My father played chess. I play chess. Ever since I was a little girl, I have this memory of my dad’s chess board. It was wood on the bottom and painted black and white on top, with the usual chess markings. The pieces were also made of wood—the wood color set and the black one. He would store the pieces in a cloth bag and he would always say that it was old and he had had it for a long time. This is the thing about my dad: he really cared about his things. Not in a selfish way—he was generous and would let you borrow anything, but you better bring it back in perfect condition. He had objects from his childhood, and I am a bit like this too. Back to chess… He taught me and my siblings how to play chess, but only I actually kept playing throughout life. One day, we were both registering on an online game platform to play chess, and he registered with his name and I registered with mine. I used my name, I am a girl, in the diminutive. My dad then had a lot of fun logging into my account and playing under my name. He would say that other players would assume I was just a little girl and could not play, and he would DESTROY them. He had fun and also improved my score along the way.