I like polka music.

I like polka music. I know people don’t expect it of me. Most of my friends tease me for my obsession with rock bands like Blink 182, Pearl Jam, and the Transplants. They don’t understand why I flew halfway across the country, twice, to see Bright Eyes. But this, this is even odder to them. I can’t really explain it. I hear a polka tune and I just start to smile.

I think it started a few years ago when my very proud Polish friend, Robin, invited me to Polka Days in Pulaski, Wisconsin. I had agreed to go for the sheer interest in doing something outside of my own house that day. Pulaski isn’t a town I would go out of my way to visit. There isn’t much there for excitement. But once a year they throw one of the largest polka festivals in the state. They draw many local and national polka bands for this event. For a music snob such as me, this is simply amusing. How on earth does a polka band get a nationwide following? Polka Days sounded like a quaint small town event that I would be able to tolerate for one day.

We wandered the streets looking at local crafts, honey stands, and jam booths. It was nice to be out in the warm July sun. Who doesn’t enjoy a leisurely Saturday stroll thru a craft fair? Then Robin suggested we go listen to the bands while we eat pierogies. I had never had a pierogi before. She explained that it was a dumpling stuffed with potato and cheese. I figured it couldn’t be too bad. We purchased 6 pierogies for $3 and then took a seat on the metal bleachers so we could watch the dancers and the bands. It was amusing listening to the 2/4 time and the silly sound of the concertina and horn sections. We sat watching the dancers whirling gracefully past us, bouncing and dipping like a carousel. I took my first bite of pierogi and fell in love. The potatoes were soft and gentle in a smooth slightly cheesy mix. It was like a less sweet crab rangoon. Watching the dancers and enjoying my pierogi, I thought, “This isn’t so bad.”

And then I heard something oddly familiar. One of the bands was playing Red Rubber Ball. But to a polka beat! I smiled and began to sing along. That was all it took. I became a polka fan. The band played a few more familiar songs. I was shocked. Who knew Polka could be so fun?!? I had to find out who this band was! It turned out they were a local band called the New Generation Band. They were a group of young boys who grew up in polka families and decided to start their own polka band. They liked to mix original songs, traditional polkas, and anything else they felt like adding into the set.

When I got home, I found their MySpace page and loaded one of their songs on my profile. I couldn’t wait for the next year to wander the craft booths, enjoy the pierogies, and listen to my new favorite polka band.

Three years has passed since my first taste of the polka festival. Again I am attended this annual event. I was disappointed this year because my plans to attend were interrupted by my brother’s moving day and a flight to Vegas so I can visit the newest addition to my sister’s growing family. I was able to squeeze in an opening night visit on Thursday, with my boyfriend Sam, to watch the fireworks and see the New Generation Band. Somehow though, we missed the band and spent most of our night watching LiveWire, a similarly fun and young, local polka band. We ate our pierogies, and watched the dancers spinning by. I always love to watch the dancers. There are always the older couples, very seasoned in their dancing styles, the parents with their young children who sort of walk around in a circle, bobbing to the beat, the granddaughters with their grandfathers dancing frailly but happily, and the silly high school boys parading past, loud and clumsy. I teased Sam for not asking me to dance. While he seemed to be tolerating Polka Days the way I thought I would have to 3 years ago, he seemed nervous and embarrassed that I kept asking him to dance. I didn’t tell him that I never join in. For me, this is a spectator sport. We watched the fireworks and sat quietly on a picnic bench taking it all in. By ten thirty, Sam suggested we head home. On the way to the car he stopped and offered me his hand so we could dance in the empty aisle between rows of dark cars. I laughed it off and pushed him away. It was my turn to feel embarrassed and nervous. But it was a sweet gesture and it reminded me why I love him.

On Sunday, Robin, Sam, and I decide to attend the parade. I was a little nervous about the timing, since my flight left at 3pm that day. We arrived early to claim a spot on the route. We waited while it took over a half hour for the parade to actually reach us. We watched vans with local business advertisements, veterans in marching formation, and semis with flat beds proudly carrying polka bands move past us. Robin and I discreetly grabbed candy thrown to the little kids seated around us. After all, the parade wasn’t only for them. We sat patiently for over an hour as the parade marched past us. I became worried as I watched the clock quickly ticking off minutes, quarter hours, half hours, etc… I didn’t want to leave until I saw the truck carrying the New Generation Band. Their MySpace said they would be in the parade and I wasn’t going to miss it. I thought of all the fun songs they might play. I woke Sam up the previous morning with “When I Think of You”, a wonderful polka song, in anticipation of this event. He seemed less excited by it than I had hoped. I asked Sam to come to Polka Days because I wanted him to hear New Geneartion, to understand what made them so special to me. We watched the Badger boy and girl go past in a convertible, waiving to the crowd.

Suddenly we heard a familiar Christmas tune. “Jingle Bells” was being played by one of the bands. Robin and I turned to each other, scoffing at the band playing Christmas music in July. And then it hit me. This could be my beloved New Generation. As the float slowly made its way closer to us, I saw the vinyl sign hanging on the side of the flat bed. My heart sank a little as I read the words, New Generation. They pulled up next to us and I noticed one of the band members pointing teasingly to his shirt and mugging toward us. I was confused because he seemed to be gesturing to someone just above me. I looked up and realized that he and Sam were having a playful exchange over the shift Sam had chosen to wear to Polka Days. It was a German soccer shirt! Who would wear a German soccer shirt to a Polish festival! What was he thinking?!? How did I not catch this earlier? Realizing there was no real harm done, I smiled and shrugged, allowing myself to sing along to the familiar tune. If New Generation were going to play Christmas music, at least they played the best version of “Jingle Bells” I had ever heard.
The parade ended 2 hours after its scheduled start. I rushed out of the parking lot, carefully navigating the busy streets. I needed to get to the airport and fast! When I finally got to the ticket counter, the agent informed me that I had 3 minutes to get checked in and make it to my gate. I hurriedly kissed Sam at the security check point and disappear down the hallway. It was a whirlwind making it to the plane on time. I started to regret that I didn’t plan better. I was always rushing, trying to fit too much in. Maybe I should have skipped the parade. But as I sat on the plane, all I could feel was happy; happy to have experience another year of Pulaski Polka Days and my favorite polka band.