I hadn’t thought John had a chance of defeating me for years to come because, while I am certainly no chess whiz, I have hundreds of matches under my belt. While I was thrilled that John shared my passion for the game, I wasn’t prepared to lose to him; I had been his teacher moments before.

John’s interest in chess was sparked in his freshman year of high school, when I got out an old set and played a practice game with him. We started playing regularly, and he’d listen patiently while I explained how dangerous the knight can be with its forward, backward and side-to-side jumps, how a lowly pair of pawns can create havoc and why a revealed (hidden) check is so sweet. I always won, but he’d decline my offers to play with fewer pieces or to let him take back moves.

Then in his sophomore year he joined a chess club, watched “Searching for Bobby Fischer” four or five times and started playing opponents from all over the world on the Internet. My days were numbered.

Once he beat me, he became my equal, if not my superior. My ego was a little bruised from his being better than me with so much less experience. At first I came up with excuses for John’s victory. I chalked it up to the lessons he was getting from the teacher of his chess club (only to find out the teacher mostly supervised), or to the time clock, which we never used until he joined the club, that “forced” me to make ill-thought-out moves. But there were no excuses.

Now that the initial shock has worn off and my ego has turned to pride, I am enjoying an even better relationship with my son. Playing as equals has made us much closer. Being on that same level has allowed him to share more with me. As a parent, you’re lucky to get a hello or goodbye from your kids when they’re teenagers. But now I get an hour alone with him. It’s a gift.

I should have seen it coming, since my relationship with my grandfather Poppy was fomented over our games of canasta. He started teaching me to play when I was 7 years old and growing up in St. Louis. My dad would drop me off at Poppy’s house, and we would head to the den for our three-hour games. The room always smelled of cigars and bay rum. Poppy would shuffle the cards and talk about the Cardinals, Stan Musial and, best of all, what my dad was like at my age. When we were finished, he would carefully record the date and score in a notebook.

After three years I hadn’t won a game, but like John, I refused to take any concessions. Then one amazing summer day I beat him. The score was 5,015 to 5,005–Poppy added and re-added the sets three times to make sure. Then he put down his pencil, stood up and shook my hand. I don’t think the smile left my face for two weeks. I felt like an adult.

Several months after my first win, Poppy died, leaving me with a love for friendly one-on-one competition–the same spirit that was reignited when John and I started playing together.

I asked John once why he thought I got so frustrated when he won. He said, “Maybe you just don’t like your 17-year-old son teaching you the finer points of chess.” He smiled and continued, “Just like maybe I don’t always like my dad teaching me the finer points of life.” Touche.

Since I have to concentrate when I play, I like John to do the same. A few months ago he picked up a book when it was my turn to move. I stopped the clock and said, “John, please pay attention to the game.” He rolled his eyes but closed the book. I moved, and without a moment’s hesitation he moved his sneaky knight and said, “Checkmate.” I studied the board, congratulated him and said, “I guess you can read all you want.”

Despite my frequent losses, I love playing John now more than ever. But the last few games have been bittersweet. I’ll glance at him when he’s planning an attack, and I can’t believe that this fall he’ll be going off to Marist College.

Friends tell me it is remarkable that John spends so much time with me. I want to believe it’s not because I’m such an easy mark. I told John that I will really miss our games when he leaves. He said, “Before I go I’ll teach you how to play on the Net so we can have a match once a week. And, Dad, if you kick your game up a notch or two, I promise not to read while I’m waiting for you to move.” It’s a goal worth aiming for.