The Chess Game in my Head

Today: I keep a running chess game in my head that allows me to see beyond each step and to examine the consequences of decisions and the potential for success or disaster. I attribute this characteristic to my Dad who made such an impact on my life at an early age.


Last week:

Talking to my supervisor about an upcoming issue, I mentioned to him that it was possible after I told someone something, that person would respond in another way, which would in turn alter the time-table of the event and put in motion other consequences, possibly resulting in a potential problem. Determined to have positive results, we decided to rethink the next step to make sure all subsequent events would lead to a successful conclusion. It felt like a big chess game to me.

Two years ago:

A student wished to play me in chess. We tore into a game and it was a tough one. I miscalculated a move and because of his excellent knight playing ability, it was looking like a check-mate in 4 moves. But I saw an opportunity, risky though it may be, to pull him into a rook capture. Rooks are funny pieces because they only have value when put into play. Otherwise, they are not much of a threat. Yet players often cannot turn down an opportunity for a capture of such a potentially potent piece. So I moved a bishop, thereby opening my rook for capture. Upon capturing my rook, I then moved my queen to force him to move his King. Two moves later, it was over and he was shocked. Victory again.

Fifteen years ago:

A tough game against a brilliant conductor/businessman who was the director of the local symphony. The battle went to the end although the outcome seemed destined from the beginning as the opponent opened with a classic Russian start. Unable to navigate around an amazing pawn defense, I held my own until I got my queen in a compromising position. He pounced on the mistake resulting in the loss of my queen and very few pawns to protect my King. The game ended in sadness and the stress of the game exhausted me for days as I rewound my mistakes. In his irritating nasal voice he informed me that I needed to practice harder. Was he referring to my chess playing or my musicianship? Never was sure.

High school tournament (1977):

Reaching the finals, the opponent had a jerky style intent on psychological torture. Staring intently at my face until I moved, he then stared at the board until it was time to move. Grabbing his piece, he would slam it loudly on the board and immediately stare at me until I moved my piece again. Very disconcerting game and incredibly stressful. I felt my blood rushing through me and my heart racing with each progression of the game. Working to ignore his obnoxious style, I methodically whittled away at his pawns and knights. In a sideways attack, I surprised him with an adroit usage of my rooks, ending the game and winning the tournament. Terribly relieved but worn out, I vowed to avoid tournaments forever after that experience.

Elementary school (1970):

After supper, my father and I tore into yet another game. This was a nightly occurrence and we were way past the 4 move smash. He used it on me a couple of times when we first started playing, but now we were in the pawn offense and reserve the queen for power. This particular night, I was on my game, predicting each of his moves, anticipating several moves ahead, and pulling him into some mistakes. It looked like my first victory was imminent. But, unknown to me, he had recognized the strength of diagonal knights, and he began to move forward in that crazy zig-zag of knights that make them formidable opponents. Dad smiled as he altered my strategy and I suddenly found myself on the defensive, losing pawns, and not able to get my queen in any kind of helpful position. Soon I heard the dreaded word "Checkmate." Foiled again by my dad.

Analysis today:

Dad never allowed me to win which meant that my later victories in high school were earned not given. While this may have caused a shade of resentment and typical father-son competition, it also provided a sense of confidence in my own abilities. I lost due to my lack of skill but when I won, it was a result of my own abilities and not his giving in. In retrospect, I realize he worked hard to make sure I knew that I won on my own, with my own devices, with my own skill. A father's true desire is for his children to be better than himself. From him I learned that to succeed requires skill, wisdom, planning, diligence, and thorough examination of all sides of the situation. I use these qualities everyday in my work and in my life.