I’m a Man!

 

In the traditional folk dancing group I have just joined women outnumber men. I was so impressed by the willingness of some of the women to take the man’s role, so that so many more could then enjoy the dance. They slipped bands over them so that we could identify them more readily. And they did so with minimum fuss.

I had wondered if men could as easily take the part of a woman if ever it was necessary.

The other evening I got my answer.

One of the dances called for a set of nine people. The Caller wanted the men to stand in the middle with a woman on either side.

By chance in my group of nine people this worked out perfectly. And we also had real men and real women. Except, I noticed a man in one of the woman’s position. I was impressed. By taking the woman’s part in this dance he was allowing the other eight people to dance.

Nobody said anything to him, as we went through the walk through.

Then by chance he looked around at the other sets and realised the role he was playing.

If this had been a woman playing the part of a man she would simply have got on with it. She would not have made any fuss. Would not have caused a hold up. But not this man.

“Hang on a minute,” he called out, preventing The Caller from explaining any more of the dance steps. “I can’t do this. I’m a man!”

In this particular dance it really didn’t matter who was who, at all. There were right hand stars, and left hand stars, and we then had to follow this person or that person. There were no paired couple steps at all. It was a dance like a whirl of cogs rather than of romantic hearts. And we already knew this from the walk through. Everyone knew this.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter, _____,” someone, perhaps his wife said.

“But this is a part for a woman!” he protested, “and I’m a man.”

His voice was getting louder, and I also wondered if he’d also lowered it an octave or two to emphasise the point. He blustered, inflating his chest with air.

“I’m a man!”

His shoulders were flexed, he-man style, as if he was about to wrestle a woolly mammoth.

The others’ cajoling had no effect on him.

“I’m a man,” he declared.

His arm went into the air. He wanted a woman who was sitting out to take his place.

A dainty elderly lady did so.

As the he-man still chuntering his man-tra sat down with arms folded across his chest, and with his legs set apart.

He seemed too large for his chair, but soon as the dance began we forgot all about him.

He was after all only a man!