When My Son Taught Me Chess

My eight-year-old learned chess at an after-school club and decided to teach me. I knew how the horse moved, roughly. That was it.

He was a demanding teacher. He made flashcards. He set up practice positions on the kitchen table and quizzed me before dinner. When I made a bad move, he would sigh deeply, like a tired old professor, and say, "Let's think about that again."

After two months, I finally beat him. He stared at the board for a long moment, then stood up, shook my hand formally, and said, "Good game. You have learned well." Then he made me play again immediately and destroyed me in nine moves.

We play every night now. He wins almost every time. I've learned the game, but mostly I've learned how much I love watching him think.