Some Things Are Hard To Let Go Of
My overly developed sense of competition reared its ugly head at the Joselyn senior center on Wednesday. My daughters and I heard there was a Chess club there and wanted to go and check it out. My teenage daughter’s theory was that other geeky homeschool boys would be there because it was the middle of the day and that she could maybe find some boy who'd actually read a book once in awhile.
Now we haven’t played a great deal of Chess and it had really been awhile. I thought that we’d just watch and maybe join in next time. This, of course, isn’t what happened.
When we got there it was a group of elderly men playing in one of the back rooms. They were so excited to see us that they took pictures. I’m not lying. There is actual photographic evidence of the horrible ego-crippling defeat that we suffered there and if I have my way it will never see the light of day.
It’s funny in retrospect that I always give the advice to go out in the world and be authentic and make mistakes that you learn a lot that way. Oh, I learned a lot about myself that day. I’m sure the children will be blogging about it for some time. You see, there is a tendency I have, part genetic, part upbringing, and part stuff left over from previous lifetimes. Sigh. Every little competition becomes a fight to the death. All my life I fought so hard (ironic choice of words) to be non-competitive. And you think you have finally gotten it in check until…the gauntlet is thrown by some old men at the senior center.
Imagine if you will that I am prodded into a game by the coordinator- a sweet-natured elderly Asian man. He smiles a lot and reminds me of certain rules from time to time. It’s been awhile since I’ve played and I take awhile to make moves so he makes a move and then goes to get a cup of coffee. After an eternity I make a move. He comes back and makes a move and then goes to the bathroom. Then eons pass and I make another move. Then he comes back makes a move and goes to check on something in the office. I make a move, he let’s me take his queen. It’s a gesture. I recognize the gesture. He says, “Oh, look, Jacqueline, you’ve taken my queen!” in his sweet polite voice. He makes another move.
Finally I remember strategy, something awakens within me, something ancient and familiar. I begin to think 3 moves ahead and battlefields rise up before me. I begin to play ruthlessly and boldly. I remember the thrill of competition- of pitting life and limb wholly into rising above every level you’ve ever achieved, of staking everything on it wholeheartedly.
I’m reckless, I’ve always been reckless. I stake everything on one move, hoping that he won’t see the opening. I lose. I’m once again in the backroom of the senior center with the fluorescent lights with men in suspenders and soft tired voices sweet with age and experience.
The smallest, most fragile one of the group motions to me and says in his sweet old man voice, “Perhaps if you learn the rules, next time you’ll play better and we won’t have to teach you girls so much.” I smile as I am rising to leave and nod okay. I get to the parking lot and turn back to the doorway that I had just come from and declare in a voice that thunders down the corridors-
“AS GOD AS MY WITNESS VENGEANCE WILL BE MINE! NEXT WEEK YOU ARE GOING DOWN OLD MAN!”
Apparently I still have much to learn…
Now we haven’t played a great deal of Chess and it had really been awhile. I thought that we’d just watch and maybe join in next time. This, of course, isn’t what happened.
When we got there it was a group of elderly men playing in one of the back rooms. They were so excited to see us that they took pictures. I’m not lying. There is actual photographic evidence of the horrible ego-crippling defeat that we suffered there and if I have my way it will never see the light of day.
It’s funny in retrospect that I always give the advice to go out in the world and be authentic and make mistakes that you learn a lot that way. Oh, I learned a lot about myself that day. I’m sure the children will be blogging about it for some time. You see, there is a tendency I have, part genetic, part upbringing, and part stuff left over from previous lifetimes. Sigh. Every little competition becomes a fight to the death. All my life I fought so hard (ironic choice of words) to be non-competitive. And you think you have finally gotten it in check until…the gauntlet is thrown by some old men at the senior center.
Imagine if you will that I am prodded into a game by the coordinator- a sweet-natured elderly Asian man. He smiles a lot and reminds me of certain rules from time to time. It’s been awhile since I’ve played and I take awhile to make moves so he makes a move and then goes to get a cup of coffee. After an eternity I make a move. He comes back and makes a move and then goes to the bathroom. Then eons pass and I make another move. Then he comes back makes a move and goes to check on something in the office. I make a move, he let’s me take his queen. It’s a gesture. I recognize the gesture. He says, “Oh, look, Jacqueline, you’ve taken my queen!” in his sweet polite voice. He makes another move.
Finally I remember strategy, something awakens within me, something ancient and familiar. I begin to think 3 moves ahead and battlefields rise up before me. I begin to play ruthlessly and boldly. I remember the thrill of competition- of pitting life and limb wholly into rising above every level you’ve ever achieved, of staking everything on it wholeheartedly.
I’m reckless, I’ve always been reckless. I stake everything on one move, hoping that he won’t see the opening. I lose. I’m once again in the backroom of the senior center with the fluorescent lights with men in suspenders and soft tired voices sweet with age and experience.
The smallest, most fragile one of the group motions to me and says in his sweet old man voice, “Perhaps if you learn the rules, next time you’ll play better and we won’t have to teach you girls so much.” I smile as I am rising to leave and nod okay. I get to the parking lot and turn back to the doorway that I had just come from and declare in a voice that thunders down the corridors-
“AS GOD AS MY WITNESS VENGEANCE WILL BE MINE! NEXT WEEK YOU ARE GOING DOWN OLD MAN!”
Apparently I still have much to learn…
