Luck of the Mole

I saw what looked like a feel-good, motivational sports movie on Netflix. I’m not going to say the name of it because I’m about to spoil the living snot out of it:

The dad dies. Of melanoma.

I had a malignant melanoma removed in 2001. Three doctors missed it before my plastic surgeon caught it will removing two other moles. I am very, very lucky to be here.

Watching someone died in real life — or even in a movie — of something you survived brings up lots of feelings. Like survivor’s guilt for example — and I had that for a long time. Then I realized it was a useless emotion. Gratitude can bring guilt, too. But it’s a much healthier way to look at it. I could say I was blessed, but does that mean my friends who died of the disease weren’t blessed? I’ve talked to God a lot about that one. A lot. I have struggled with anxiety (imagine if YOUR skin tried to kill you!), too. The anxiety, which flares up from time to time, has pretty much faded away.

I still get checked and still have suspicious moles removed. Recently, I had one that was severely dysplastic — I’ve had a bunch of those over the years. I’ve had over 80 moles and suspicious spots removed in nearly 25 years. One was a malignant melanoma. Two were melanoma in-situs. Over 60 were severely dysplastic.

I’m still here because of my doctor and my vigilance.

So back to the movie. The dad told the son that it was just bad luck. I’m sure someday I’ll have bad luck, too. And unlike me watching Brian’s Song right after my surgery, I didn’t get as upset about this movie as I used, to. It just reminded me of this simple truth:

All we have is this moment. And I need to be grateful for that moment.

That’s all I can do. And I am grateful I watched the movie for the reminder.

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Angels have two wings

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The Old Pilot

The old pilot had logged several losses into his life’s log book. He lost his best friend and wingman in Vietnam. He lost his temper when he came back home and was spit on by protestors in the San Francisco airport. He lost his wife Angie due to his neglect and then her cancer. He lost his son because of pride. 

With every loss, he gained a demon. 

He chased those demons around the sky and tempted death for years in his yellow crop duster. His trusty Air Tractor, named Angie, allowed him to flirt with suicide for three decades. That had changed when he found his lost granddaughter, who had wandered off into the brush of Mississippi Delta. His ability to fly low and slow permitted him to spot the girl. That one moment healed the gaping wound between him and his son. The little girl, also named Angie, gave the old pilot a reason to live. That reason was tested when he crashed his plane and died. His wife Angie’s spirit came to him in the crumpled cockpit and convinced him to go back. When rescuers cut him out of the plane and restarted his heart, tears flowed down his cheeks as he muttered, “Angie.” While he had lost Angie once again, he realized something profound: 

She was right there with him all along. 

Frost painted the plowed fields of the Mississippi Delta a silvery white. Ice crystals sparkled in the early morning sunrise, looking like diamonds on the deep, rich soil. He looked east towards the bluff and watched as the sun rose slowly in the sky. Holding his cane (he has lost part of his right leg in the crash and was still getting used to his prosthesis), he limped to the mailbox to check to mail a couple of bills. Nearly 80, he still wrote checks, a habit that annoyed most of the people in the grocery line. They could wait, though. Life had gotten too fast already. He had nowhere to go now but into the ground. 

It had been 16 years since the crash. Getting back up in the air this time was harder. In Vietnam, when his A-1 Skyraider had taken enemy fire and crashed, he had had to shoot two men before he was finally rescued. He knew he had killed before but this time, it was up close and personal. The old pilot had also caused others to lose, too. Thoughts of that day in 1969 still rattled in his head. But he immediately got back into the cockpit. This time, it took courage to get him in the air again. While he wasn’t necessarily religious, the old pilot definitely was a man of faith. Angie had converted him that day in his crumpled Air Tractor. She had shown him the power of love and forgiveness. 

A car drove down the dirt road, kicking up a hurricane of dust behind it. The old pilot recognized the car and wished he could dive into a ditch. It was Mrs. Kylie, his neighbor. “What does she want?” He thought. 

The white Buick stopped in front of the mailbox and Mrs. Kylie rolled down her window. “I heard your bad news.” One thing about the Delta, there wasn’t six degrees of separation, there were two. That meant people knew your business before you did. 

The old pilot grunted. 

“I am sure the doctors will be able to cure it.” 

The old pilot grunted again. 

“I’ll be praying for you.” 

The old pilot yet grunted again and said, “Thank you,” as Mrs. Kylie drove away in another cloud of dust. 

The old pilot looked to his right and said to an empty space, “Do you think I handled that OK? Really? Thanks. Yeah, I guess I am starting to grow up after eight decades.” Then he laughed. While he was grateful for the prayers, Angie taught him this: Instead of just praying, be the answer to other people’s prayers. So that’s what he did. And that’s when he started to truly live. 

He pulled a letter out of his mailbox. It was from his granddaughter. She wrote him every week. As he peered down over his glasses, he read about her adventures in college and in the air. He had saved her when she was a toddler. He had taught her to read. He had taught her to fly. After years of chasing death around the sky, she had taught him to chase life. 

He looked over by the giant oak trees and saw his wife’s spirit blowing him a kiss. She then faded away, like the melting frost in the warm morning sun.

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Banjo Saves Christmas: A Very Short Story

Lying in bed with the flu, Santa knew there was only one way Christmas could be saved. He dialed his phone and heard a heroic voice answer, “Banjo’s Air Service, how may we help?”

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Upcoming signing dates for Saving Sam!

