I grew up with two brothers, Robert and John, who were both several years older than me. John, unfortunately, did not live to adulthood; he was killed in a traffic accident when I was nine years old. Robert is doing just fine and is enjoying his kids and grandkids spread out throughout the Midwest; we talk from time to time.
Chess was a major preoccupation for all three of us growing up. Robert was easily the strongest player in the family. John wasn't quite as strong but he was certainly much better than I was. The two of them took turns playing me when they weren't playing each other.
Robert was a power player--he'd see a mistake and let you try to figure out what you did wrong with subtle hints that I never picked up on. Consequently our chess battles looked like the opening phases of the First Gulf War with me as Iraq. John was a softie; he knew he was better than me at the game, but would throw the game almost all the time to let me win. The chess set (not the board) above was made by my mother for him; sadly he didn't live to actually use them in a game. Usually there would be stakes involved in John's games too: the Japanese lacquer bowl you see in the center of the board would be filled with pennies that John would 'bet' on the outcome of the game. I got a lot of pennies out of that bowl and both the set and the bowl are among my most prized possessions today.
I grew up then with a love/hate affair for the game: I love it because of the intellectual challenge and the deep emotional meaning it has for me. I hate it because in my adult playing life I've managed to beat exactly one opponent making a record of 1-12 against her. As I said in my last post, I have a very strong competitive bent. Where chess is involved, the emotional meaning of the game for me makes that even worse.
I think about this as I contemplate teaching Alex the game I loved so much as a child. He is not a patient little boy. I've seen him get upset during a game of Chutes and Ladders over not hitting a particular spot he'd picked on the board, even though he ended up winning the game! My record against Alex in Chutes and Ladders is currently 0-20; he's a lucky little bastard with the dice! He'll be a holy terror in RPGs when he gets older!
On the one hand, I want to ease him into the game gently, the way John did. Playing John was always fun, and not just because I got to clean out his spare change! Somehow he knew how to pull his punches the way he never did in a street fight (which he seemed to go out of his way to get into).
On the other hand, I see what Robert was trying to accomplish as well: he wanted to give me a real challenge and learn how to read the board myself. Later when I got my first computer he supplied me with the strongest chess program available at the time, and I spent many, many hours subjecting myself to its not-so-tender mercies. Unfortunately me being the way I am, I didn't see that and interpreted it as yet another round of big brother teasing. This interpretation persisted for a long time!
I've always feared being in the shadow of both of my brothers and I've spent most of my life trying to get out from under the perception that I wasn't quite as good as Robert intellectually or John physically--almost as though I was the average between the two. In a lot of ways that's still true today although I see where it put up a major barrier between Robert and me for many years. Thankfully things have improved considerably, especially since I got married.
Since I've started my little self-improvement journey this year I've looked back on it all and see that Robert was trying to teach me something bigger than chess: by not holding back, he was treating me with respect despite his being eight and a half years older than I am. He was saying, I know what you're capable of, and I'm not going to let you get away with anything less than your best effort. He wanted me to push the envelope, just like I was talking about in my last post. To an eight-year-old, that seems brutal. As a 44-year-old, I see the wisdom perfectly.
And yet I see the wisdom of John's approach as well. He kept the game fun and kept me from being discouraged. A lot of the reason I stuck with the game was the memory of playing with him (some of the last really clear memories I have of him, actually). In the end, each was playing to his strengths. I somehow need to learn to average them out and find my own.
Maybe I should challenge Alex. But not too hard. I still need to learn how to play the game better myself!
Chess anyone?
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