The Box

Where I live it seems hard to find anyone that plays chess, so I go for long periods without even thinking about chess. I found myself in one of these periods when my oldest daughter Sarah was six or seven years old. I would take her on “dates” to the park, or to eat. She loved a coffee shop in town. I took here there a lot of days to sip a soda or a sweet coffee drink we would sit and talk and color. I love those days, and even long for them now that she is twenty-one.

The coffee shop was comfortable like all of them tend to be. They had some old game tables with chess boards built in but no chess sets. One day we went in and there were pieces on one of the tables. Sarah went there immediately. What child is not instantly drawn to the regal shape. The weight of them. The way they look spread across the squares. The sun casts long ancient shadows across the table as it slips silently through the window glass. There is something magical about a chessboard. What child would not want to get lost in the stories of the board?

I still remember just moving the pieces around with her. No rules or strategies. Just fun. All the pieces weren’t there. The shop owner mentioned that they were going to get a new set, but that never seemed to happen. I remembered an old set I had.

I finally found it in the back of a closet. The old dilapidated box was barely even holding its contents. When I opened it the cardboard board was broken almost in half, but all the pieces were there. I decided I would take those pieces when we went to the coffee shop that morning. I needed something to carry them in. I found a little quilted photo box that was empty and put the pieces in there.

I remember the look of delight on Sarah’s face when I handed her that pretty little green cloth box. She was even more excited when she discovered the chess pieces inside. She quickly added a little toy car and some dolls to the box. She was so proud to open that box in the coffee shop. I taught her how to set up the pieces. We spent a couple of hours moving pieces and playing with dolls.

It was not long before I came home from work one day, and the little quilted box was at the bottom of the stairs. I picked it up to put it away, and my wife said that Sarah wanted to go on a “date.” So my plans changed from mowing to some chess and dolls at the coffee shop. Not a bad trade.

This became the signal. I would come in from where ever, and if the little box was out, it meant Sarah wanted to go on a date. 

There was a Turkish restaurant in town near that coffee shop. We made friends with the owner, and one evening I asked him to teach me to make Turkish coffee. Sarah hated the coffee, but loved going there with me. That evening he taught me more than making coffee. There was a Turkish proverb also. The proverb went like this. “A cup of coffee has a memory of 40 years.” It was referring to the long amount of time that is required to make that little espresso is enough time to bond a friendship for a generation. I think the same thing can be said of chess. The time spent across the chessboard from someone you love can create a bond that lasts a generation.

I am not sure when that box quit being the signal, or when it quit going with us. I just know that the dates did not stop, and I am forever grateful for that little box.