A Big World in a Small Pool

When I was growing up in Russia, the world began and ended at the borders of the Soviet Union. Granted, it was a large space, but you could not venture beyond. You sort of knew about the world outside of the borders, but it was not very real. Like we know of the Universe out there, but since you can't actually go and touch it and experience it, it is still an abstract notion that we are spinning and flying through the space at a tremendous speed, that the stars we see may have died millions of years ago, etc. And even an occasional charred piece of an asteroid you see in some Science Museum does not make that outer space any more real. That is how we in the Soviet Union felt about the world abroad.

Then our family moved to the US. This was a tangible experience of the "outer world," yet it was still confined in itself. We were not free to travel outside of this new reality and then come back to it. This was sort of like flying to the International Space Station. Sure, you made a step into the universe, but your interaction with the universe was still severely limited. The first time I felt like a citizen of a larger world was when I decided to buy a poster of one of my husband's and mine favorite paintings by Pieter Bruegel "The Hunters in the Snow." The year was 1991, and Al Gore has not invented the Internet yet (and we did not even have a computer). (When they were young, my children have asked me if I was alive at the age of the dinasaurs, and it does feel that way sometimes.) I first checked out the local poster catalogs and book stores and found out that I could only buy an 11"x13" size poster for about $35. This was not acceptable. I did not want to also buy a magnifying glass to enjoy the painting. Then I got a hold of an art book and found out that the original was displayed in an art museum in Vienna (Kunsthistorisches Museum). I got the name of the museum, found out what their address was, and I wrote a letter to them asking if they had a poster of this painting in their gift shop. To me this was akin to sending a letter to Mars. Imagine my shock when shortly afterwards I received a reply with their catalog enclosed. I proceeded to ordering the almost full-size poster which cost me around $15 including the shipping cost. The savings are unimportant in this case. It was the shock that Mars does exist, and someone that from there would honor my inquiry with a reply, let alone by sending me an artefact from their world.

This summer I took my son and his friend to our neighborhood pool. There were very few people there. See, it is a small pool with just about 60 families belonging. Besides the three of us, there were two young women with a couple of toddlers. My child is 100% Russian, his friend has a German Dad and a Russian Mom, but, like my son, she was born in the US, so the language both children most fluently speak is English. The two young women turned out to be babysitters from Brazil who talked in Portuguese among themselves and even to the children, one of whom, as we found out later, was half German, half American and spoke those two languages at home. The only American American at the pool was a middle aged woman who came a bit later and was fascinated asking everybody where they were from.

This was a small pool indeed, with a large world fitting right into it. I am very glad that I feel free to travel almost anywhere in the world, that my daughter loves England, and that my son said that he thinks he would prefer to live in Europe when he grows up. I am really glad that I lived long enough to see my children feel like citizens of the world. The large world.