Chess: its most unlikely player

School did not do a lot for Michelle, and vice versa. 

She was a difficult kid, and the best you could say was that she was strong. She was no good at maths or English, was ungainly at all known sports, and showed no interest in blowing recorders or banging cymbals. And she was never going to be picked as the lead in the Christmas play.

Michelle had a look of utter bewilderment, which she deployed often. Her eyes would widen, her jaw would drop slightly, and she would stare silently at whatever it was had amazed her. Maybe the 9 times table, or maybe having to write a haiku. A haiku ?

When Michelle arrived in my chess club one wet Thursday lunchtime, something in my heart wanted to die. This was not going to be an easy gig. Besides having the attention span of a gnat, Michelle could be disruptive over a wide radius. It was raining and she was looking for something to do. I had no idea why she had decided that chess was a good idea.

Chess club was reasonably quiet, and kids who were not playing perched around the place watching games. Michelle joined in. Unusually she paid attention, and asked kids questions about what was happening, how the pieces moved.

I asked her if she played chess at home. "No'" she said. "I haven't seen it before."

The next week she came back, and this time had a go. She had remembered the moves from the week before, and all the names of the pieces. She seemed to be on mission. I watched with interest.

Within a matter of weeks, Michelle was beating most of the other kids, who gathered round to watch her play. Within months she was beating members of staff, sometimes two at a time.

Michelle didn't think about the next move, but a couple ahead of that. And she did that rare thing: she worked out what her opponents options might be, and likely responses to each of them.

She was quickly pretty much unbeatable in school, and went on to play in chess teams when she left primary school.

For the first time, she found other kids suddenly looking up to her with respect. She didn't have to fool around to get attention. Teachers and kids were similarly amazed.

Michelle had great spatial awareness, and an effortless ability in playing chess. She was, in every sense, a natural. She learned notation quickly and with consummate ease. She enjoyed the complexity of the game, and she knew, yes she really knew, that here was something she could do which other kids could not. The shoe was on the other foot for once.

Her confidence improved, and she was holding conversations now on a completely different level. Her parents were by turns uncomprehending, stunned and proud. Nobody played chess at home, and they had no idea where Michelle's skill had come from.

It would be great to say that her writing and maths and general schoolwork improved. They didn't. Chess did not really make a difference to her academic work, though she was keen to read what she could about the game. Chess wasn't a magic bullet. And it did not need to be. Michelle had a talent which was valuable in itself. She knew it.

As a teacher, little unexpected insights into learning often made me challenge my preconceptions about learning, and reminded me over and again that we limit learning, we ignore talent, and give it no space to breathe. Formal education must choke so much prodigious potential for success which is just waiting to be discovered and nurtured. Talent doesn't thrive in boxes. Too often, screamingly too often, it dies unfound, unwanted, unloved.

What makes us think we can afford this egregious waste ?

I have no clue about how Michelle's story ended, or what became of her chess playing ability.

In teaching you see so many exciting chapters, and rarely get the opportunity to see how the plot unfolds once the kids leave.

Maybe Michelle found the endgame she deserved. I really hope so.