“"One of my major shortcomings — I'm vindictive. I don't know why that is. Even in petty things in my life I tend to strike back. It's a lot more pleasurable a sensation than feeling threatened." -Andy Rooney
This month we learn of the passing of Andy Rooney and to honor his courage I will finish the second part of my essay I was Chess Champion of the 4th Grade.
Like Andy Rooney, I too am vindictive. Unlike Andy Rooney, I know why I am vindictive due to a personal “epidemiology” study I have conducted over the last seven years of my life. My motivation for doing this interpersonal study was to emerge from an emotional chaos I was in and gain some control over my feelings. What I discovered was something better… how to manage my vindictive power and see it not as a weakness of character, but as a strength. I have discovered the key is to adjust the amount of ego used to energize and manage the power of my vindictiveness, so others will join me and stand with me when I need them the most. When the odds are against you, and you have no chance of winning, it is sometimes the will to survive through vindictiveness, defiance, and an unconventional approach that will grab a victory from an otherwise predictable defeat. You have to fight the good fight though, otherwise the victory will be hollow and defeats will be lonely.
I am the underdog. My bark is worse then my bite. Now on with the second part to find out why.
Like most children, I hated losing at games. Losing doesn’t feel so good when you don’t know why. Have you ever had that disagreement with your boss where they always seems to win and you have to do the work anyway and not know why? It leaves you confused and bitter because it seems unfair and you are powerless to do anything without fear of reprisal. That’s what losing feels like as a child. In a sense you feel betrayed in some way because the higher power that gives you all these gifts turns his back on you, when you desire support to use them the most. It is a test of trust, it feels like God doesn’t want to be vulnerable, so he ignores your mental plea for help. In actuality though it is the higher power from within your subconscious mind who trusts you, and it is your conscious mind that doesn’t want to be vulnerable. “God helps those who help themselves” says the good book, “Hope is for Sissies” says the writers of the show House because the first real life lesson many of us learn is about desire.
“You can’t always get what your want, but if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need.” - Rolling Stones
I don’t think my mother had a plan to teach me chess, she just knew that my chances were slim. If I was going to have any chance to win the tournament she knew she needed be honest with me as compassionately as she could. That is why she beat me in every game of chess we played. The rules were simple, you lose you either setup the chess board again for both players, or you put the pieces away. I lost every game I played against my mother preparing for the tournament. For weeks we would play chess after school. Game after game no real strategy was taught, it was pure trial and error, and not one time would she let me win. I was a loser, and at 9 years old with the loss of my father figure in the forefront of my mind thinking god hated me, I felt very alone, confused, and bitter. Sometimes that loneliness would come out as rage and I would throw the pieces instead of setting them back up, to which my mother would discipline me, not with equal rage mind you, but with surreal like stare. Hell hath no fury then when my mother is scorn. One look from my mother is usually enough to correct me, but if it didn’t, her words, intonation, and delivery were enough to stop an elephant in their tracks.
Reading this you might think my mother beat me at chess because she was on a perverse ego trip. I assure you she wasn’t, she loves me more than anything and would do nothing to hurt me. I told her I wanted to learn to play chess to win that tournament in school. My reasons were so the kids would stop picking on me, and she knew that. So as much as it pained her to see me struggle, she was committed to getting me emotionally well again at any cost. More importantly it was the right thing to do and she needed to be honest with me. Letting me win wouldn’t teach me the lesson I needed for the tournament… no one there was going to let me win. I also think by playing chess with me it helped heal my mother in some way. My mother worked a lot and so she didn’t get to spend a lot of time with me growing up. I was the only thing in the world she trusted after the betrayal of her ex-husband. It was during this training that I learned of what my real father “Uncle Daddy” was like when married to my mother.
My “biological” father Lou, for clarity is a hard working man. He met my mother at the Little Chef restaurant on Pulaski Highway near where she lived, and from there the romance began. My mother would tell me stories of how smart my father was, how when they would play chess, he would beat her all the time and how that would frustrate her. He also seemed to have this uncanny ability to try something once and just get it. My mother had three brothers growing up and learned not to give up else she would lose respect from men. She shared her observations and her love for his family and how different they were from hers. There was a bit of sibling rivalry, where my Uncle Joe seemed to bond with my grandfather Joe, and my dad was closer to my grandmother Mamie. She told me how much she appreciated my grandfather making her feel like she was part of the family. As I write this, I can see how my mother is a bit similar to my grandfather Joe in some ways and assume that is why they bonded. I can remember how much joy my grandfather Joe would show in his face when I would come over. I felt like the most important thing in the world when I would go over and see him, and I don’t know why. Maybe it was because I look a lot like my mother. My grandmother Mamie was equally as influential on my mother as well. She would give my mother tips on how to save money by pining bills to her bra (My mother asked if she could use change in stead for a fuller figure), how to be supportive of her husband but also remain an independent thinker, and most importantly how to cook for an Italian when you are not one by birth. Eventually my mother told me that my father had problems in school and that he stopped going to high school and earned a GED. At one point my mothers father Reg took him under his wing and taught him the “family business”. I did that for effect because my father is Italian, but my mothers father was Welsh, and the family business was electrical contracting. He eventually went to work for General Motors like my Uncle Joe and his father. My grandfather Joe was a manager there, where my Dad and Uncle were union employees, so during strikes there was a lot of tension in the family. What seemed to keep the tension in check was their passions outside of work.
