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The agonies of being a “chess
parent”...
Chess, for parents, is a
waiting game. I'm sitting in a school classroom
(not on an infant-sized chair for once, at
least!) and I'm waiting. And waiting. Chess is
so different from other sports where you share
in the action and know it will be all over by a
given time. Here, I’ve always got half an eye on
the door – distracted from my book every time a
competitor returns. When will it be her? And
will the face be happy, sad or an unreadable
mask? I feel sick with nerves, like waiting
outside an exam room.
As a parent you are of no use
here except in fleeting intervals between
matches, when you are a cross between a snack
bar and Yoda. This one’s a team event, but even
if the team wins your child may still come away
feeling defeated - perhaps all the more acutely
if others do well and they do not. This must be
the universal prayer of the chess parent: "at
least one win please.."!
Phew!! She's out, and it's
good news this time. Success is toasted with
banana milk. Moves are described and I politely
pretend to understand what she’s telling me. A
quick game of footie (also not my strong point!)
and then back to the boards....
The clock ticks and the wait
begins again. Time signifies nothing, of course,
except that scholar's mate has not been
delivered. I think of all the other things I
could be doing on a sunny Saturday afternoon in
March ....
But for all that, and without
pretending to understand the tactics, I still
can appreciate the genius and complexity of
chess. I’m jealous of the knowledge my girls
have developed and admiring of the generosity of
the teachers, club members and other competitors
who have taken time to help develop their
skills. Where else can young and old, male and
female (though we could do with some more of the
latter!) come together on so even a playing
field? Forget football - chess really is “the
beautiful game”.
   
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