Vanquished at Chess by Nate

I have always loved to play games with my kids -- Monopoly, a great card game called Oklahoma, and Othello. My youngest son, Nate, who's seven years old, has recently taken up Chess, and I've been playing with him. Until this week, I hadn't played Chess since Nate's older brother Jake, who is now 27, was seven. I was rusty as a box of hammers, to paraphrase my favorite songwriter, Jill Sobule.

I need either to improve at the game or get used to humiliation. Nate and I have played three times now, and he has checkmated me twice. The other game was a draw, I'm proud to say.

As Nate's older brother and sister learned many years age, I have a policy against letting kids win at games just because they're kids. I've always thought that phony wins are no wins at all and instill a false sense of privilege in a young person. An earned win carries far more meaning than an fake one, instilling genuine pride in genuine achievement. At least that's my rationalization, though the truth is that I also like to win at games.

Anyway, Nate has been kicking my flabby old butt at Chess, and his pride in the achievement in considerable. I wish he'd let me win. I wouldn't even mind a phony win!

I Miss My Piano

Last week, my family and I moved from our old apartment on West 107th Street in Manhattan to a great new place six blocks north, on West 113th Street. I should say that almost all of my family moved. I made the move, and so did my wife Karen (a.k.a. the Glorious Ms. O), along with our son Nate (a.k.a. Mr. Mustache). Unfortunately, one member of our family, our beloved piano, which has no name, failed to make the trip. It was too big for the elevator. It is too fat. If anyone reading this knows any diet tips for a piano, please let me know.