Everyone endures a particularly cringeworthy period of life. For me, that period was 4th grade. We had just emigrated from Bulgaria, and figuring out the cultural norms of the United States was tough. I didn’t speak English. I used a fork and knife to cut my pizza slice at lunch. I couldn’t play kickball. And I gave up all hope when I was presented with a breaded, deep-fried, sausage on a stick you Americans call “a corn dog.” Every day was something new, and every day I hated that I was different.
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