The #1 Thing My Father Did for Me (I Didn't Understand Then…)

“Sometimes, one of the worst things you can do for the people you love is help them.”

If you read this and thought, “What?”, then we might get along.
I had the same reaction the first time I heard it.

Years later, that sentence came back to me when I finally understood something my father once did. Or rather, something he very deliberately did not do.

*** 

I was 20.

I had prepared for this tournament for months.
It was not a World Championship. It was not a final Grandmaster norm.
I was already a Grandmaster.

But it mattered.

I had played this tournament terribly the previous two years and when the invitation arrived again, I hesitated.

I had bad memories and didn’t want to return to the same city, the same hall, the same chairs, the same chess sets.

Part of me wanted to decline.
Part of me wanted to go back and crush those memories.
That part won.

It was a round robin tournament, organized yearly in Armenia. 10 players. The average rating was about 2,650.

In the starting rank I was near the bottom.

To lock myself in, I did something risky and announced that I was going to win the tournament.

I arrived motivated, prepared, focused.

First round with White pieces vs Armenian Grandmaster, Tigran L. Petrosian. (yes, same name and surname as the World Champion Petrosian.)

I played a perfect game! Got a good position from the opening, then attacked, then pressured positionally, then won pawns… Then won his Knight…

 My last move g4, winning the pinned Knight

The game is over, right?

You know what happened then? My opponent didn’t resign. He kept fighting. And then… I couldn’t convert this winning position into a point.
I didn’t even draw. I lost!

Yes, a piece up… 

So you can imagine the pain I was in. I came not just to win the tournament, but to crush old memories and win against myself first. Instead, I found myself right back inside them.

***

My father is a strong chess amateur. (he's 2500+ on Lichess).
I knew he was following the games. I knew he felt my pain. I knew it hurt him too.

But I did not call him. And he did not call me.

I only learned what happened back home many, many years later.

My uncles had come over to our home to see my father with a plan.

“It’s only an hour drive from our city to there. We’ll buy meat, drinks,  and everything for a barbecue, go there, cheer Avo up, lift his mood, and come back the same night.”

A kind idea. A loving idea.

My father said no.

He told my uncles, “He is not a child anymore. He has to go through this fight alone. He needs to build resilience. If he does not learn it now, he will not go far. And this is the perfect moment to train for it.”

At the time, I did not know any of this.

But he was right.

Resilience is built the same way muscles are built. With weight. With resistance. With discomfort.

That tournament hurt. I struggled every day. Not only during the games, but before the games to find motivation, and before sleep to calm myself down.

But looking back at those days, and many other difficult periods, I’m only grateful now. They built my character and made me resilient, something I will use all my life.

***

I’m not saying, you should never support or get support.
And I am not saying you should disappear when your child is struggling.

On my own road to the Grandmaster title, I received a lot of support.
But with the right dosage.

Looking back, this might be one of the greatest gifts my father gave me.

Sometimes he helped me. Sometimes he let me fight myself.

He knew when to step in.
And he knew when stepping back was the real help.

With best wishes and love, 
For your growth and fun journey,
GM Avetik (or Avo, as my friends call me) ❤️

P. S. If you have similar stories, or have questions, I would love to hear them. Please share in our forum.