Think back to when you first learned to play chess. Did your mother or father teach you? Maybe a grandparent? Over the years I’ve heard many wonderfully warm stories about people’s first introduction to chess. Those memories are cherished through adulthood, as chess is truly a bonding experience.
My father taught me to play when I was 9 years old. I was fascinated by the boards set up all around the living room, each displaying a different position. I was so eager to learn. My father loved something called postal chess, where he would play people from far away exotic lands through the mail. Most of his opponents lived in Russia, so it took months for each move to arrive. It was always an exciting day when that postcard arrived with its intriguing stamps. It held the mysterious code known only to chess players, informing my father of the next move.
I quickly fell in love with the game and when I beat my father for the first time I quickly made the decision to try out tournaments. Although Dad was more interested in postal chess than over the board play, he joined me in my first tournament, so that I wouldn’t be alone. Now the first thing I noticed, in that small Connecticut tournament, was that I was the only girl and the only child. A little intimidating, but Dad was there, so it was okay. I soon became engrossed in my games, throwing myself into the battle, eager to conquer my opponent, forgetting that the odds were stacked against me. I’m not sure who was more surprised and excited, my father or I, when I won second place.
