So, apart from being handsome, funny, sweet, and bringing home all A's and B's this year, my little Duncan Disorderly is rapidly becoming quite the little chess whiz! Last weekend he participated in his second chess tournament ever...and came home with a third place trophy!
Being a chess mom is a somewhat unique position, differing from having kids in soccer, or band, or school plays. There are the practices, sure. But unlike their swim meets or band concerts, a chess tournament is an all-day commitment that we don't even get to watch. Parents come to play the Waiting Game. You sign your kid in, and when his first match-up is listed, you take him to the big hall filled with chess boards and nervous children, wish him luck, and return to the lobby to fidget and fret with the other parents, ready to either console or congratulate when that little guy finally comes through those double doors and his face tells you everything you need to know. Then the list of second round match-ups gets tacked to the wall and it all starts again.
Duncan's first tournament went better than I expected and rather ideally, I thought. Knowing my little guy's level of confidence, I really did hope that he would do not so well as to set up unreasonable expectations for future competitions, but well enough that he was not immediately discouraged from the whole tournament scene. Out of five rounds, he won three and lost two, coming in at ninth place in the final standings. Wouldn't you know - they gave trophies through eighth place, which disappointed him. But he got a feel for tournament play, a participation medal, and a taste for the competition. On the way home he told me with a smile, "I'm going to practice more for the next tournament...and I'm going to win."
And practice he did. When his own chess club hosted a tournament here in town last week, he cracked open his chess strategy workbook. And played his dad. And played my brother online. And when the Big Day came, hooo boy, was he excited.
The tournament began much as the last one had. In the first round, he was creamed by an older kid in a very short game and came back with shining eyes. I opened my arms to him and promptly received a hug that nearly broke my heart. There are hugs they give you in passing when they're happy, and there are hugs that you can just feel the need in. He melted into my arms and stayed there a long time, occasionally tightening his grip around my neck. I held on just as long as he needed me to...but when he broke off the embrace it was with a bit of an embarrassed look and an "Okay, Mom, you don't need to hug me so long!"
A few helpings of pizza and pep-talk later, he went into his second round feeling refreshed...and won it. And the next round. And the next round.
Going into the last round (the tournament was Swiss style, with five rounds and no elimination), the boy was fourth in the standings. Trophies were only given to third this time, so I knew the last round was do-or-die. Lose the round, and he would be coming home with nothing but the knowledge that he had again played rather well and been an outstanding sport. Win the round, and there was a good chance he'd be coming home with his very first trophy. And so off my little third grader went, paired off with an older kid, a sixth grader (whom I know from my lunch line, no less!) who Duncan had told me usually beat him at chess club meetings.
Folks, such butterflies I had! All through the tournament I had been proud of him. He'd made an impressive showing, playing chess better than I ever will, and through it all he'd been a good sport win or lose. I knew it would be all right if he lost....but wouldn't it be great if he won?
It was a long battle...in the end they were the second-to-last pairing to emerge. Duncan's face was inscrutable as he and his opponent wound their way over to the tournament director, who was equally inscrutable as he scribbled down the results of their game. Finally my little man looked in my direction and flashed me a smile, and my heart soared.
So there it is. Sitting on Duncan's bookshelf now is a shiny trophy, and sitting right here is one proud mom.
(Disclaimer: As much as I would like to take credit for the horribly punny title of this post, it comes from an old joke. Alas, I must keep my ego in check. Good knight, all!)
Being a chess mom is a somewhat unique position, differing from having kids in soccer, or band, or school plays. There are the practices, sure. But unlike their swim meets or band concerts, a chess tournament is an all-day commitment that we don't even get to watch. Parents come to play the Waiting Game. You sign your kid in, and when his first match-up is listed, you take him to the big hall filled with chess boards and nervous children, wish him luck, and return to the lobby to fidget and fret with the other parents, ready to either console or congratulate when that little guy finally comes through those double doors and his face tells you everything you need to know. Then the list of second round match-ups gets tacked to the wall and it all starts again.
Duncan's first tournament went better than I expected and rather ideally, I thought. Knowing my little guy's level of confidence, I really did hope that he would do not so well as to set up unreasonable expectations for future competitions, but well enough that he was not immediately discouraged from the whole tournament scene. Out of five rounds, he won three and lost two, coming in at ninth place in the final standings. Wouldn't you know - they gave trophies through eighth place, which disappointed him. But he got a feel for tournament play, a participation medal, and a taste for the competition. On the way home he told me with a smile, "I'm going to practice more for the next tournament...and I'm going to win."
And practice he did. When his own chess club hosted a tournament here in town last week, he cracked open his chess strategy workbook. And played his dad. And played my brother online. And when the Big Day came, hooo boy, was he excited.
The tournament began much as the last one had. In the first round, he was creamed by an older kid in a very short game and came back with shining eyes. I opened my arms to him and promptly received a hug that nearly broke my heart. There are hugs they give you in passing when they're happy, and there are hugs that you can just feel the need in. He melted into my arms and stayed there a long time, occasionally tightening his grip around my neck. I held on just as long as he needed me to...but when he broke off the embrace it was with a bit of an embarrassed look and an "Okay, Mom, you don't need to hug me so long!"
A few helpings of pizza and pep-talk later, he went into his second round feeling refreshed...and won it. And the next round. And the next round.
Going into the last round (the tournament was Swiss style, with five rounds and no elimination), the boy was fourth in the standings. Trophies were only given to third this time, so I knew the last round was do-or-die. Lose the round, and he would be coming home with nothing but the knowledge that he had again played rather well and been an outstanding sport. Win the round, and there was a good chance he'd be coming home with his very first trophy. And so off my little third grader went, paired off with an older kid, a sixth grader (whom I know from my lunch line, no less!) who Duncan had told me usually beat him at chess club meetings.
Folks, such butterflies I had! All through the tournament I had been proud of him. He'd made an impressive showing, playing chess better than I ever will, and through it all he'd been a good sport win or lose. I knew it would be all right if he lost....but wouldn't it be great if he won?
It was a long battle...in the end they were the second-to-last pairing to emerge. Duncan's face was inscrutable as he and his opponent wound their way over to the tournament director, who was equally inscrutable as he scribbled down the results of their game. Finally my little man looked in my direction and flashed me a smile, and my heart soared.
So there it is. Sitting on Duncan's bookshelf now is a shiny trophy, and sitting right here is one proud mom.
(Disclaimer: As much as I would like to take credit for the horribly punny title of this post, it comes from an old joke. Alas, I must keep my ego in check. Good knight, all!)
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