There once was a man who loved to dance the polka. He wasn’t Polish, but he loved to dance the polka. His name was Mr. Smith.
Mr. Smith loved the polka so much that he decided to drive thousands of miles from his home in California to Erie, Pennsylvania, for the annual Erie Polka Festival.
When Mr. Smith got to the festival it appeared to him that he was the only non-Polish person there. Everybody was speaking Polish. Many of the people were recent immigrants who spoke only a little English.
The festival was held in an enormous dance hall, where two live bands played polkas non-stop, and everybody danced and ate Polish food.
The food was very tasty. There were pierogies—little dumplings filled with potatoes or meat or cheese, kielbasa—Polish sausage, and plenty of kapusta—cabbage.
Mr. Smith felt a little out of place because he didn’t speak Polish, but he was having a good time, because he loved the polka.
It took a while, but Mr. Smith finally found the courage to ask a woman to dance the polka with him. He went up to a very pretty young lady and said, “May I have this dance?”
At first the young lady said nothing and stared blankly. Then all of a sudden she smiled and said, “Tak,” which is Polish for “yes.”
They danced the polka. She was a very good dancer. Mr. Smith wasn’t so bad himself.
After a little while, the young lady spoke to Mr. Smith in a very thick Polish accent.
“What is your name?” she asked him, which was almost all the English she knew.
“Mr. Smith,” replied Mr. Smith. “And what is your name?” he asked.
“Christina,” she replied.
They kept dancing. They were both smiling and having a very good time. Mr. Smith thought he was falling in love with Christina, and he hoped Christina was falling in love with him.
After a little while longer, Christina said, “Mr. Smith, I will call you Mr. Smuskiewicz.”
Copyright 2009
Author's Bio: Peter Cherches blogs about food, travel and writing at http://petercherches.blogspot.com
