My People Aren't Pretty

Admittedly, “Tropicana” doesn’t strike anyone as a Polish-sounding last name. Well, that is correct. It’s not even a real name. So when the opportunity presents itself to mingle with the people of my origin, Poles, I do so with some regret. We are not pretty people—as compared to Scandinavians, Brazilians or some of our Slavic counterparts.




This was apparent at a recent Polish festival in Easthampton. Try as I may to find some really pretty women or handsome men in this crowd of overweight, slightly off and confusingly smelly folk, I came up empty.





I don’t fancy myself as blessed with aesthetically fly looks, but I’m not without certain charms.





While my hapless brethren “danced” to polka music, chowed down on Polish delicacies watered down by years of shaky memories and spent hundreds of dollars at games of chance, I shot photos.