I can still hear my Mom’s voice..”You looked so cute carrying your chess set to school.”
“Mom, please, that was over forty years ago.”
Fourth grade. I joined the chess club at my elementary school. I can still picture the custodian unlocking the gym doors and unfolding the long tables for us on those cold winter mornings. He always wore a red and black checked wool coat. He was an outdoorsman, and a jolly soul. As far as a chess player, I was never much good. A few times I would be in the middle of a game and realize that we set the board up with the white square at the far left. Guess it doesn’t say much for my opponent either. I played a few years as a kid, and then hadn’t sat down in front of a set until my younger son took up the game. I should have steered clear….this kid excels at everything he puts his mind to, much like his older brother. He took an interest in chess around age 18.
The ritual is usually around Christmas time. “Dad, how ‘bout a game of chess?”
“Sure, shall I grab a couple of Lunches?”
“Of course.”
Let me explain. It goes like this…. Around 5PM I will get a rip roaring fire going in the fireplace and settle into my chair. My older son, (who has a knack for discovering ‘can’t do without’ type beverages and food) turned us onto Maine Brewing’s absolutely fantastic IPA called ‘Lunch’, named after a local whale with a lunch bite out of her fin. Sitting by the fire playing chess calls for a really good beer.
I run out to the fridge, grab a couple of bottles (rather pricey, but worth it) and some tall glasses. I return and take in the view. Twinkle lights on the mantle with Christmas decorations, crackling fire, the chess board set up between two big comfortable chairs, and my son sitting there all calm and collected. Clenched in each of his fists is a black or white pawn. Oh, here we go again, I say to myself.
My wife and I have very dear friends, the Simpsons, who are in their eighties. Still bright and chipper, and quick witted, they are a lot of fun to be around. We decided to spend Thanksgiving with them this year, as the boys couldn’t make it home. It was decided that sometime before dinner we would have a Zoom meeting with the boys and us. My wife set it up and next thing you know, all of us are in the same room virtually. I remember Zoom as a silly kids show I watched when I was 10. It was quite advanced with its own new language called Ubbi Dubbi. (don’t even ask) “We’re gonna zoom, zoom, zoom, ah zoom, c’mon and zoom a zoom a zoom, ah zoom”. Crikey, now I’m not gonna get that insipid jingle out of my head. Anyways, the banter on the call between us is lots of fun. Jr, my oldest, asks Mr Simpson (Bob) what he’s drinking. He snaps back “ scotch, but your father is a bit slow refilling it!” Everyone bursts into laughter, all knowing that I am the bartender (and enabler) for folks who have trouble getting out of their chairs. Huh. Somewhere in the conversation Bob tells my younger son that he has something he wants to give him. We all go silent. It turns out that as a young lad, Bob liked to play chess also. He tells my son that his dad gave him a chess set 65 years ago. A beautiful one with hand carved pieces from France and a matching wooden board. And now it needs to go to a new owner. Everyone is excited. There’s a glint in Bob’s eye as he looks at me and gently shakes his empty rocks glass. His signal for a refill. I glance at his wife, who is giving me the staredown…Oh well, it’s Thanksgiving after all.
That elementary school I went to? If Mom wrote a permission slip, I was allowed to leave school at lunchtime, walk down the street to the local pizza shop for lunch. (can you imagine that occurring today?) Yeah, I still remember what those slices looked like, and how the small place smelled. If you get me near powdered garlic and canned mushrooms something deep inside rushes me back to fourth grade. Mom is gone now, bless her huge heart and that wonderful smile; I no longer look cute; and I never have to walk ¾ of a mile in 20 degree weather over unshoveled sidewalks to get to and from school. But there is still chess.
So this Christmas I will provision the Lunch and await our matches using Bob’s chess set from France. Very few words are spoken when we play, there is no music or TV on, and Wifey knows to tiptoe if she even dares passing through the room. It takes every bit of my concentration to put up a good fight. Early on I used to win about 30% of the time. Now I get lucky once in ten games. But I will say that my game has definitely improved by playing my son, and I am no longer a pushover. I have always said that I want my kids to be smarter than I am. If he forks my queen and king with his knight, I am going to scream.
All this talk of chess has me in the mood for a Gibson. “Hey Babe”, I call to Wifey, “do we have any cocktail onions?”
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
P.S. - If you haven’t watched ‘The Queen’s Gambit’ on Netflix, you really need to.
