Though I regret the embarrassment this may cause my loved ones, I must make a confession: I love polkas.

In my youth, polkas were considered “square.” Today’s young folks might call them “dorky” or “pathetic” or another term of derision.

After years of trying to hide my attraction to the happy tunes from Europe, however, I must come clean, square, dorky, pathetic or otherwise.

My affinity for polkas apparently took root 75 years ago on a farm in northern Iowa’s Kossuth County. My earliest memories of my grandfather’s dairy barn include an old wood cabinet radio tuned to KNUJ (“The Polka Station of the Nation”) in New Ulm, Minnesota. Back in those days, KNUJ broadcast polkas all day long.

Though he seemed to be familiar with a lot of the old tunes, my father did not listen to most “worldly” music when I was a kid. He did, however, enjoy a polka now and then.

When we watched the Lawrence Welk Show on Saturday nights, Dad often grumbled about the dancing until Myron Floren stepped up to the microphone with his accordion and Lawrence led one of the pretty young ladies in a lively polka dance. (Yes, I am aware of the inconsistency.)

I took up the tuba in junior high and on a number of occasions secretly thought it would be fun to play in a polka band. I loved the tuba’s “oom-pah” sound, which is prominent in polka music.

However, this was the age of Elvis Presley, The Shirelles and Dion, and polkas weren’t cool. I had enough problems being cool without being branded a polka fan.

My tuba career was short-lived and I didn’t think much more about a polka band until years later when a co-worker talked about putting together a polka group. He played the saxophone, I recall, and his wife played the accordion.

I volunteered to play the tuba. He must have heard how lousy I was because he left town before we got past the talking stage.

Since then, I’ve enjoyed sneaking a listen to a polka now and then, though the opportunities are not readily available. The internet has made polka music more accessible.

While on the road some years ago I saw a sale display offering cassette tapes (so you know it was many years ago) at a ridiculously low price. The selection was also ridiculous but one tape stood out — it was a collection of polka hits by The Six Fat Dutchmen.

After reading the label I looked around to be sure no one I knew was in the vicinity. Then I took the tape to the cash register, paid for it and tucked it discreetly in my coat pocket. In the car, I unwrapped the tape like a 14-year-old opening his first pack of cigarettes and popped it into the car’s cassette deck.

Within seconds the lively Liechtensteiner Polka was booming from the speakers.

I stumbled along as best I could with the lyrics: “Ja, das ist ein Lichtensteiner Polka, mein Schatz …” An hour away from home and without an acquaintance in sight, I cranked up the volume.

One of the Six Fat Dutchmen was singing the plaintive “You Can’t Be True Dear.” Then came the familiar “Clarinet Polka” followed by the lively “Beer Barrel Polka.” The album included one of my favorites, the “Blue Skirt Waltz.” The tape played on as I remembered Opa’s barn, his Holstein dairy herd and listening to his old wood cabinet radio.

I tried to recall the fingering of the E-flat sousaphone as the Dutchmen’s tuba player “oompahed” a steady beat.

Any hope of ever playing in a polka band, however, was dashed as I realized how little I could recall from junior high band.

Though it was some time ago, I recall that when I returned home I played a bit of the polka tape for my family.

While everyone was polite, I saw three pairs of eyes roll in an “I can’t believe he really bought that” look. From then on, I listened to that tape with a pair of headphones.

Perhaps, like then, the world needs more polkas today. Polkas are usually happy music; the kind of music that sets toes tapping and faces smiling.

Well, at least polkas do that for me.

I feel better now. Confession is indeed good for the soul. Just like a good polka, ja?

(Arvid Huisman can be contacted at huismaniowa@gmail.com. ©2026 by Huisman Communications.)