My mother went on to talk about my fathers passions for crafts and music. As a teenager my father had access to a still camera and movie camera, and it appears he became the family photographer at one point. That made sense because every time I would go to his mother-in-laws house he was taking photos of us. It wasn’t till later that I understood he did photography as a part-time business. He would also do wood work on the lathe and make bowls and other house hold utensils. I think my father was a bit tormented because things came naturally to him, but the conventional approach that schools taught subjects hampered his free spirit. I came to find out later that my grandfather Joe was pretty judgmental and critical of him. I am pretty sure the stress to conform with society and his family wishes were great. Stressful in school because he had to study harder and put more effort in the subjects he had no interest in, verses the ones he really liked and possibly had talent for. My father would celebrate his later independence with my mother by playing the Beatles “Hey Jude” and the 1812 Overture so loud in my their Baltimore row-home, it would cause the next door deaf neighbors pictures to tilt on her wall.
Then finally my mother eventually told me how the marriage fell apart. She described to me how hard they worked, but also how much they tried to be supportive of the others interest. My father liked outdoor activities like water skiing and scuba diving, and my mother would join him on these adventures. He also loved to race cars like most youth his age. She told of a funny story how he and my uncle hit a possum one night and brought it home as a prize. She also talked about how much my father desired a Chevelle Super Sport and eventually they would be able to afford one. He walked the car down the GM assembly line to make sure TLC was given to his speed baby. He would spend hours tuning the vehicle and drag racing it on weekends. It seemed they had a great relationship until my fathers brother left his wife and later she was killed in a auto accident, my mother got pregnant with me, and my Dad’s car got stolen. It was during this time that the cracks in their marriage started to appear due to stress and eventual dysfunction that developed. My father seems to have a gift for sarcasm, and my mother has a gift of detachment. The dysfunction grew as the stresses in their family and friends lives began to cross boundaries into theirs. Eventually my father would get confused by my mothers distance and began to stop trusting her. He felt isolated and alone, and so when I was born he didn’t show up to the hospital. When my mother was discharged, she went home and was confronted by his betrayal. She decided to move back home with her parents because she didn’t want to have anything to do with him, except to make sure I was provided for. To ensure this, she drew upon her power of vindictiveness and as part of the divorce settlement she made sure the lawyer prioritized getting the Chevelle that my father put so much time into working on. I think this was her way of ensuring that he pay his child support and visit me on weekends. As much as it probably angered my father to lose the car, I am happy he did the right thing in the long run. For if it wasn’t for the sports car, my mother would not have met my adoptive father Tom. Still the betrayal did leave a deep scar in both of them in the form nether wanted to ever be that vulnerable again. I still see remnants of the wound this day, even though both have forgiven each other. Sometimes I get caught in the middle, but I have grown to know both of them love me and trust me because they convey their true feelings on almost every matter. I have inherited both my fathers gift of sarcasm, and my mothers gift for vindictiveness. More importantly though I have learned first hand how important trust is in relationships. When there is little to no trust, there is no relationship.
My daily chess beatings would eventually start to pay off. When the tournament began in school, I was able to defeat my opponents pretty easily. I played a very aggressive style of chess focused on controlling the middle of the board and flanking my opponents strength on ether side of the board based on the pieces they valued the most. Most children value their queens, bishops or knights so I would do things to trap them or exchange them so I could leverage my favorite piece… the rook. As the tournament rolled on, I would win at school, but lose at home. I was starting to feel confident, and every time I won at school, people would take some notice. I was obsessed with playing chess, but not really learning chess. I didn’t read books on how to play chess, or study complex chess problems. I just racked the pieces and played. Eventually I would get an opportunity to play the teacher. Everyone that played the teacher would be defeated in a few minutes. Everyone except for me, you played the teacher the last 15 minutes of the day. My match lasted 45 minutes in a stalemate and drew a crowd of people too, including the toughest kid in school (AKA the Bully) “Mike” who was also in the tournament. The week before, Mike lost to the teacher after school within five minutes. After my stalemate showed up Mike, I would learn of the unwritten code of school yard politics, but not before I went home and told my mother of my near success and lose ten games to her. Something's never seem to change.
The close of the tournament was coming, I was one of the four remaining players, but so was the toughest kid in school. The rumors started to fly though, I was to be followed home and beaten physically if I didn’t throw my remaining matches to the toughest kid in schools friends who were still in the tournament. Each day my conscious mind would force me to take a different route home from school while waiting for the finals to begin, and then an idea hit me. My subconscious mind seem to awaken and all the sudden I had a strategy to possibly save my but and end this torment I lived in. I never told my mother of the pending demise because I didn’t want her to embarrass me or worry. More importantly my vindictive nature needed to come out an play, so I made arrangements to have my mother pick me up after school the day of the semi-finals. That day I played the kid with the Mr. Spock t-shirt (I didn’t know what Star Trek was at that age), I beat him pretty easily. Then I openly challenged the teacher to play after school. I think Mr. Meyers was stunned at my brashness because everyone just asked to play the teacher after school, I said I “Challenge” you Mr. Meyers to a rematch. He agreed and I beat him in five minutes. I glared at the toughest kid in school and said “See you tomorrow in the finals”, and quickly made my get away to my mothers awaiting car.