“Mom, please, that was over forty years ago.”
Fourth grade. I joined the chess club at my elementary school. I can still picture the custodian unlocking the gym doors and unfolding the long tables for us on those cold winter mornings. He always wore a red and black checked wool coat. He was an outdoorsman, and a jolly soul. As far as a chess player, I was never much good. A few times I would be in the middle of a game and realize that we set the board up with the white square at the far left. Guess it doesn’t say much for my opponent either. I played a few years as a kid, and then hadn’t sat down in front of a set until my younger son took up the game. I should have steered clear….this kid excels at everything he puts his mind to, much like his older brother. He took an interest in chess around age 18.
The ritual is usually around Christmas time. “Dad, how ‘bout a game of chess?”
“Sure, shall I grab a couple of Lunches?”
“Of course.”
Let me explain. It goes like this…. Around 5PM I will get a rip roaring fire going in the fireplace and settle into my chair. My older son, (who has a knack for discovering ‘can’t do without’ type beverages and food) turned us onto Maine Brewing’s absolutely fantastic IPA called ‘Lunch’, named after a local whale with a lunch bite out of her fin. Sitting by the fire playing chess calls for a really good beer.
I run out to the fridge, grab a couple of bottles (rather pricey, but worth it) and some tall glasses. I return and take in the view. Twinkle lights on the mantle with Christmas decorations, crackling fire, the chess board set up between two big comfortable chairs, and my son sitting there all calm and collected. Clenched in each of his fists is a black or white pawn. Oh, here we go again, I say to myself.
My wife and I have very dear friends, the Simpsons, who are in their eighties. Still bright and chipper, and quick witted, they are a lot of fun to be around. We decided to spend Thanksgiving with them this year, as the boys couldn’t make it home. It was decided that sometime before dinner we would have a Zoom meeting with the boys and us. My wife set it up and next thing you know, all of us are in the same room virtually. I remember Zoom as a silly kids show I watched when I was 10. It was quite advanced with its own new language called Ubbi Dubbi. (don’t even ask) “We’re gonna zoom, zoom, zoom, ah zoom, c’mon and zoom a zoom a zoom, ah zoom”. Crikey, now I’m not gonna get that insipid jingle out of my head. Anyways, the banter on the call between us is lots of fun. Jr, my oldest, asks Mr Simpson (Bob) what he’s drinking. He snaps back “ scotch, but your father is a bit slow refilling it!” Everyone bursts into laughter, all knowing that I am the bartender (and enabler) for folks who have trouble getting out of their chairs. Huh. Somewhere in the conversation Bob tells my younger son that he has something he wants to give him. We all go silent. It turns out that as a young lad, Bob liked to play chess also. He tells my son that his dad gave him a chess set 65 years ago. A beautiful one with hand carved pieces from France and a matching wooden board. And now it needs to go to a new owner. Everyone is excited. There’s a glint in Bob’s eye as he looks at me and gently shakes his empty rocks glass. His signal for a refill. I glance at his wife, who is giving me the staredown…Oh well, it’s Thanksgiving after all.
That elementary school I went to? If Mom wrote a permission slip, I was allowed to leave school at lunchtime, walk down the street to the local pizza shop for lunch. (can you imagine that occurring today?) Yeah, I still remember what those slices looked like, and how the small place smelled. If you get me near powdered garlic and canned mushrooms something deep inside rushes me back to fourth grade. Mom is gone now, bless her huge heart and that wonderful smile; I no longer look cute; and I never have to walk ¾ of a mile in 20 degree weather over unshoveled sidewalks to get to and from school. But there is still chess.
So this Christmas I will provision the Lunch and await our matches using Bob’s chess set from France. Very few words are spoken when we play, there is no music or TV on, and Wifey knows to tiptoe if she even dares passing through the room. It takes every bit of my concentration to put up a good fight. Early on I used to win about 30% of the time. Now I get lucky once in ten games. But I will say that my game has definitely improved by playing my son, and I am no longer a pushover. I have always said that I want my kids to be smarter than I am. If he forks my queen and king with his knight, I am going to scream.
All this talk of chess has me in the mood for a Gibson. “Hey Babe”, I call to Wifey, “do we have any cocktail onions?”
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
P.S. - If you haven’t watched ‘The Queen’s Gambit’ on Netflix, you really need to.
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