PolkaFest

Listen to this reflection by playing the video below or continue down the page to read the full text version.

After Amy and I became engaged, it became harder and harder for us to be apart. The weekend visits and Monday morning goodbyes always came and went too fast. Our mutual feelings on the matter were best summed up by a line from Harry in the classic movie When Harry Met Sally. “. . .when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”

So, we made a decision that at the time was somewhat controversial. We decided to have Amy move to Springfield, Missouri to live with me prior to our wedding. This decision went over like a lead balloon (it was a different era folks). When informed of the decision while out to eat at a restaurant during one of my weekend visits, we received a terse “Check please, we will talk about this at home” from Amy’s father Frank. Although we never officially received their blessing, they eventually accepted the fact that we had made a decision and were steadfast in following through.

The move was planned to coincide with Amy’s brother Mark’s wedding. I would fly up for the wedding and then Amy and I would drive back to Missouri afterward.

Mark and Jody were married several months before us. Relatives made the approximately 90 mile trek up I-43 from Milwaukee to Manitowoc, Wisconsin. I flew into Milwaukee in advance of the wedding and shared a room with the groom-to-be the night before.

The wedding day itself is always easy for me to remember as they had chosen my birthday to be married. My memory of the day has dimmed over the years, but I remember following the wedding party from place to place as they had their pictures taken and arrived at the church for the ceremony. The dinner and reception were at Rose’s Century Inn and dance hall located in Mishicot, Wisconsin.

This was my first wedding for a Polish family. Food and fun are second nature to them, but for this reserved Scandinavian, it was a bit of a culture shock, albeit a pleasant one. At some point in the night, the family sang me Happy Birthday in Polish for all to hear. Then the dancing began!

I was totally lost as Amy tried to teach me how to polka on the fly, especially since they threw sawdust on the floor to prime the dance floor for those of us with slippery soles. It was very fortunate that I did not break any of Amy’s toes that night.

Two weeks later in Missouri, we received a small package in the mail addressed to both Amy and I. In it was a cassette tape from her father entitled And a One and a Two with a note hinting strongly that we (really, me) had better make a dramatic improvement in our polka before our wedding in just four short months.

So one weekend, we cleared the furniture out of our small apartment’s living room and practiced for hours getting our polka down. By the time the wedding rolled around, we passed with flying colors. We even managed a few dramatic head flips for show.

Amy began her chemo in late September of 2021. She was at a low point mentally and physically having endured her diagnosis, a multitude of tests and scans, two weeks of radiation, and the shock of transitioning straight to chemotherapy. I was looking for a way to surround her with family to brighten her day.

As I recalled the events around our polka deficiencies, it hit me. Our kids did not know how to Polka! I would invite the kids and their friends, Mary and Jerry, and her Aunt Pat and Uncle Tom over for PolkaFest to teach them how to polka! Invitations went out and everyone loved the idea. I ordered a Polish flag off Amazon and hung it off our deck with pride. We then cleared our deck to create the dance floor and queued up our Polka playlist from Spotify.

We lucked out and had a beautiful October day with a bright blue sky and moderate temperatures. I am sure our neighbors must have thought we were crazy. But it was worth it.

Amy beamed as Mary, her Aunt Pat and I taught Claire, Morgan and Carson how to polka. Laughter rained down as we made flubs and Amy and I recounted our own experiences teaching me to polka in our small apartment.

Amid the darkness that surrounded us, that afternoon, we chose joy.