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PLYMOUTH — At Midnight Mass, a young man arrived with his family and I noticed he was wearing two red socks.
Very festive, I thought, so I stopped him and told him it was good to see him in the Christmas spirit.
Then I told him he should take this idea a step further.
“I know what you mean,” he said. “I should be wearing one red sock and one green sock, right?”
Exactly, I told him, and then I showed him my socks — one red and one green.
The young man said he would purchase a pair of green socks between now and next Christmas and he will mix and match.
Joy to the world, I thought. A tradition will continue. I have been wearing my red and green socks on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day for more than 40 years now — and yes, they are the very same socks all these years. They are worn only on those two days, then washed and put away.
That got me to thinking about other Christmas traditions, so I took a drive after Midnight Mass to my old Plymouth neighborhood. I pulled up Reynolds Street and parked across from my old homestead. It looks different now, so I stared and imagined all those Christmases of my childhood.
I recalled all the decorations, the food, the cookies, the tree and train and I could see my front door opening and closing as family and friends visited. I remembered how I would go to bed early in anticipation of Santa Claus arriving. And when I awoke — always around 3:30 a.m. or so — I would dash from my room, bang into the telephone stand — (we all had them) — flip on the living room lights and I would take in the scene — gifts aplenty and the cookies and milk were gone.
Santa had been there.
We all have those memories and it’s always good, somewhat comforting, to keep them close to appreciate everything our parents did for us when we were kids.
And then I remembered another holiday memory — the song “Who Stole the Kishka.”
Every year, somebody would play it on the record player and everyone would sing along.
“Who stole the kishka? Who stole the kishka? Who stole the kishka? Won’t you bring it back.”
Well, as the song goes, a guy named Yashu, or Yaschel, found the kishka — pronounced “KEESH-ka” — and brought it back to the butcher shop.
But as far as who stole it, that has never been resolved — an unsolved case that may never be closed.
Now, the song is a traditional polka tune, written by Walter Dana and Walter Solek in 1946 — Solek penned the lyrics. Perhaps the most popular version of the song was a 1963 recording by Grammy award-winning polka artist Frankie Yankovic.
According to Solek’s obituary, the kishka song always got the crowd going at polka dances. Well, it sure livened up our house and many others.
And for those of you who don’t know, kishka is a type of sausage or stuffed intestine with a filling made from a combination of meat and meal, often a grain.
Sounds delicious, right?
Makes you wonder, perhaps, why anybody would steal the kishka, but it certainly explains why Yashu brought it back.
My concern here: Will we ever know who stole the kishka from that butcher shop? Should we care? And why did Yashu bring it back? What was he doing with the stolen kishka anyway? Where did he find it? And how did he know where to return it to?
I also must ask why this unknown culprit would only steal the kishka? Why not kielbasa, or pierogi, or potato pancakes, or piggies? Seems a bit odd, don’t you think?
I think I tasted kishka once, why I don’t know. But I do know I did not like it at all. Certainly not something I would steal. Why risk getting in trouble for kishka?
But the mystery remains — who stole the kishka?
If you know anything about this — maybe some clues have been handed down in your family over the years, please come forward. Contact the authorities.
It would be good to know who stole the kishka — and why?
Then maybe somebody will write a follow-up song about it — “Guess Who Stole the Kishka?”
Let’s get to the bottom of this. I don’t think many people even make kishka these days. Maybe it’s because of a fear of larceny?
Not that I’m looking to eat the stuff.
But somebody out there has to know something about this, for sure. It’s time we got the answers.
Heyna, or no?
