A Milonga Full of Frogs

                No, not a milonga avec les indigènes de la France, LOL, je fais semblant, mais non, I am talking about your everyday milonga and its all-too-often maligned leaders who are new to the dance. I know, how dare I advocate on behalf of my fellow hillbilly tangueros against a culture engaged in such a sophisticated form of artistic expression. Here’s how:-D

               Tango is not an elite club available to only the ‘highly evolved’ and the overly educated. It is an import from a country whose leadership has brought it to the brink of third world status. It came in as a stowaway on a ship and crawled ashore like a rat on a rope bringing an infectious fever to the masses; it was not heralded in on the shoulders of ten lords leaping. Tango is a dance by which everybody can share in the joy and misery of being a human being; it is not too proud to refuse entrance even to the lowliest of souls and it is quite capable of making any one of us feel like we’ve passed through the gates of heaven.

               Recently I had the opportunity to observe tangueras participating in the ritualistic destruction of a man’s character and could not help but feel a huge amount of sympathy for the victim of their verbal onslaught. He was not polished, nor was he refined. He drove a great distance to attend the milonga and did not profess to possess any degrees or pedigrees denoting a higher social standing worthy enough to invite them onto the dance floor.  

               I recognized him the moment we introduced ourselves to each other: he was me, minus six years of tango experience. He was not relaxed but he was not ready to bolt for the door, either. Like me of yore he held his ground, spoke little and in the end added a few more lovely dances to his memories of tango.

               I’ve noticed many men in his predicament. They are just men attempting to better themselves and find solace in this wonderful pastime. Most often they don’t hear the sniping when it happens but they are still aware of it. It is like when someone is staring at you and you know it, even though you haven’t looked around to verify what your ‘third eye’ tells you is true.

               We men are all just frogs in a pond until we gain the vocabulary necessary to converse with many women through the language of dance. We could never manage to make it to that infamous fairy tale kiss from the princess if there wasn’t one consistent tanguera looking after us and shepherding us through the portal to the tango rite of passage. She is the hostess, our savior, the woman who always says ‘yes’ to at least one of our invites. She is the woman who manages to convey an emotion of sincere gratitude even when we are fumbling through a movement as simple as the back ocho. It is the hostess who can tell the future, who sees our dedication and knows we are truly princes on the inside. If it was not for the hostess tango would not have survived its second coming.

               I do not expect the lesser ladies to give up their cherished traditions of playing with the reputations of the males: it is human nature. They are obstacles that men like us must learn to jump over, to rise above, in order to become true leaders of the dance. It is because of them, not in spite of them that we learn how to project a masculine chest for the follower to look to for our intention.

               We may be frogs but men are very sensitive. We experience emotions so intense that women are always trying to get us to talk about them even though they profess to be the only half of our species capable of feelings. Men are by far superior in expressing their sentiments but we refrain from such activity or risk damage to our machismo. It is our ability to express our inner stirrings which entitles us to the role of the lead. We feel the emotion in the song and translate it into movement. It is the expression of our feelings through the dance that gives women such joy because it is something they have waited so long to hear. 

               So go ahead, all you ladies snickering at our futile attempts to hop out of the water and onto the land, take your best shot. We frogs will take that bullet and fire it right back at you in the form of a kiss…and we know you’re going to like it;-)

 Note: For an in-depth look into the mind of the Kayak Hombre, read his book, available on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/River-Tango-perri-iezzoni/dp/1453865527/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1369366756&sr=1-1&keywords=River+tango