Last night my nine-year old son Jason beat
me in chess. I didn’t know if I should
be embarrassed or proud. Actually I was more
proud than embarrassed since he had come close to beating me a couple of times
before if not for some lapses on his part and some luck on mine. Still I was hoping to stave off defeat for
another couple of years or at least until he reached double figures.
Then it happened.
Jason said, “Check,” and I thought, no
problem, I’ll just move my king here and he said, “You can’t do that!” I’m thinking, why not, and then I saw the
problem. He had a bishop waiting on that
same slant. I was flummoxed. He had me.
“I won!
I won!”
“Not so fast,” I said, sure that I would find
another way out, some clever move on my part that had served me well over the years,
but lo and behold, no clever move materialized.
There was not a thing I could do and finally had to admit that he won. Jason beat me. I mean, I had this game so won! I had been putting his king in check a half a
dozen times already and was within two moves of clinching the deal, but then
his queen came out of nowhere and he said. “Check.” Then it became “Checkmate” and our whole
chess relationship changed.
Instead of me being the mentor advising him
against moves that he shouldn’t make lest he wanted to lose an important piece
of his arsenal, and how he needs to find a better balance between offense and defense, I was now on the down slide, where pretty soon he’ll be
trouncing me right and left while looking at his smart phone and talking to a
couple of girlfriends in between my moves.
“Have you finally moved, Dad?”
“Wait, let me get my walker.”
I can see it
all now, more gloating from my son at the dinner table aided and abetted by his
mother, who naturally took photos of my personal agony of defeat, and his
six-year old younger brother Justin, who suddenly saw hope in his chess-playing future
of trouncing me too.
Jason is now
talking about trouncing me in badminton once my sore shoulder heals, which I’m
hoping at this point it never does. Maybe
I should just stick with writing.
# # #
-Don't Monkey with the Monkeys!
-Hospital Adventure for My Two Boys
—Borneo Expat Writer
# # #
*By the way,
I picked up that chess set in Singapore in April 1980 when I was still working with
Kinko’s in the US, after spending two months backpacking from Japan to Singapore. I had just left Boulder, Colorado and was
about to take over a new store in Madison, Wisconsin. The time off for the trip was part of the
deal. So was a company car. OK, they were desperate, but I ended up
being a regional manager in charge of 11 stores in three states before catching the writing bug and moving to
Malaysia. So that chess set has some
miles on it.
-Don't Monkey with the Monkeys!
-Hospital Adventure for My Two Boys
—Borneo Expat Writer
Here are links to some
of my author-to-author interviews of first novelists:
Golda
Mowe author of Iban Dream and Iban Journey.
Preeta
Samarasan author of Evening is the Whole Day.
Chuah
Guat Eng, author of Echoes of Silence and Days
of Change.
Plus:
Five part Maugham
and Me series
Beheaded on
Road to Nationhood: Sarawak Reclaimed—Part
I
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