The next day there was a buzz in the air at school. I was going to face the toughest kid in school, not on the playground in some feat of physical strength, but over a chess board. Mike was going to have to fight me fair and square. To be honest I don’t think he really cared if he won. I think he felt he could beat me, he didn’t seem nervous, and his friends were pretty confident too. I wasn’t nervous either. I felt I could beat Mike as long as I stick to my instincts and some basic strategies. I also knew I needed to allow my vindictiveness full control, I couldn’t afford to get confused and start crying. I needed to standing up to Mike and not rolling over and just letting him win uncontested, or mouthing off to him to put him on tilt. This had to end today.
The match would be a best of three. Mike drew white to start off, and I purposely didn’t play aggressively as black the first match. I would react to every advanced Mike would make by retreating and luring Mike to the lower left corner of the board. I would make him think he had control of the center of the board, but skillfully have pieces positioned to counter moves. Eventually I allowed him to checkmate my King in the first match. I saw the joy and sense of relief in his face knowing he now had the advantage. He didn’t realize he was being manipulated, because I lost the game on purpose. He was operating on misinformation and probably felt playing white gave an advantage to a aggressive player, like I did. The second game I played White, and I played my traditional aggressive style and quickly defeated Mike setting the stage for the final match.
My mother would tell me how frustrating it would be to play my father. How she felt she would get the upper hand in a match and he would seem to slip out of traps and defeat her. As I played my mother she grew to understand my aggressive nature and how my ego would cause me to make over commitments of resources in a push to just win. She chastise me for relying on my simple strategies and trash talking when I felt I was about to win. Mom would demonstrate to me time after time how luring an aggressive opponent to a corner of the board and putting the over committed opponents king in jeopardy constantly could be used to create a “Stealth-mate”. A hidden checkmate that your opponent doesn’t see due to their desire to quickly end the match.
In the final match once again, I didn’t play aggressive as black, but Mike did play an aggressive White strategy. He was willing to trade pieces to occupy my half of the board and keep me off balanced. He valued knights, and I managed to trade my knights for his knights and slowly lured him to the lower left part of the board. Just like my mother would do to me time after time. Mike could sense that I was growing weaker after each move. He started to boast how easy this game was to his friends, who laughed with him. I castled my king to my queens side, it seemed like a controversial move to Mike and the spectators. This would allow Mike’s queen to capture one of the pawns protecting the left flank uncontested on the first move and the second move would result in a mate if I didn’t move my king to a protected position or a piece to block it like a knight. The castling play did manage to put both my rooks in play at the center back part of the board however. Mike sensed he could get me in a checkmate in two moves and made the fatal mistake I would make time after time playing my mother. He didn’t think his King was at risk, and went for the play that if I didn’t make the correct move next, would result in him winning the chess tournament. He proclaimed “I will have you in checkmate in the next move and there is nothing you can do about it”… and as his finger removed itself from his queen signaling that his move was committed, I said understood… “checkmate” as I moved my bishop to removed the pawn that was protecting his King from capture by it. Mike over committed his queen by moving vertically from the level that protected the pawn by a horizontal counter attack. My rooks flanked Mike’s kings horizontal escape route, and my bishops were positioned to not allow any virtual movement for escape. It didn’t look like I had control over the center 4 squares, but I did. Mike look down at the board, look up at me, down at the board one last time and then offered his hand and said “Well played”. I didn’t gloat, I shook his hand, picked up my books and walked out of the classroom and straight home. There were no reprisals for my defiant act to Mike, no kids were waiting to ambush me. When I arrived home, my mother was waiting for me and asked me how the match went. I told her I won, and then we proceeded to play and I finally beat her too. I told her I didn’t want to play anymore, which at first made her mad because she though I was being a poor sport.
The real reason I didn’t want to play anymore is because I was tired. The stress that is associated with allowing my primitive brain’s fight / flight response to have control over my actions is great. If you interpret my actions above as courageous, I assure you it wasn’t. It was pure vindictiveness that fueled my desire to win at any cost. My ego had no control over that chess match, but it regained control once I was safe and proved that I could win the chess tournament through competence. There was no trophy for winning the tournament or beating my mother… more importantly it didn’t bring my grandfather back from the dead. What the victory did was unlock a connection from my subconscious mind to my conscious mind. The bridged between the two states of my mind has become my fearless voice. My ego if you subscribe to Freud’s theory.
At first I tried to control my vindictiveness, but learn the hard way that it can’t be controlled, it has to be managed by prioritizing what I worry about. Over time I have learn to use my ego as a “relationship” manager that connects my two brains. The dreamer and the realist. I learned how to manage my Ego through playing my next game… Advanced Dungeons and Dragons.
In a follow-up installment, I will delve deeper into the art of the “Mind Dungeon”.
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