When I first entered intensive, total-immersion Russian language training after college, my teachers were all Soviet military defectors or their wives. (I actually think one of the women teachers was a former officer herself, though that was pretty rare in the Soviet Union as far as I understand.)

Let me just tell you that at first, my Russian teachers scared me to death. Some of that owed to the fact that most of them taught with a sort of traditional Russian pedagogical severity.

But mostly, as an American, I wrongly presumed they were angry all the time because they never smiled.

But we all studied and lived very closely together, and after a few weeks, I realized that my teachers were for the most part warm, caring people.

They doted on their children, even spoiled them. They went the extra mile to help their students. They were often very generous and kind. They could be passionate about literature and art.

They just did it all (mostly) without smiling, which took me a lot of getting used to.

I commented once (after too much vodka) to one of my women teachers that she must be dealing with a lot of homesickness and sadness.

She looked at me with wide, astonished eyes. "You must be joking. I have to pinch myself sometimes to make myself believe I'm not dreaming."

Then she smiled, just for a second, and winked.

That's when I finally started to get it.