Marshall Ramsey

Spent the morning at St. Joseph Catholic school in Madison. I spoke for about an hour to the middle school students in the performing arts center. They’ve been cutting out my cartoons and having to analyze them for a grade. Poor kids. Good luck with that.

Today’s talk included many of my favorite cartoons and the stories behind them. I told them about my process and some of the more memorable moments of my career. But I also let them know about my failures and how they are as important as my successes in molding me into who I am today. I also said:

1. They are amazing bright and talented kids.
2. They all have dreams inside of them
3. Like in the Parable of the Talents, they need to be servants who use the talents given to them.
4. They will face brick walls.
5. Brick walls aren’t always barriers. They sometimes are just there to see how much you really want your dreams.
6. They will fail. But that’s ok because failure can the best teacher.
7. The worst moments are the seeds for their best.
8. I believe in them.

That stuff was the pill. My cartoons and jokes were the pill pocket. I hope the message went down successfully.

Many of the students came up to me afterward and said I was the best speaker they’ve ever had.That’s high praise coming from an 8th grader. But what I what I really hope is that at least one of them will see me and say, “I can chase my dream like he did.” Because someone once did that for me. I pray I paid that blessing forward.

So thank you to the the students and staff at St. Joe. You made my morning memorable.

My friend Claudia left a brilliant comment on my Facebook page this morning. She brought up the last moments of the Germanwings flight. You know, the one where the plane went into an eight-minute decent before crashing into a French mountainside. She wondered what the people on the plane were thinking. Did they know? Were they calm? Did they call loved ones? I don’t know about you, but I always have a bad habit of putting myself on plane crashes. How do you prepare for a moment like that? How would you get ready for your final eight minutes.

I answered her by saying we should train for it like we would for anything else in life (like an athletic or academic challenge) We should live intensely for eight minutes at a time several times a day. If you are running, run hard. If you are eating, eat the best food. If you are reading, read the best books. Make the most of your life for eight straight minutes. Then increase the frequency until it becomes a habit.

That way, when your last eight-minutes do come, you’ll have no regrets. You’ll look at your watch as your last seconds tick away and say with confidence, “I have truly lived.”

Eight minutes at a time.

There was something about this morning’s rush hour that pushed my last nerve. Maybe it was the traffic. Maybe it was the fog. But I felt a huge sense of relief as I approached the downtown exit where I normally get off for work. I felt like a marathon runner approaching the finish line. Soon the medal would be in my hand.

And then the phone rang.

It was my wife. My son’s bus hadn’t come. It wasn’t that he had missed it. The bus just didn’t show up. She couldn’t get away from work. Tag, I was it. I got off the exit and turned around and headed back north.

My medal was snatched from my grasp. And I was pissed.

I started to feel a wave of self-pity wash over me. It wasn’t fair. Traffic sucked. I didn’t have time. The one morning I didn’t hang around the house… Wah. Wah. Wah. And then I thought about that time dad picked me up after middle school.

I had stayed after school to play intramurals. My dad, who owned a local gas station, was supposed to pick me up at 4 p.m.. I sat there, outside of the gym, waiting. And waiting. And waiting. It was 4:30. No dad. He was late. I was mad. How dare he? How inconsiderate. How could he forget his son?

Then my sister roared up. She threw open the passenger door and yelled, “Get in!”

I soon found out why my dad was late.

He was driving my other sister’s Jaguar. The car had stalled in front of our house and the electric fuel pump poured gas on the engine. It ignited and blew the hood off the car. My dad was inside a burning car and barely escaped with his life. (the fire was extinguished inches from two 26-gallon gas tanks. The explosion would have blown every window out in the neighborhood.)

I thought about that story as I drove and remembered my dad never complaining about picking me up. Never. Not even when he almost was burned to death doing it. I felt my pity party melt like ice in August. I took a breath and told my son that while I wish the bus would have come, I did enjoy the time we had together.

My dad’s memory was a balm for my bad attitude.

