Polka Boosting in the New Year

Sometimes you don't have to stray far from home to find adventure (or some weird 'Being John Malkovich'-type wormhole).  In The Debo, I rang in the new year just a few blocks from Grand Central Skinner, in a scene somewhere between adventure and wormhole.  

A bit of essential background information:  I grew up as the first granddaughter in a proudly Polish American family.  During the summers, we spent many weekends at the local Catholic church fairs, rocking out in the official Polish tent.  Kielbasa, piergoi, and polka dancing abound!  Somewhere around the age of 10, my polka-dancing gene fully kicked in, and I became obsessed with those wooden outdoor dance floors.  I was the only young child busting into polka in a crowd of gray-hairs, but I loved every second of it and eagerly waited until it was my turn to dance with Uncle Len.  To this day, there are not many things in the world that make me as happy as being swung around in the polka zone.  And, to this day, I am practically the only non-gray hair on the floor at these (now infrequently attended) events. 

My mother's older sister, the legendary Auntie Mary, is the one person who actively keeps the polka tradition alive in our family.  When she was in town for the holidays, she enthusiastically tried to persuade everyone to attend a New Year's Eve Polka Booster event at the local American Legion hall.  My mother and I were the only takers.  Mom went out of pity.  I went out of shared enthusiasm. 

So, on the 31st of December, the only three single women of two Bokuniewicz generations arrived at the Stitt Post Hall wearing our light up 'Happy New Year' tiaras and high-top shoes. (Let it be known that this is the hall where the funeral receptions for both of my grandparents was held.) The tables had already been assigned, and it was quite clear from the start -- whether another soul took a seat or not -- that we were at the table of outcasts.  All of the other eight-top tables were populated by Polish, heterosexual couples, 95% of whom were over the age of 75.  After about 30 minutes, a German woman in her early 70s from a few suburbs over joined our crew.  She was quite distressed about her difficulty finding the hall.  She was so distressed, in fact, that she told the story of being lost on the streets of Dearborn Heights over and over and over and over again.  A big part of the distress was associated with her four friends that were MIA.  (Because of this weird old-person vortex, no one was operating on a cell phone level.)  The other ladies eventually took a seat at the four remaining seats at our table (similarly distressed) about an hour later.  They were absolute outcast gems -- a Thai 70ish year old woman, her Thai daughter, another 70-something German woman (who -- for the UM alum out there -- was a card swiper at the Bursley Hall cafeteria), and her 35-year-old German niece who was just visiting for a few weeks and did not speak much English.  

But our multi-cultural, multi-generational, all-female table was really just the tip of the random iceberg.  BBB was hitting the rum and Coke hard (which, incidentally, she had brought in her own covert carrier bag -- God forbid she partake in the cheap beer and wine that was exclusively on tap).  Her inebriated state mixed with a state of extreme anxious horror about the 35-year-old German girl and what she must think of America based on this New Year's Eve scene of old people, canned green beans, and polka tunes.  The younger Thai woman locked her keys in her car and spent a good chunk of the night in the parking lot, waiting for AAA to arrive.  And, the original German woman continued to bang-on about how difficult it was to find the joint.  In the meantime, Duane Melanowski had started kicking out the jams.  Auntie Mary and I were tearing up the dance floor, but we had both forgotten that polka dancing is about the most aerobic workout in the world.  Auntie Mary is now 65, so she couldn't dance full-tilt for too long.  Luckily, there were a few men that asked both of us to dance. (An awkward Ohio farmer seemed particularly keen on obedeks and my dance moves).  

We set off rocketballoons with our fellow outcasts around 11:30pm.  We left the hall shortly after and pulled into the Skinner driveway almost precisely at midnight.  Betty jumped out of the car before the stroke of 12, but Auntie Mary and I listened to the WDET DJ count down the seconds.  In the driveway.  In the car.  Finally, we went inside, listened to BBB babble about the huge crowds in Time Square and the uninterested look on Miley Cyrus' face, and then we all went to sleep.

Did I mention that I was experiencing all of this sober?  What a strange time to decide to distance myself from the Miller High Lifes...  

Despite the twilight-zone nature of the evening, it all felt really right.  This was Dearborn.  This was the Polka Boosters.  This was part of my heritage.  It was weird and wonderful, of me yet also completely foreign.  And, it would have made my grandparents damn proud.

So, all in all, I'd call it an interestingly auspicious start to 2014.  I challenge this year to get even weirder, wilder, and more wonderful.