Serious Mistakes in the Training of a Young Chess Player
Accompanying a child in their early chess years is more like tending a fire than following a manual. Blow too hard, and you put it out; neglect it, and it dies down. In between— with the right amount of air and good material— the flame grows on its own. With that image in mind, it’s worth reviewing some common pitfalls which, even with the best intentions, often end up slowing both development and enjoyment.
The Maze of “Lifetime Openings.”
Sometimes a fixed recipe is chosen—Catalan, English, London—and repeated as if it were the only “correct” way to play. Yes, these structures have value and a rightful place in study; but if they become a straitjacket from the start, the child learns to walk the same corridor over and over, missing all the open doors in the rest of the house. This may sound controversial, but I’ll say it plainly: ignore the flood of online content promising a magic opening that will always give you a good position. Because—surprise!—those lessons are usually tied to closed systems. They tell you: play 1.d4 Nf6 2.Bf4! Hyper-Accelerated London! and sell it as a “great line” and easy to learn, when in fact it’s a scheme worth knowing and playing after exploring broader theoretical ground. Otherwise, it only fosters the making of a limited player.
A child’s chess childhood is the time to smell different positions, to try both colors in the center, to attack and to defend. More than memorizing sequences, it’s about seeking variety: today an Open Italian, tomorrow a gambit, the day after a Sicilian. Those exposed to varied horizons develop adaptability—and that, not a “safe line,” is what later wins difficult games.
The Temptation to “Teach Everything Now.”
Parents’ or coaches’ enthusiasm can sometimes turn into an avalanche: hours of theory, advanced tactics, long videos, and very little meaningful play. The child starts to associate chess with marathons of data and, without realizing it, loses enjoyment. Learning is far stronger when each session has a small focus and a clear ending: one idea, two examples, a short game to apply it, and a closing comment that celebrates the effort rather than the result. Regularity beats saturation; ten well-structured sessions outweigh a single endless afternoon.
Thinking for Them Is Stealing Their Chess.
It’s tempting to “correct” every move in real time, but that produces obedient players, not thinkers. Children need to err, to hesitate, to choose. That’s where intuition is born. A good practice is to ask before giving advice: “What were you trying to achieve with that move?”, “What did you think your opponent could play in response?” When students hear themselves, they begin to build judgment. Only afterwards should the alternative be shown and compared. Mistakes stop being punishments and become raw material.
The Board Shouldn’t Take Over Life.
Chess demands concentration and discipline—precisely why a balanced environment strengthens it. Sports, music, reading, free play: it all adds up. A child who runs, touches, and converses returns to the board with fresh air and more emotional resources. If the schedule revolves only around tournaments and training, burnout appears. Better to leave them wanting more than dragging them into yet another block of study by inertia.
In daily practice, these ideas take shape through simple actions: varying training positions, cutting theory down to age-appropriate size, asking questions instead of dictating answers, and protecting non-chess moments as part of training itself. The goal is not that a six-year-old “knows lots of opening theory,” but that by age ten they still have a sparkle in their eyes, by twelve they have judgment, and throughout life they enjoy competing.
The fire grows when the material is solid and the air is just right. In children’s chess, the material is variety and the air is enjoyment. Take care of both, and progress comes naturally: deeper understanding, better decisions, and, with time, results.
