The Cast Stone: Reeled in by Roses

I watched The Rose of Tralee last week and enjoyed it – both nights! Why did I need to tell you that? Maybe it’s something to do with group think or peer pressure or the modern phenomenon of everyone having to follow the one path in an age when we hear so much utter drivel about individualism and the glory of being oneself.
At a time when thankfully mental illness is talked about in the same breath as the flu or any other condition we have numerous gurus telling us to throw away our inhibitions and bask proudly in our own individualism. However, that message isn’t taking root and truckloads of ridicule usually head in the direction of anyone who dares step away from the group think of the masses.
Prior to last week, I hadn’t had the opportunity to watch The Rose of Tralee for a number of years because of family, work or sporting obligations. During that time I read and listened to a stream of commentary about how the gathering in Tralee was an affront of women, had no place on national television and was a glitzed-up reincarnation of 1950s Ireland.
Of course, even subconsciously, that stream of words slides into the cranium and forms perceptions. A few weeks ago, I heard a woman in a shop telling her friend she was looking forward to watching The Rose of Tralee on the telly, and I cringed a little inside.
In hindsight, I haven’t a clue why I felt like that, but that’s what occurred.
Then, last week, I arrived home from work on Monday night and Martina was camped on the sofa watching the girls and the gúnas; the grannies and the proud mammies and daddies. I couldn’t believe it. Martina is a modern woman in the extreme. She’s more independent than North Korea, and God help anyone trying to belittle females in her presence.
She’s the mother of two driven young women making big impacts on society and the three of them are formidable when they get going. Therefore, the bit of a brain I have was very confused on Monday night.
Why was she watching this show that belittled women and portrayed them as something other than they were? That’s the subliminal message I had absorbed over the past few years when I read of or heard of The Rose of Tralee, so Martina’s actions were confusing at first.
Maybe, she was watching it for a laugh or maybe she wanted to see the Mayo Rose, Kate Heneghan on the stage. Surely, she wasn’t watching the show for enjoyment?
Slowly it began to dawn on me that she was watching the show without any unconscious group-think pressure dancing through her mind. She was watching the show because she liked it – is there a better reason?
I dropped into the armchair across from her, tired from a busy day in the office, followed by a county board meeting and threw the eyes towards the telly in the corner. It didn’t take long for the enjoyment factor to kick in, and despite myself I began to watch, listen and soak in the craic, ceol and conversation from Tralee.
Madly, I felt a little embarrassed. Modern convention implied that I should be treating the show with some disdain and watching it in an isolation unit. However, as the evening progressed I began to enjoy the production and even managed to deliver tea and biscuits to my watch-partner during an ad break.
The following night we were both on board from the beginning of the show and enjoyed every second. It certainly wasn’t what I had expected and as the show drew towards a close we had our favourites picked out – Mayo, New York, Clare and Sydney. We even imagined what it might be like next year if we had someone we both know quite well on the stage with the Western Canada sash around her. It was that kind of night.
Anyone who knows me well will be aware that I’m always learning. When one has an intellect like mine it’s a requirement. Last week, I learned a very solid lesson. Be like Martina. She refuses to be influence by anything or anyone other than herself. We could all do with being more like her.