The Greek Festival (at St. Demetrios Church) opened yesterday at 5 pm – I was there at 6. While waiting for my friend Joe I bought an ouzo and a bottle of water, then stationed myself by the flaming cheese. Looking at the program, I noticed with disappointment that no dance performances were scheduled for the evening. I am always impressed by the sight of high school students – some of the boys in skirts – doing the dances of their ancestral homeland, though I assume not a few of them are coerced into it by parents.
Joe arrived and we stood in a short line for pastitsio and roasted chicken – served, as always, by friendly church members. Then we found two spots at the end of a long table. Greek music played softly (I think the volume goes up on the weekend) allowing for audible conversations. At one point I turned and saw the dance floor was animated by a long line of young people. They wore dark blue Greek Festival T-shirts, linked arms at the shoulders, and moved to the music in a synchronized row. In many ways, it was more moving than seeing them in costume, for they were dancing voluntarily, not for show but for love of dance of love of their culture. They were demonstrating their pride in being Greek, which made me proud to be an American.
