The way we acquire knowledge and information is curious in its variety. Some information is simply absorbed. If you asked me about my first encounter with the word "incisive," I couldn't point you to any particular event that helped me to learn the word. It's acontextual. However, the word "scowl" is intrinsically connected to Ramona Quimby, eponymous young star of the Beverly Cleary junior novels. It's the first word I can remember looking up in a dictionary. Every time I write it, say it, read it, hear it, or think it, the face of a young brunette girl pops into my mind, making the most ornery scowl.

There's a similar, but more traumatic, link that was formed on my very first day in third grade. I had been advanced a grade for the reasons young students are advanced. Naturally, this gave me a slight boost of confidence. Third grade, of course, was an awesome enough grade that we could actually do multiplication quizzes in class. A year younger than all my peers, I had taken immediately to showing off my skills. Hell, I knew this shit. Multiplication tables were how I unwound at home. There was a reason my plastic dinosaurs were in the same drawer as my math aides.

"Three times three?"

Emphatically, "Six."

For some reason, I was standing. My teacher informed me I was wrong. In the heat of the moment, I'd made a mistake and couldn't even see it. I reiterated my answer.

I seem to remember my teacher scowling at me. Some other kids laughed. One volunteered the correct answer.

Of course! Nine! I knew that! Really, I did. But it was too late. Everyone already believed I didn't know what three times three was. My shame was public, irreparable, and forever affixed to 3 x 3.