SHATTERED dreams

I am playing chess with our son, Walter (11) who’s been member of the local chess club for a couple of years now.
His papa is walking by. He stops, looking interested.
Husband: ‘What is happening here precisely?’
Walter: ‘Playing chess with mama. She is a superb player, we’ve been fighting for half an hour at least!’
Husband: ‘Walter, your mama cannot play chess.’
Walter: ‘Of curse she can! What smart steps! And her strategy is amazing!’
Husband (in resignation): ‘It’s not only the name of the pieces she is not aware of but also how much one can move in which direction.’
Me (crushed, with eyes downcast): ‘Walter, what papa says is perfectly true.’
Walter: ‘But how come then that you play so terrifically good??’
Me: ‘I’ve just copied your movements. Each and every one of them.’
Walter: ‘So the past 30 minutes I’ve been amazed by my own chess knowledge?’
Me: ‘Sort of.’ 

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