My four year old wanted to play chess at 7:20 this morning. So we played a quick game.
Actually, we had to put it away after about 30 minutes, to be resumed later. At the time, he had 6 of my pawns, both bishops, both knights, and one rook. I had 4 of his pawns, queen, both bishops, both knights, and one rook.
Imagine how good he could be when he actually, you know, starts school and stuff. Which he won’t do for another 15 months, since he has a September birthday.
By the time he gets to kindergarten, he’ll have been playing chess for two years: “Eat my dust, kindergarten chumps!”
Not that I’m any good at chess, really. But, he’s 4. F-O-U-R.
Of course, he’ll cry if you take his queen. Clever, that. Act like a four year old and make people feel sorry for you. Ha! Nice try. I’m not having any of that!
He’ll also use silliness as a diversionary tactic. He loves to make up knock knock jokes that make absolutely no sense, mostly because his nearly-seven-year-old brother laughs hysterically. He grins constantly, and it is infectious, since he has a big blond head. When he’s tired he lays on the couch with his soft, fuzzy blue-and-green mankie. And then he hauls out the chess set, and lays the smackdown on me. Some dads would go all Great Santini on him at that point. Some dads don’t get it.
His brother is also a very good player already, and can beat me regularly if I’m careless. Which I usually am.
So by the time they are, oh, 6 and 8, I expect to be getting my ass kicked regularly by a couple of short chess players that still wear Spiderman jammies. Maybe they are geniuses, or I’m a dolt. Or maybe, a bit of both.
At least I can find my shoes in the morning when its time to leave. Most of the time.