Ray Brinzer

When I was in college, I took (extracirricular) chess classes taught by Kevin Burnett, a fellow who was in the middle of what turned out to be a six-year run as chess champion of the state of Iowa. Kevin made a lot of very simple, sensible observations about the game, and came back to them often. We learned a lot of ordinary things, like how many moves it takes to queen a pawn (five), and how to recognize situations where basic tactics, like forks, pins, and skewers, were imminent.

The students, many of whom were not bad players, would often bring in their games, and we’d analyze them in class. Frequently the mistakes were very obvious. There were a few times when I offered a game and then, without ever a harsh word from Kevin, promptly wondered why I hadn’t had the sense to keep quiet. I hadn’t bothered to study the game properly myself, and the only explanation the mistakes required was how I could have managed to make them.

There is a great deal that goes into being a great chess player. Pursuing simple, sensible goals and not making stupid mistakes seems to be enough to make one much better than the average chess player. Without ever being told as much, I understood that if I wasn’t going to show a basic level of discipline that I was hopeless.

After awhile, I could hear Kevin’s voice in my head as I played. This improved my game a lot; having the right voices in your head is a big deal, in life. I also started to be able to see a board in my head, and I realized that playing “blindfold” (as Kevin frequently did, though without an actual blindfold) isn’t such a big deal as people make of it.

So, my friends and acquaintances tend to regard me as a very good chess player. I can easily say, with no sense of false humility, that they’re quite wrong. It’s possible that I play well enough that someone who takes the game seriously might not find me to be a total idiot. And if so, it’s merely because I’ve learned some basics.

The fact is, molding yourself to do simple things correctly, in a consistent fashion, takes a lot of time and effort. And it’s worth a lot of time and effort. Understanding this, mistakes in every field of education become apparent.

Back home safely, and the “lesson” proceeds apace.

Of all the weird things about our educational system, here in the US, foreign language instruction may be the weirdest. It’s well-known that one of the most important things is to start kids off early; in fact, if you start them off early enough, they really don’t need a “teacher”. Just put them around someone who speaks the language, and they’ll pick it up. Of course, they have to be taught to read and write, and it’s possible to learn to comprehend a language without gaining the ability to speak it, so you have to make sure you require the child to talk. But the key thing is, the earlier the better.

So, what do we actually do? Most often public schools have foreign language instruction for grades 9-12. They load the classes (and spend the money) that way because universities want to see foreign language classes on students’ transcripts. Presumably they want to see classes on transcripts because actually requiring any proficiency in a foreign language for admission would dramatically reduce their pool of potential students.

All of which is to say, we put on a half-hearted show, and waste people’s time and money in the process. And in this case, it’s directly attributable to the indifference of parents. If people wanted the real thing, they’d have it.

I’m completely with Mark Twain on this sort of thing: “I have never let my schooling interfere with my education.” I certainly don’t intend to let it interfere with that of my children.