As I got to work (two hours later), I got a text from my son. He has testing today and made it to homeroom right as the roll was being called. He was grateful and gave me a very robust thank you.

You know, my work will get done. My time with my son this morning was much, much more important. And on the bright side, at least my car didn’t burn to the ground.

While running 50-yard sprints (with a parachute) I made a turn too tightly to avoid another athlete. My feet got tangled in my chute and I went down hard.

Thud.

I hit on my left side, but my injured hand did strike the turf. I guess I should have cursed but I didn’t. Instead, I popped back up and kept running. I finished the next thirty minutes of my workout (much of it on my hand.)

I write this because there has been a news story that has reminded me that life isn’t fair. It makes very clear that you can do good things and still be punished. Life will knock you down. It’s guaranteed. Life is an equal opportunity assaulter.

When I busted it, I could have walked off the field today. I had every right to. And I’ll be honest, it rattled me — I still am uneasy about my accident. But I didn’t leave. I kept moving and fighting on. Some of the exercises really hurt. Yet I continued. Because I know my training is about more than just exercise. It’s about mental conditioning, too. I know I’ll hit the turf again — while exercising and in life. AndI know I’ll get back up.

Life isn’t fair. But who said you have to be fair back? Just get back up and keep running. Show life who’s the boss. Because while you can’t control what happens to you, you sure can control how you react to it.

Happy Friday! What I learned this week:

1. Anyone can be a teacher. And it doesn’t require being positive. People can be horrible, selfish and nasty and still teach valuable lessons.
2. Rain is a mysterious liquid that falls from the sky and makes people forget how to drive.
3. Everyone has a powerful story if you take the time to listen.
4. There is some kind of nasty footrace between pollen and potholes this Spring. Right now, potholes are in the lead. But the trees are ready to take a dump on us.
5. NCAA brackets are made to be busted.
6. Always seize victory out of defeat. Sure, the tax cut didn’t pass. But the GOP now has a campaign issue for 2015.
7. RIP Inspection Stickers. See, we did get a $5 tax cut!
8. People in Jackson love a party. And Malcolm White throws a hell of one.
9. Everyone has problems. And they don’t necessarily want to hear yours.
10. I can count to 10.

P.S. And dementia really sucks.

In the fall of 1980, I received a seven-inch trophy. It had a little gold football player on the top and an engraved plate that read, “Marshall Ramsey, Most Improved.” It was my first real trophy.

I felt a surge of self-confidence. And receiving that moment of recognition changed my life for ever.

I was in seventh grade. The previous spring, I had tried out for football and it wasn’t pretty. By the end of spring practice, I was bruised inside and out. But I didn’t quit. I kept working. And by the end of that fall, I was standing there in front of my teammates and their parents.

Thirty-five years later, I can still feel that moment. I was pretty darn proud.

The Clarion-Ledger will be hosting the first MS Preps Banquet on the evening of May 28th in Jackson. New Orleans Saints Quarterback Drew Brees (a man who also knows a lot about hard work and not quitting) will be the speaker. Talk about star power. But the real stars in the room will be the student athletes from all around Mississippi. These young men and women have worked hard and sacrificed to get here. They are the best of the best. And what really appeals to me is that athletes from sports that normally don’t get the spotlight will also be getting their moment of glory on a big stage.

That’s awesome.

I know they’ll feel the same pride I felt so many years ago. And who knows, maybe the confidence they get from their trophy will propel them to the next level. And maybe, just maybe, one of them will be the speaker at the 20th MS Preps Banquet.

The banquet will be held at the Jackson Convention Complex and individual tickets are on sale for $50 through bestofmspreps.com. The deadline to buy tickets for the event is May 25.

My house is loud. I mean like a-747-at-takeoff loud. I have three boys and a dog who learned to bark in a helicopter. Chaos wears ear plugs here. Tornadoes say they sound like our house.

Silence is rare.

