My 10-year old son beat me at chess last night, and I'm not quite sure how to feel about that. Yes, it was luck, and a stupid mistake on my part, but when it comes down to it, I left a door open for him and he made himself at home. I wish I could say I felt only pride, but mingled in with that was a bit of panic that my son might become a better player than me. Kind of an odd sensation ... I expect it in most of my relationships outside of my immediate family, but I don't usually feel it with my kids, or my wife for that matter. I'm not sure if I feel threatened, but there is definitely something discomforting about the sensation.
There was pride, though, and it was gratifying to see him so pleased with himself for finally beating me. Scary, but it wasn't more than 2 weeks ago that he beat me for the first time at Stratego, which clearly gave him the same sort of satisfaction. I guess I need the practice as much as he does (or more).
Thursday, November 11, 2004
I don't have much time before my battery dies, so I'll try to be quick. Which shouldn't be difficult, because I don't really have anything to say. I read something about journaling last night. Why is it so easy for some people to write about nothing and everything? I don't get it. All I write is crap, because I can't think of anything interesting to write about. Sure, after years of writing every day, something is bound to float to the top of the cesspool, but who has the time or the inclination to wade into it in the first place?