Dushechka, or how I learned to love baseball and bluegrass
Guestblogger Marina Gorbis is executive director at Institute for the Future.As my son gets ready to move out of the house to go to college, I've been thinking about another Russian writer who captures universal human themes that resonate over a hundred years later: Anton Checkhov. His story "Dushechka" or, in English translation, "The Darling," has many layers of meaning. Indeed, the Russian word Dushechka originates from the Russian word "dusha" or soul, and thus the title alone has multiple meanings -- soul mate, someone who is all soul, or has a great soul. I'm not going to do Dushechka justice in this post so please forgive me, dear Russian literature fanatics.
The heroine of "The Darling" is a young woman, Olenka, who becomes passionate about whatever her loved ones are involved in. First she marries a theater owner and all she talks about is theater. She speaks with contempt of the public, of its indifference to the arts, of its boorishness and insensitivity. She weeps at unfavorable revues and argues with editors. When her husband dies, she marries a timber merchant. Suddenly, lumber is the most fascinating subject on earth as far as Olenka is concerned. She manages her husband's business affairs and dreams of boards, planks, beams, and joists. When the second husband dies, Olenka takes up with a veterinary surgeon. Her acquaintances find out about this simply because she suddenly becomes overwhelmingly concerned with the sanitary conditions of animals: "The health of domestic animals ought to be as well attended to as the health of human beings." And so it goes.
It is hard to be a parent and completely avoid turning into a Dushechka just a bit, particularly in this day and age of high parental involvement. Whether we like it or not, we become engaged in our kids' passions and pursuits, and often absorb them as our own. That brings me to baseball and bluegrass.
For years after coming to the US, I had absolutely no interest in baseball. In fact, I didn't get it at all -- there just wasn't enough action on the field as far as I was concerned. Once, someone invited me to a party in the box at San Francisco's Candlestick Park where many people watched the game on a TV screen. My reaction? "This would be great if you could only switch to a different channel." I was convinced that you had to be born in America to understand and appreciate baseball. This all changed when Greg, my son, joined his first T--ball team. I grew to love baseball as he moved from T-ball to Little League. We are now proud San Francisco Giants season ticket holders. My husband told me he knew I was fully on board when he heard me say after a pitch, "That was a mean slider!"
Similarly, I found myself falling in love with the most American of music genre -- bluegrass. This happened when the building housing the music room in my son's school had to close for repairs, and the kids could not use their favorite electric instruments to play rock music. Instead, John Fuller, music teacher and bluegrass musician, brought out acoustic instruments outside--mandolin, guitars, upright base--and Greg, a 5th grader at the time, suddenly discovered bluegrass. Within a few months, he and his buddies had a bluegrass band and were playing at festivals and farmers' markets. And I, who was raised on Bach and The Beatles, suddenly found myself camping out at various bluegrass festivals, hanging out with bluegrass musicians, and learning to love Bill Monroe and Earl Scruggs, among others.
As Greg gets ready to leave for college, the cautionary image of "Dushechka" looms big on my mind. I am going to a lot of ballgames and listening to a lot of bluegrass musicians, probably more than ever before. Am I trying to ensure that my adopted passions continue as Greg moves out, and that I don't turn into a Dushechka? If that is the case, thank you Chekhov for a cautionary tale.
The Portable Chekhov (Amazon)
Similarly, I found myself falling in love with the most American of music genre -- bluegrass. This happened when the building housing the music room in my son's school had to close for repairs, and the kids could not use their favorite electric instruments to play rock music. Instead, John Fuller, music teacher and bluegrass musician, brought out acoustic instruments outside--mandolin, guitars, upright base--and Greg, a 5th grader at the time, suddenly discovered bluegrass. Within a few months, he and his buddies had a bluegrass band and were playing at festivals and farmers' markets. And I, who was raised on Bach and The Beatles, suddenly found myself camping out at various bluegrass festivals, hanging out with bluegrass musicians, and learning to love Bill Monroe and Earl Scruggs, among others.
As Greg gets ready to leave for college, the cautionary image of "Dushechka" looms big on my mind. I am going to a lot of ballgames and listening to a lot of bluegrass musicians, probably more than ever before. Am I trying to ensure that my adopted passions continue as Greg moves out, and that I don't turn into a Dushechka? If that is the case, thank you Chekhov for a cautionary tale.
The Portable Chekhov (Amazon)
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Thank you - my son's leaving at the end of summer, too. He's my firstborn. Ultimate frisbee and klezmer instead of baseball and bluegrass, but the whole thing rings true .I just pulled an old Chekhov collection off the shelf that has that story in it. I will read it and think of you.
Can I say it is really nice to have a boing boing blogger who is a mom as well as everything else you are?
best.
I can't help but notice, in my own life, the many ways I use my son to justify my own choices. He's the cover for a lifestyle that includes eschewing career, fashion standards, and to a certain extent, friends. Draped in the cloak of "eccentric artist mom" I feel free to pursue my own unusual interests that otherwise would seem hard for me to justify to myself and others.
When he turns 18 I'm prepared to have him move up into the attic. This "moving out" of which you speak, no. This we will not have. :)
I'm no mom but my kids sure put me through a lot of changes and exposed me to things I grew to like, things that I never thought I could grow to like...
But I fear I am a Dushechka!
Ballet, anyone?
"Dushechka" turns out to be a play on my full name and was a nickname a college girlfriend, a Belorussian, gave me. She never explained that it meant all that.
Oh! hindsight!
Dushechka sounds like a great character-- but why is it cautionary? Where's the danger in sharing the interests of the people you love while they're there, and then not keeping up with them so much when they're not?
Wonderful posts all!
One more thing. If Sarah Palin has taught us anything, it is that being a "mom" is not in itself a qualification. Becoming a parent certainly is transformative, but perhaps no more (or less) so than any other life path. Elevating mothers to a position of cultural predominance feels just a widdle bit patronizing. Maybe we do have some collective oedipal issues to resolve...
Could it be that you came to appreciate baseball and bluegrass simply because they are awesome by their own right?
Pretty good post. I just found your blog and wanted to say
that I’ve really liked reading your posts. Anyway
I’ll be subscribing to your feed and I hope you post again soon!
You could have met Chekhov in New York in 2004.
I suspect the Dushechka effect is as strong among kith as it is among kin.
I've a guy who has lived in Canada his whole life, and I have yet to understand the attraction of watching hockey, lacrosse or curling (the three most 'Canadian' sports), or any other sport really. Playing them can be fun, but watching them?
I'll admit, it might be interesting if I knew somebody in the game, but otherwise I just don't see the point.
And don't even get me started on golf as a spectator sport.
"We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be." --Kurt Vonnegut, Mother Night, 1961
Now that he's in college what happens when he starts smoking mad nugs and eating shrooms? Will you start subscribing to "High Times" ?