The rain pattered on the roof and windows as I stared at the white and black checkered board in front of me. I squinted my eyes and slowly moved my hand to pick up my checker and placed it on a space on the far end of the board, holding onto the piece until I was satisfied with my move.
“Queen me,” I ginned with triumph at my dad.
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He shook his head and smiled. “You’re getting too good at this game.”
“That puts you at two queens and me at five,” I laughed with glee and took a long sip of my hot chocolate. Hot chocolate and checkers went together; you couldn’t separate the two. One time I was at a friend’s house and she asked me if I wanted to play checkers, but I told her it was hot outside and it would be silly to make hot chocolate, so we couldn’t play. For some reason, she didn’t understand.
“But your old man might still have a trick or two up his sleeve,” my dad teased. Before I knew it, he triple-jumped my checkers, taking out two of my queens.
I buried by face in my hands and groaned. “Nooooooo! I didn’t even see that!”
He laughed, “You have to think defensively. You’ll get there. You almost had me near the beginning.”
I exhaled sharply through my nose and smirked, “Yeah, you didn’t even see that double jump coming. Just wait until next time it rains. You’re going down!”
“We’ll see,” he smiled. “You are a tenacious one.”
Over countless afternoons, I learned critical thinking and perseverance at my father’s checker board. It took me years to match the skill of my father, but the occasional win prompted me to continue playing. I learned to compete for the sake of having fun at my father’s checker board. Even though I always played to win, I enjoyed the game regardless of the outcome. At my father’s checkerboard, I learned how to enjoy the simple moments with my father and to appreciate the patter of the rain.
