I played a lot as kid. My father was very good about not letting me win. Eventually I won a game from him in my late teens. Presumably he let me win. He played every day at work. He would come out to the mechanic’s room after pulling a tooth and stare at the board, and go back. He reminded me of the Marx brothers film, on his return, after a brief look, leaning forwards reaching towards a rook, but no, straightening, chin in his hand. And suddenly the bishop to g5 and back through the door. His partner would come soon enough smile confidently down at the board, the smile disappearing quick enough and then he’d notice me and it was a scowl, before learning too well his fate he’d be back through the door and hope I would have found something better to do when he had to return.
I used to play at school in primary school. And then on the tram home from high school on a very good pocket set. Good except how close the bishops were to pawns in shape, which lost me a few games. And years later during my research years I played a colleague at lunchtime, and also my younger brother who had an operation in my hospital and I played chess with him on his bed in the old fashioned Nightingale ward. My father in law was the best player I played. I think he might have let me win one game.
It was hard to interest my children unfortunately, even though I let them win. I still look at the chess column in the Spectator and love the puzzles. I have a lot of books on chess. I gave a very good one to my nephew. I suspect he no longer plays.
My wife enrolled our son in the chess club at school. But it was at lunchtime. On the second day she asked how was chess today. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He wanted to play proper games in the yard. My wife complained lightly to her father, but he took our son’s side.