Subpar Mediocrity

Dreams are called dreams for a reason. They are something that is created within a rapid eye movement sleep cycle or deep thought that will most likely never come true, despite how much desire you may have for it. I do note the difference between dreams and ambition however. I, just a few days ago, wrote “The World” into the center of my palm and decided to take a picture of it with my blackberry figuring this to be “artistic”. (I hope that alone is enough to explain my intention.) And if my physical prowess and mental capacity allow me to, maybe one day I will fulfill this ambition. But dreams are not tangible, because they simply cannot happen. As they say, “it’s all in your head”. But one dream that I had just awakened from, caught my attention. Enough to cause a lasting impact on my mood at 3AM in the morning and had me wanting to go back to sleep in hopes that I could continue it. So, how well do you play Chinese checkers?

He stood there in the backyard cutting the apple tree like he did every few weeks. The reason being that the excess branches was a breeding ground for caterpillars that would slowly destroy his garden of tomatoes and lettuce. The sun was overhead and blaring with its usual June morning heat that made afternoons for other months seem timid. The steady snipping of those garden scissors that became as routine to me during the summer as having to take out the trash all those evenings because my father didn’t want to step away from the air conditioner for a second, because the heat might kill him in a split second’s time. The sweat began to bead across his brown as he diligently kept at this menial task, without a bother in the world of what else was going on. The whole time while taking drags from a half-gone Marlboro, where the middle was soaked from a few drops of sweat that fell off of his upper lip.
I’m not sure how much time had passed by. It was peaceful and nothing else had any sense of urgency to be done anyway, so I sat there with a can of Sunkist in my hand and I watched. I was so entranced by the steady snipping rhythm that I didn’t even realize a yellowjacket had perched onto the opening of the can, with that magnificent landing that only they are capable of. I quickly defended my soda upon noticing. My can of Sunkist was still half full and I wasn’t going to give it up without a fight. When that battle of man vs. nature was done, I just sat back down on those warm sun-baked steps, that were crawling around with the various selection of ants that only NYC had to offer. I fondly dubbed them “big ants, medium ants, and little ants” as far as my intelligence would allow me to. And as I watched him snip away at that apple tree, I wondered to myself, wow that cigarette has been lit forever.
It could have been a few minutes, maybe even an hour, but he finally noticed me in the end and looked my way ad gave me that smile that no one else in the world could do. Honestly speaking, it was probably the ugliest thing anyone could fathom. Half of his teeth were missing, the teeth that he had left were stained yellow from the combined effects of both caffeine and tobacco, and he always forgot to shave the left side of his beard that left a few protruding whiskers, which definitely made their presence known when you looked at him straight in the face. This however, was the smile that represented home. No matter how ugly it was, it was comfortable to witness it, and I let no one tell me otherwise, because if they did, they were either wrong or had not witnessed it for their own eyes. I sat there wondering how many actual real teeth he had left in his mouth, as he bear-pawed my hand and told me to go inside as it was getting too hot outside. I held on to his plantain sized fingers, not caring where he led me. I did not have a care in the world as long as he was guiding me through.
He seated me at the dinner table and swiftly made his departure into the kitchen. I heard the kitchen sink do its nostalgic vibration as the water traveled up the pipes from under the kitchen counter. Usually when I hear this sound, it either means that he’s doing the dishes or washing his hands from garden work. As I heard the Dial soap bar hit the soapdish with that familiar ‘clack’, I was reassured of the latter. I still sat there patiently, it was a very laid back atmosphere, nothing seemed like it could go wrong at this moment. I traced my hand over the gap where the folding dining room table segments combined. The cracks are beginning to fill with random food particles. Someone should really clean it. He took the towel from the refrigerator door and hastily, as well as randomly, ran his fingers through it a few times. For someone who taught me so many things, maybe he should learn how to wipe his hands from me.
He went across the dining room and into the living room where his first instinct was to turn on a Panasonic fan that we owned which was easily twice my age, and dragged it into the middle of the dining room so that I can enjoy the same warm summer air blow into my face inside as it was doing outside. I had the urge to stand in front of the fan and say “aaaaahhh” but I knew that he would scold me. In his other hand, he held a blue and red box, which could only mean one thing.
He was challenging me to a game of Chinese checkers. His invitations always included his signature smile along with the promise that if I won, I would be granted a bag of Wise’s potato chips. I never did have an affinity for junk food, but I did always accept his challenges whether there were prizes or not. Chinese checkers was something that I just wanted to play, and if the opponent was someone I liked, then all the merrier. I also knew that I was a professional at this game, and ever since he taught it to me last week, I still have yet to lose a game. I picked up my first piece, and…

I woke up.
It’s 3:14AM February 5th, 2010 as I write this after having woken up from this dream.

During the whole event of this dream, I was anywhere from five to seven years of age, as that’s the only time I remembered learning how to play Chinese checkers. I’m now 23 years old.
The side of my pillows are wet, and so is my face, so I can only assume I was crying in my sleep and didn’t notice. The person in this dream goes by the name of Chow King Yee, and he was a man that meant much to me in my life. This man is my beloved grandfather who passed away 3 years ago, and since then I have not touched that Chinese checkers box which still lies there in the drawer underneath the television in my living room. I’ve always had the urge to play, it’s just that no one can be quite as great an opponent as he was.

I was no prodigy at this game, he taught it to me for a reason, whether it be recreational or for deeper reasons that I would soon find out on my own. I won in the beginning because he let me win, yet I was too young at that point to realize it and made the mistake of inflating my own ego with my spectacular skills. As the years progressed though, the games got harder. At first I told myself that maybe I’m just losing my touch because my academics have gotten more difficult and I haven’t been putting enough attention to these games of checkers. But the older I got and still played with him, the games simply got exponentially harder, to the point where I was in high school and I could not even win a game anymore. Have I been doing other things so much, that I simply forgot how to play this game? It sure didn’t feel like it. It only just dawned upon me maybe shortly after his passing, that he let me win for most of the earlier years, trying to build up my knowledge of the game, showing me what to do and when. I ran over some of the games that I could manage to remember over my head, and see what moves he was making, and it was so obvious, yet at the time I was so blinded by victory that I took his “freebies” for granted.
He always had a saying ever since I was small, until I was in my teenage years, telling me to never let success or power get to my head and always remember from where I started. I don’t know if this was the reason behind the checkers games he played with me, or if it’s just a correlation that I made myself in relation to his teachings, but I will never know. My grandfather was a genius, and a very humble individual. He would teach me things in ways that would force me to think, and before I knew it all of the values were instilled in me. I can only imagine this lifelong game of checkers, where he completely slaughtered me in the later years, by taking nearly triple the amount of pieces I could take from him, in an effort to show me how brutal and cold reality is in the adult years. Gramps, I’m truly thankful of you.
If I could, I would wish nothing more than to play one more games of Chinese checkers against you, just so you know where I stand today.

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