We’re all too busy with our two jobs, two-point-six kids and two-car garage to belong to anything. Myself included.

Meanwhile, our world gets more impersonal and less charming by the millisecond.

Farmington Fair sees attendance dip by hundreds even though not a droplet of rain descends during its seven-day run. Church attendance dwindles. Granges and American Legions hold “open houses” to drum up interest as members die and don’t leave a legacy of civic involvement.

“There are so many more things to belong to now,” said Laila Suomela of Norway.

Laila publishes The Maine Finn, a quarterly newsletter distributed to members of the Finnish-American Heritage Society of Maine.

Headquartered in a former boarding home in West Paris, the society champions Finland’s culture among its Americanized descendants. As if to demonstrate that desperate times demand desperate maneuvers, Laila invited me to address one of the society’s monthly business meetings and coffee socials.

Local Finns gather the third Sunday of each month to renew old friendships and celebrate the Old Country. It took me six months to clear a spot on a calendar crammed with Lord-knows-what. But I finally attended a family reunion, of sorts.

“I lived next to your great-grandfather,” one man said.

“It’s funny,” said another, “but I knew who you were the minute you walked in.”

Not sure whether to credit my sturdy, Nordic stature or his trusty process of elimination. Even in a silk shirt, tie and rare moment of clean-shaven presentability, I stood out like Barry Bonds at a Fellowship of Christian Athletes convention.

These people were precious, flashing kind smiles and sparkly eyes. They were fountains of knowledge about things that should interest me, too.

And yes, most of them were much, much older than I.

“So glad you brought your family,” Laila said. “We had quite a few young families with children when we started out, but then the kids grew up and moved away or got involved with other things.”

That’s their loss, just as being comfortable and content as an Ugly American was mine. But, oh, the things I learned in my atoning visit. For example, I discovered that I’ve been mispronouncing my own name for thirty-something years.

“So you’re KAH-lay,” one sweet lady said knowingly, drawing out the first syllable for what sounded like eight seconds.

Ah, yes, that name. For two hours Sunday, it ceased being a curiosity and was a status symbol. I’m guessing there are dozens of fourth-generation Finns named Charlie Smith scattered about the foothills, but being KAH-lay was license to preach to the choir.

And they were the friendliest audience in the history of stammering oratory. Actually, I could have clutched the microphone, warbled “My Dog Has Fleas” and been treated like the returning prodigal son.

Family ties also afforded access to a remarkably cool museum. Among the exhibits: a black-and-white photograph of a Finnish newspaper convention from the early 1920s. Glad some of my ancestors weren’t wise enough to become doctors or lawyers, either.

There’s a detailed genealogy for anyone interested in tracing Scandinavian lineage. Also, dozens of picture frames on a “wall of immigrants” and glass cases filled with clothing, music and art.

“We try to take those things into the schools and reach the younger generation,” said society treasurer Barbara Payne.

Others believe time is short.

“I’m afraid it will die when we die,” one woman said, almost tearfully.

May God forbid.

Meet the newest card-carrying member of the Finnish-American Heritage Society of Maine.

In the conversation time it took to pay secretary Cynthia Immonen my $5 dues, I learned two things. Cynthia’s a more devoted fan of the Boston Red Sox than I’ll ever be. And she boasts an embarrassingly greater grasp of her heritage.

But I’ll catch up.

Kalle Oakes is the Sun Journal’s staff columnist. His e-mail is koakes@sunjournal.com.

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