I just got back from a five hour rehearsal for Coco’s end-of -the-year ballet show. She’s in the show for about 10 minutes in the beginning and eight minutes at the end. Needless to say, it was a long, long morning. I shoved clips in hair; ribbons on buns; wiped up spills on leotards; matched tutus to names; and spent several hours distracting a wiggly group of girls from a dead mouse backstage.

And the boys? The entire ballet school is girls. How on earth do any men make it on stage? Society stacks up against boys loving dance. Girls dance together on stage, at weddings, in clubs and parties because most men are afraid to dance that little dance inside of them - the one that was crushed so long ago from the powers that be. I’ve hung with a few guys that love to dance, and it was one of life’s greatest pleasures.

As Coco and her class practiced the finale, a few professional dancers, including men, arrived to prepare for another show. Where did they come from? Somehow, the few of the proud and the brave make it to the stage.

The girls finished and I took the bows out of their hair. Coco and I decided to grab something quick to eat as we were really hungry. She ate slowly as the television aired above our heads. A group of boys, sat and hovered around each other at the table next to us. They were fresh faced, gawky, dressed similarly, stubbly hair poked out of their chin and a few donned braces. Did any of them dance? I eyed the bags hung around a few of their shoulders and imagined leotards and black dance shoes tucked in behind notebooks. Men, they’re everywhere. But which one of them will say: I’m a dancer! And shout it from the rooftops so all can hear.

And if you’ve ever watched ballet you will know, it is us who’ll benefit the most.