Irony runs in the family
She always thought she was the sarcasm queen. Now, Eilis O’Hanlon can’t help wondering if she’s finally met her match — and in her own home, too
The word ‘yes’ is a stranger in our house these days. It has been replaced by ‘doh’.
“Would you like dinner soon?” “Doh.” “Are you going out anywhere tonight?” “Doh.” The language of sarcasm has become the dominant form of discourse. It’s now impossible for any of my children to give a straight answer to any question.
I’ll come in, see them watching TV and ask innocently, “Is that Friends?”
“No,” they reply, “it’s a documentary on political turmoil in the Third World.”
They’re not being rude. Well, they are. It’s just that they think it’s funnier to give a sarcastic retort rather than answer the question directly. I can’t complain. This particular apple didn’t fall far from the tree, let’s put it that way.
I’ve always lived my life according to the belief that irony is as natural as breathing. Sarcasm, as the old saying has it, is the ability to insult idiots without them realising it. What’s not to like?
It is rather alarming, though, when you realise that you’ve been out-sarcasmed by your own kids. This must be how Obi-Wan Kenobi felt when he met Darth Vader again, only to be told, “When I left you, I was but the learner. Now I am the master!” Let the verbal lightsabre battle commence.
That’s why I’m glad I never made any of them go to Mass, like I was forced to do as a child, because god knows what they would have said if I’d put their names down for Confirmation, and they’d been asked to trot out the stock answers. “What is a sacrament?” “Why are you asking me? You’re meant to be the one with all the answers.” “Can you name the seven sacraments?” “Is it Happy, Grumpy, Sleepy, Sneezy, Dopey, Bashful and Doc?”
“How do we prepare to receive the sacrament of Confirmation?” “I dunno. Push-ups?” “Was Jesus filled with the Holy Spirit?” “No, he never touched a drop.” I’d have been mortified. Though also very proud. There’s no worse indictment of one’s parenting skills than to have children who are too respectful of authority. You have to start them young to train them up to the right level of disdain.
That’s why one of my least favourite sayings has always been: “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.” Anyone who believes that is obviously just too stupid to get irony, and wants to stop the rest of us enjoying the pleasure, like a eunuch starting a petition to ban dating agencies.
Dull-witted, literal people invariably forget the second half of that famous quote. “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,” is how it goes in full, “but the highest form of intelligence.”
Sarcasm has been proven — by yer actual scientists — to foster creative thinking, both in the giver and receiver. In other words, when using sarcasm, those of us who’ve weaponised it are actually doing the other person a favour. Some thanks would be nice. Just saying.
Sarcasm was also found in those various studies to improve abstract reasoning. They should be teaching it in school. Heck, there should be prizes for it. (“A crappy-looking trophy? Why, thank you, it’s made my empty life complete.”)
The only thing sarcasm does damage is personal relationships, but who needs those, anyway? Friends are overrated. Losing them is a small price to pay in return for the ability to alienate scores of people with a single funny remark. Think of it as my superpower. That my children have inherited it too just proves again how lucky they are to have me as their mother.
They really do have to work on their eye-rolling, though. I had that essential life skill perfected when I was their age, and even they admit I’m still unrivalled in that department. To which there is, naturally, only one answer from me.
“Well, doh.”
“The only thing sarcasm does damage is personal relationships, but who needs those, anyway?”