Cyril Benson dances. He has medals hanging from his shoulders to
his kneecaps. He wins contests all over Ireland and he looks lovely in his
saffron kilt.Hes a credit to his mother and he gets his name in the paper
all the time and you can be sure he brings home the odd few pounds.
You dont see him roaming the streets kicking everything in sight till
the toes hang out of his boots, oh, no, hes a good boy, dancing for his
poor mother.
Mam wets an old towel and scrubs my face till it stings, she wraps
the towel around her finger and sticks it in my ears and claims theres
enough wax there to grow potatoes, she wets my hair to make it lie
down, she tells me shut up and stop the whinging, that these dancing
lessons will cost her sixpence every Saturday, which I could have earned
bringing Bill Galvin his dinner and God knows she can barely afford it.
I try to tell her, Ah, Mam, sure you dont have to send me to dancing
school when you could be smoking a nice Woodbine and having a cup
of tea, but she says, Oh, arent you clever.Youre going to dance if I have
to give up the fags forever.
If my pals see my mother dragging me through the streets to
an Irish dancing class Ill be disgraced entirely.They think its all right
to dance and pretend youre Fred Astaire because you can jump all
over the screen with Ginger Rogers. There is no Ginger Rogers in
Irish dancing and you cant jump all over.You stand straight up and
down and keep your arms against yourself and kick your legs up and
around and never smile. My uncle Pa Keating said Irish dancers look
like they have steel rods up their arses, but I cant say that to Mam, shed
kill me.
Theres a gramophone in Mrs. OConnors playing an Irish jig or a
reel and boys and girls are dancing around kicking their legs out and
keeping their hands to their sides. Mrs. OConnor is a great fat woman
and when she stops the record to show the steps all the fat from her chin
to her ankles jiggles and I wonder how she can teach the dancing. She
comes over to my mother and says, So, this is little Frankie? I think we
have the makings of a dancer here. Boys and girls, do we have the mak-
ings of a dancer here?
We do, Mrs. OConnor.
Mam says, I have the sixpence, Mrs. OConnor.
Ah, yes, Mrs. McCourt, hold on a minute.
She waddles to a table and brings back the head of a black boy with
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