Chess boy

A freckled, black-haired, 5-year-old boy had his blue eyes wide open when his father brought him to his hometown's chess club. A back room at the local sports centre sheltered about 20 silent yet alert people playing chess. The boy noticed that everyone focussed on the games and ignored the shouts and cheering of indoors football players playing at the main court. Soon the magical atmosphere muffled the outside sounds and silence sunk in his ears: the boy didn't listen to anything or anyone. All he could do was seeing the chess boards repeated in his head: the image of the real board in his eyes and an imaginary board in his mind with pieces moving steadily but without stopping. That night the boy dreamt with being a chess champion one day.

I have played chess against my father since I can remember. As expected, he always beat me, but I didn't despair or get bored. I learnt to accept reality as it is and to adapt to it quickly in order to achieve my aims. One day, however, I found the way to make my father's king bite the dust. My father decided to sign me up to the chess club the following day.

The chess club rules didn't allow in children below seven year-old, but my father insisted and they let me have a test game with the chess teacher. I must have played a relatively good game for a 5-year-old kid because they accepted me and I found myself trotting to the chess club on my own every week for the next 3 years. I felt elated and grown-up during those short walks.

I haven't played chess since, but I'm resuming this old, wonderful hobby nowadays thanks to S. and A. Cheers, mates!

Love and freedom.