Checkmate     

I stare at this teen, my son Dovid, wondering why he’s asking. Because he knows, good and well, that I hate playing chess. There’s something about the game that hits me the wrong way. It’s emotionally draining to kill precious pawns, figure out how my rook can best protect himself, and rodeo with that elusive horse.

But Dovid is standing there, anticipation tickling his face, and I can’t say no.

I say yes, one game. He nods, sets out the chess pieces while I get a glass of water, squirt in lemon juice.

What’s disconcerting about playing chess with my son, anyone really, is that it makes me feel inadequate. Hey, I can play games with my kids and lose graciously because it’s bonding time and all that. What I can’t do is play chess because I always lose.