A single movement of the finger and a patronizing smirk was all it took to make a wave of worry wash over

my face. The eight year old boy beckoned me over to his table. He gestured toward the worn chess board in front of him. Because of the language barrier, no words were uttered. There was just the simple understanding that in that particular childrens classroom, a game of chess would take place. As I glanced over the plastic soldiers, I couldnt resist revisiting my eighth grade glory days. That year I had won best chess player in my middle school. However, three years subsequent, long after my streak of victory had ended, this Vietnamese boy wanted to challenge the validity of my former title. Chess is the manifestation of both the will to win and create beauty. The boy was coincidentally garbed in army green and camouflage, I want the reader to be able to understand that this graceful defeat taught me humility. I also want them to understand the purpose of me being there and playing chess with the boy (Vietnam service trip).