He is still enjoying the camp, and is meditating on whether to play football or not; he is very analytical about it. He loved the touch games at his old after-school program, but he is not sure he wants to play tackle. "I'm a good running back, but I stink at throwing. I don't know if I want all those guys tackling me." After calculating how many more days are in July, "I’ll let you know by the 1st of August if I want to play or not."
I finished reading Searching For Bobby Fischer today. It was written in 1988, when not much was known about what happened to Bobby Fischer. He had dropped out of sight for quite a while. In the 90’s, he resurfaced, not so interested in chess as spouting bizarre, hate-filled theories about people who were out to get him. He has continued in this vein ever since, living abroad because he has become violently anti-American.
The young man in the book has had a happier life. He is now an international master of chess and works with the people who wrote the "Chessmaster" series of programs.
Still, the families who devote their lives to their child’s chess games didn’t seem that much different from any sports parents, except that there are no pots of gold at the end of the rainbow for these young champions. They can’t really make a living at chess. I guess these parents are torn, as I am, about how far one should take a gift.