That night, at home, in tears, I explained the problem to my mom. Since I didn't yet know how to speak French, she suggested I try to get them to stop using visual signals.

The next day, when recess came, I was again attacked. I ran away at first, snowballs exploding around me, then stopped and bravely faced my tormentors. I raised my hand in the universal hand-signal for "stop", palm out-facing like the most stoic, brass-buttoned policeman I'd ever seen in books.

They laughed and continue to pelt me.