Learning Chess

My uncle is a lean young man, fresh from the muddy rice paddies of Vietnam. He sits across from me now, in blue jeans and a fringed vest. My twelve-year-old eyes see a warrior, a battle-hardened conqueror. I know I am looking at a true hero in my uncle Russell.

"It's your turn Billy-boy."

He speaks with a fondness that shows I am the special one. He never sounds like this when he talks to my brothers and sisters. I watch carefully as his hand moves from the piece of white plastic on the checkered board.

I can't wait to grow up and become a soldier just like him.

I feel even more special around him, seeing that my mother and her second husband are on the short track to a divorce. My stepfather always sits with a beer in his hand, as though, it is as necessary as oxygen.

I think to myself as I look into his eyes, "Here we are. Locked in the heat of battle. It is not just a game. We are commanders of opposite forces attempting to crush the other."

I adjust my wheelchair closer to the table for a better view.

As I stare down upon our battlefield, I remember how awesome it was when he pulled up in his red mustang convertible. The hugs and tears flowed as my mother opened the door. Her love exploded when she realized who was standing on the other side of the door's threshold.

I watch him as he drinks from his glass of tea and I try to figure out his strategy. He smiles at my sister as she walks through the room.

I think of all the heroic moments he must've had in the two tours he spent in the place he calls, "Nam". The endless fear and long nights that jungle fighting with the enemy must have gave him, comes rushing into my mind.

I snap back into the moment and think, "Look at him. There is no way that I have a chance. I am only in middle school. What do I know about being a warrior? How can I conquer such a brave soul?"

I wipe my sweaty hands on my sweatshirt and prepare for my next move.

Then it happens.

He speaks again. He says, "You know, Billy-boy. Chess is a lot like life. The more you know about the game, the more options you see. The more options you see, the better choices you make."

I nod, not understanding what he means. One thing I am sure of, it must be important. So I store it. Maybe I will ask him about it later. But not know. As a warrior in training, I know this was not the right time.

I focus back on the task at hand. Thinking out my move. Looking around desperately to see how he plans to beat me. He smiles.

"You havin' a hard time there, son?"

There it is. The word SON.

I smile and remember an earlier time, before my uncle went to war. He would take me on his shoulders from my grandmother's house to the nearby corner store. He would run and I would hang on, playfully screaming for my life.

I place my hand upon a black soldier within the ranks of my plastic army, then, quickly move to another as I decide my course of action. I watch his eyes as my fingers move from man to man across my side of the board.

I adjust position in the chair and look at this guardian of peace and think how proud it is to be his nephew.

After a few moments I ask, "What can this piece do again?" He smiles and lovingly messes my hair from across table. "This the first time you played chess?"

I nod. We smile at each other.