I played the most intense game of chess that I've played in a long time today, with a second grader. I work at an elementary after school program in the afternoons and I'm becoming especially fond of some of the children. This little boy, we'll call him Oliver, is probably my favorite. I know I'm not supposed to have favorites, but in the years that I've spent working with children, I've found everyone has favorites.
Looking across the chess board at Oliver, formulating his next move; I felt like I could actually see the gears turning in his head. I was honestly worried that he would beat me through-out most of the game. Not only that but it went on through free time until his dad came to pick him up. His dad even waited around while he and I pushed our few pieces across the board. He really was good at chess, not just for a seven-year-old. Just when I thought I had him cornered he would take my bishop or rook right out from under my nose. It was really fun even if Oliver got a little bit over impassioned when he lost. Yes I did win, but I almost hoped he would sneak one by me. But there is always tomorrow and I'm rooting for him. Am I crazy for wanting to play chess with this little boy every day for the rest of the school year?
Earlier this evening I found myself in the rarest of all my moods. I felt terribly inspired to write French poetry. Inspired so much so, that nothing, not even the fact that my French is perfectly awful, could stop me. So this is the untitled poem which resulted.
Si j’étais un oiseau,
Je voudrais voler aux tout le monde.
Mon cœur vole avec moi,
Sur le bout de mes ailes
Comme les gens
Qui pleurent après les films.
Bien que je suis une personne
Qui pleure après les films.
Je vais aller voir les maisons petites et grandes.
Mais je vais aller voler après les maisons
Et vers l’horizon
Parce que je n’ai pas peur.