Thursday, December 5 — Kademi (Philadelphia, MS) 4-7 p.m.
Saturday, December 7 — Pearl Jinglebell Marketplace (Muse Center) 9 a.m.-4 p.m.
Sunday, December 8 — Book Mart & Cafe (Starkville), 11-3 p.m.
Tuesday, December 10 — Crooked Letter Books (Meridian) 5 p.m.-7 p.m.
Thursday, December 12 — Southern Turnings, (Wiggins) 2 p.m. — 5 p.m.
Sunday, December 14 — Mississippi Gift Company (Greenwood) 10:30 a.m. to 3:30 p.m.
Friday, December 20 — Lemuria (Jackson) 12 p.m. — 1 p.m.
Saturday, December 21 — Lemuria (Jackson) 1 p.m. — 2 p.m.

Stay tuned for additions to this schedule

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In honor of the real Pip. 2012-2024

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SAVING SAM! A Banjo the Dog Story Details

The real Pip the dog models in front of the cover.

Saving Sam! A Banjo the Dog Story debuts September 14, 2024 at the Mississippi Book Festival (and will be part of the MS Book Festical’s literacy efforts, which are sponsored by ATMOS energy.).

About the book: Banjo, the little brown dog who could, is back — this time on a mission to find his missing friend Sam. With the help of his niece Pip (and a giant new friend too), Banjo battles evil squirrels and discovers the power of friendship, teamwork, and courage. Award-winning cartoonist Marshall Ramsey brings to life an action-packed and heartwarming tale that reminds Banjo — and kids of every age — that families come in all shapes and sizes.

You can preorder at:

Square Books in Oxford. Click here.

Lemuria Books in Jackson. Click here.

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Golden Lessons

I’ve enjoyed the Olympics this year. Once again, they celebrate the human spirit and provide the inspiration we desperately need right now. I know I could use some inspiration. I’m a 56-year-old exhausted man who has huge dreams and wants to live his life to the fullest. So while know I will never be an Olympian (although Turkey’s Gen-X shooter Yusuf Dikeç gives me hope), I can’t help be inspired. Here’s why:

  1. Are you struggling with mental health challenges? Look no further than the G.O.A.T. herself, Simone Biles. Watching her gravity defying performances are stunning. Watching her overcome the twisties, which could have caused her to get really hurt or worse and caused her to pull out of the Olympics three years ago, is inspirational. She got the help she needed and has done the work.

Mental health is health.

  1. Do you have a physical comeback? Well, check out Sunisa Lee, who in 2023 thought she’d never perform again because of an unspecified rare kidney disease. She fought her back to the medal stand. If they gave a medal for resilience, she’d get the gold.

Be 100% of what you can be.

  1. Do you think one person doesn’t matter? Check out Stephen Nedoroscik, the pommel horse king, who won a couple of bronzes — and got the American team back on the medal stand after a 16-year-drought. Like Clark Kent, he whipped off his glasses and saved the day.

One person makes a difference.

  1. Need a role model on how to be a champion? Check out Katie Ledecky . Not only has she got a wall full of medals, she has done it with quiet grace and hard work. She has taken her talent to another level. Even her competitors like her. She likes them, too — and then leaves them in her wake.

Let your work do your talking.

And I’ve just scratched the surface. Sport is a laboratory for humanity. You see the best of us. And you see the worst of us. You can learn a lot from what Jim McKay used to say, “The thrill of victory and the agony of defeat.”

Now back to the games.

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Letting Go of the Rope

At my father’s funeral, I told the story of how he taught me to waterski and how it taught me how to reframe life’s challenges. If you ever hear me speak, I tell that story and call it “Grab the rope.”

Here it is in a nutshell:

When I was 8, dad wanted me to learn to waterski. So he put me on a boat and drove me five miles downriver from my grandparent’s cabin on Fort Loudon Lake near Knoxville, Tennessee. After several unsuccessful attempts at getting up, I finally did. When I did, dad turned the boat and slung me outside of the wake. He then turned in a tight circle so I was really flying. Then I hit a stick. I did several cartwheels and a ski whacked me in the head. Dad checked to make sure I was still alive and then made me grab the rope and try again. He wanted to make my story about getting back up, not falling down. Twenty-five years later, he made me get out and walk after my malignant melanoma surgery. He told me that he wanted to make sure my story was about “beating cancer,” not “having cancer.”

That is who my dad was. I’ve used that technique to reframe challenges over the years and try to find chances to learn and grow from life’s “bad moments.”

But there is one part of the story I’ve left out: It’s having the wisdom of knowing when to let go of the rope. If you’ve ever waterskied, you know what I’m talking about. It’s when you get pulled forward in front of your skis and find yourself just being drug face-first behind the boat. I drank so much of the Tennessee River that day that I grew gills. Eventually, I knew when it was time to let go. I think it saved me from drowning.

Letting go is a skill that I’m just now learning later in life. Look, I’ve had a VERY good career. But much of that career has been fueled by anxiety and fear — if you are in the media business, you’ll understand that. The stress has taken its toll over the years — it’s time to rethink how I do things. I’ve prayed for the wisdom to know when to grab the rope and when to let it go. This year has been a wonderfully creative year. I’m doing some of my best work. But I’m really working hard to enjoy all aspects of my life. That’s because your art is a reflection of you. And if you’re broke, your creativity will be, too.

If dad were here, he’d smile and say, “Now you understand.” I’d love to go waterskiing with him. And I’m sure he’d still be skiing if he were with us. He skied at 78, three years before he died. Dave Ramsey was truly an amazing man.

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COMING ON SEPTEMBER 14th!

Preorder from Lemuria Books here.

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