The myth of ‘getting real’

Real strength comes from kindness, not toughness

There are two phrases that set my Spidey senses tingling like a nettle sting. The first is “get real” – especially when it’s uttered by a gombeen politician with a sneer in their artificially culchified voice. The second is “gentleman’s agreement”, which should send you sprinting to the door, clutching your wallet, and calling for a lawyer.

“Get real” is often preceded by “When will this country…”? and is closely followed by variations like “wise up” and “cop on”. The next sentence almost always involves advocating something awful, either for the planet, or the downtrodden.

I heard those phrases in all their variations growing up. I was a thin, bookish kind of lad, and my country relations – who agreed on very little – were unanimous in thinking I needed toughening up. It was the kind of philosophy you’d find in Peaky Blinders or the works of D H Lawrence, where a parent, on their deathbed, confesses that they had to be tough on their child because the world is so cruel. Why a bunch of comfortable Galway farmers would think like this is still a mystery to me, as the world had treated them kindly. Yet, the sight of me, pale and wandering about with a book in hand, filled them with a terrible urge to confront me with the harsh realities they believed were in store for me.

So, when an elderly second cousin sat me down with a “time we had a chat”, I knew what was coming before it even began. It was the little half-smile on her lips. I’ve seen it many times since – it means the person in front of you is about to impose their worldview on yours and you won’t like it, but they think you need it.

I’ve seen it many times since – it means the person in front of you is about to impose their worldview on yours and you won’t like it, but they think you need it

Her story started with a sweet little cow – a calf, really, with big brown eyes, happily living in a field. She was clearly trying to tell a children’s story, but she wasn’t much good at it; to be frank, she’d never have made it onto Wanderly Wagon. After much effort emphasising the cuteness of this little cow, she told me that it had strayed from the field. Naturally, it was the cow’s own fault for not listening to the farmer. In my family, farmers were never wrong, no matter what they did. The little cow was promptly run over and killed by an ignorant townie.

“Now wasn’t it a pity,” she said, the half-smile twitching like a cat’s tail, “that nobody around knew enough to cut the little cow’s throat on the spot? And all that lovely meat was wasted,” she cried happily, waiting for me to burst into tears.

Well, really. I hadn’t been wasting my time with all those books, you know. I had read Black Beauty, The Jungle Book, and even Call of the Wild, and I had learned plenty about nature being red in tooth and claw. I certainly wasn’t going to waste any more time even pretending to be shocked. So, I agreed with her: They should have slashed the calf’s neck and fired up the frying pan. The smile vanished from her face, she sulkily found something else to do, and the two-bob – maybe even half-a-crown – I had been hoping for went with her.

Of course, if I knew then what I know now, half a century later, I would have had hysterics. That might have raised as much as 10-bob, especially if I claimed nightmares for weeks. Presumably, that would have toughened me up no end. The same lady, by the way, lived in a city and was about as much of a farmer as Imelda May, but she identified as a country girl. God rest her interfering soul.

So, when I hear “get real” as a justification for why somebody’s profit is more important than our lakes being usable, or why children fleeing violence should be treated like criminals, I don’t like it. If the tough guys – the bullies, the hard right, hard left, or hard nationalists – live long enough, they will eventually, through ill-health or some other reason, come to rely on the kindness of strangers. These healthcare workers may have a different God or skin colour, but most of them will have resisted the call to toughen up and have retained and nurtured their childlike kindness. They know what is real.