Right as in Correct

Right.
As in correct.
As in sound.
Reasonable.
Rational.
Right.
As in not wrong. Boy, do I hate being wrong.
       I like to be right. I like to know that I know the answer. In class, I'll mostly only raise my hand if I know the answer is right. If I don't know, I'll tell the answer as a question: "Is it forty-two?" I have a teacher who will say, "No, I'm the one who asked the question. We aren't playing jeopardy." But I want to know it's the right answer before I claim it as that. I want to know that what I'm speaking is truth, even if it's the solution to an algebra equation. It's not so much the fear of being corrected that holds me back. Being corrected is being told the right answer- so you can know the right answer the next time someone asks you.
       But that terrible moment of disappointment when the teacher (or whomever the ask-er happens to be) gazes down condescendingly at you with those unforgiving eyes and utters that accursed word: "Incorrect." The onlookers gasp in horror at what you just did. You gave a wrong answer. You lied. How could you? Red-faced, you wish you could disappear. Maybe you'll become a hermit while the rest of the world chants poems that will ring throughout history of your infamous mistake.
       Okay, maybe it isn't as bad as all that, but do you get my point? No matter how many times adults (and peers) have told me it's alright to be wrong sometimes, I still don't like it. Being wrong is a fear I hope to conquer.