Many years ago, I taught my oldest son to play chess. It's a wonderful game but not for the hare-brained. It requires methodical, well-thought out strategy, and the ability to see moves at least three steps ahead.

This is hard for a person who doesn't think about what to fix for dinner until the family is seated around the dining room table gnawing their knuckles.

Despite how unsuited this game is for my personality, I love it. It is a deep-seated affection that goes back to my childhood. I remember my father and my Uncle Ed leaning over the coffee table in our living room, concentrating on the 64 black and white squares.

We children weren't allowed to speak or move, but chose to sit around the chessboard anyway, watching in silence, as the men's brows furrowed and every so often, they would actually move a piece. My curiosity was peaked over the stillness and intensity of this game, and I sat, fixated, while normal children were watching Batman on TV and playing Capture the Flag.

Slowly, I began to learn. I learned the names of the pieces and was enchanted by them outright. Pawn, Bishop, Knight, Castle, and of course King and Queen. The complicated way they moved was fascinating, and the King, despite all of his power, could only move like a Pawn.

I was thrilled to teach my sons this game I've loved since childhood, and I was ecstatic that my oldest son fell in love with it. He began hosting chess tournaments at our house with other 6th graders and checked out books on chess at the library. He found a worthy opponent on the computer and spent the few tournament-free afternoons in front of the screen.

I placidly went about my household routine for several weeks, not really noticing that I hadn't been challenged to a match recently. I'd always ended up taking my son's queen in a matter of minutes, and checkmating him before the rinse cycle was finished on the wash.

"Never move until you look at every man on the board," I'd preach as I scooped up his Knight or even better, his Castle.

I played with him recently, after a two-month hiatus. I moved out my pawns and a couple of moves later, from eight spaces away, his Bishop came out of nowhere and swiped my Castle.

Stunned, I spouted off in an unmotherly and unsportsmanlike manner, berating him for taking that prized piece.

'It's called a Rook, mom," he said, unpulsed.

He took my Queen and had me checkmated just when I was finally getting my Knight up in enemy territory.

I was hooked by the competition, and night after night while the rest of the family went cold and hungry, Al and I played. I didn't answer the phone, I didn't read bedtime stories, I just played to the end, which meant my defeat, then challenged him again.

Finally, I resorted to subversive battle techniques, and crept into his room while he was at school, furtively searching, not for incriminating preteen evidence, but for the chess books.

I know he knew what I was up to because the books were nowhere to be found.

Finally, after losing over two dozen games straight, I got his Queen, and ultimately checkmated the little brat.

I strutted to my bedroom in a Deion Sanders fashion, bragging and boasting to my husband whom I hadn't seen in four weeks about my victory.

"It must have been rigged. He must have given you the game to keep you interested," he said.

'Hmmmm,' I thought. 'We'll see tonight, and if not then, the night after that.'

(Ferris Robinson can be reached at Ferrisrobinson@cs.com

She is the author of The Gorgeless Gourmet's Cookbook, which is filled with recipes that are easy to prepare, very low in fat and absolutely delicious.

She lives with her husband and three sons on Lookout Mountain.

To order the cookbook send check or money order to Peach Publishing, Box 366, Lookout Mtn., TN 37350. (Gorgeless Gourmet's Cookbook - $16.95)