Wait--first she shares Fiddy Cent and says she enjoys the stories he tells through his songs--now she's sharing polka. What???
It's a melting pot, Folks. I always liked that concept. We haven't entirely lived up to what it should mean. There's still a lot of inequality in the division of opportunities and resources. But I'm not going to go into that at length here.
My background is primarily East European. I'm a Heinz 57. I'm a mixture of most of the world's whitest countries. My complexion is so pale that when the lights go out in a room, I glow.
In my youngest years, I lived in an area where there were a lot of East Europeans. Germans, Poles, Hungarians, Austrians, Lithuanians, Russians--people who liked cabbage and sausage! They believed in keeping traditions alive. There were festivals of all kinds--any excuse for a festival was a good one. There was always music, and hence, my love of polka!
My family moved away when I was ten years old for a better opportunity for my father, but we went back often, usually around Christmas.
Those old traditions are dying. Almost all of my grandparents' generation is gone now. My father has been gone for five years. One memory stands strong in my mind. It was not long before we left. I remember his dark curly hair with the threads of gray, his big schnozz that he joked about, his smile, beer in hand. He always regretted leaving. He became kind of a different person after we did, but he was stubborn and would never admit defeat.
Dementia and strokes stole his mind. It happened fairly early on. He was dead by 75.
I was ten years old during that last festival before our move. I had no idea just how young forty was.
I suspect now that my father may have had a mood disorder like I do, and that may have been in part what prompted the sudden decision to move on for "better opportunities." He would sometimes fly into frightening rages. Other times he would be very withdrawn. He worked hard, never missing a day for illness. However, I learned after his death that his personality tended to get him called on the carpet. He was toeing the line most of the time.
I think that there were times when my father was genuinely happy. So for him, here's the Happy Fellow Polka. I like to remember him that way.
~DJ Helena~
