaps, she was of an opinion that we, the persecuted minority, should make an extra effort to shine academically. It seemed like every other couple of words out of her thin-lipped mouth were: "tssk, (my maiden name)!" I don't remember much more about her, but I was glad to pass into the fifth grade and be rid of Mrs. Rosenberg.