And when it is silent, it drives me nuts. Lord help me when everyone is out of town. Or at least give me a Xanax. I have to turn on every TV just to stay sane. I catch myself yelling at myself.

On any given day, the X-Box will be turned up too loud. You’ll hear my youngest telling someone about space or yelling at his brother. My middle son has taken to Joe Walsh’s guitar playing, so Rocky Mountain Way is added to the cacophony, too. You might hear a baritone being practiced. Or a guitar. A fight will occasionally break out (I have boys after all) And you know Pip will be barking at a squirrel, another dog or sometimes just air.

The loud noise in my house is the ribbon that wraps my life. And that ribbon is golden.

I used to think my purpose was to use my talent. Now, I know that it is to use my talent to keep that sound going. Because without my family, I am nothing.

In a few years, the boys will be gone on to raise families and the house will fall silent. Amy and I will sit in our easy chairs and yell at each other. Or at least have Pip bark her furry butt off.

Because in the Ramsey house, loudness comes from the heart.

Yesterday, I met Valerie. Today, I met CW. CW is that guy you normally walk past. He’s on the cleaning crew at The Clarion-Ledger and usually quietly goes about doing his job. This particular morning, I was in the vending area and saw him emptying the trash. Maybe it is because I used to be a custodian, but I have a habit of talking to people who clean. And this morning, I am glad I did. Let me tell you a little about CW. He will be 65 soon and is looking forward to retiring. He gets up at three and then as soon as this job is done, he goes and roofs houses. After that, he works three hours at the University. Like Valerie, he works long hours to get by. He asked me about what I did and I told him. I told about what I do at The Clarion-Ledger and what I do on my other jobs. He smiled and said he had admired my work he had seen on my desk. I smiled and said I admired his work as well.

And I do. Very much so.

I had a grandfather who had an insane work ethic. A bit of it has been passed down to me (although I still claim I am a lazy man hiding in work clothes). I think because of my grandfather, I admire people who bust their butts doing the job. I think it’s because I want to be like them when I grow up. If I ever do.

I look forward to getting to know CW better. Like Valerie, just meeting him has inspired me to work a little harder, smile a little more and to appreciate my job even more.

P.S. This is the post about Valerie: I met Valerie this morning while buying tea at Whataburger. She works overnight in Walmart and cuts hair during day. Valerie smiles and isn’t afraid of hard work. I just met her — yet admire her.

What’s your story?

We’re all storytellers. Here in Mississippi, it is practically a birthright. But seriously, what’s your story?

Because you can’t control most things that happen to you. But you sure can control your story.

Did you lose your job? Did your spouse leave you? Do you have a serious illness? Those are all bad things. Terrible things, actually. So, what’s your story? Are you a victim? Have you taken up drinking to cope? Are you completely distraught? That’s a pretty understandable story, to be honest and I wouldn’t blame you if you felt that way.

Or is your story perseverance. Are you fighting back? Do you wake up each morning and vow to overcome the obstacles sprinkled in your path? Is your story of one as a person who gets punched in the mouth and gets back up quickly? Do you inspire others? What’s your purpose in life?

What’s your story?

Is someone close to you behaving poorly? Are they hurting you and themselves? Is a relative drinking too much? Do they have a preventable disease? Are you afraid you end just like them? Your fears will only come true if you chose that story.

Stories have to have a foundation of truth. Ask Tiger Woods and Lance Armstrong what happens when you build your story based on a fib. You will end up with your wife planting a nine iron in your SUV’s back window. Or worse.

It’s like building your house on a foundation of sand.

No, your story has to be built on the rock of truth to be believable. For example, if you want your story to be “I’m a great father who spends time with his children, loves his wife and works hard to make the world a little bit better,” you can’t ignore your kids, cheat on your wife and be a corrupt business person. Once you write your story, take action every day to live your story. Then you’ll become it.

Be a storyteller. And make your story entertaining and life-changing for everyone around you.

So, what’s your story?