Marshall Ramsey

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?

The convoy kicked up a cloud of dust into the sapphire blue Afghanistan sky. Sergeant Jimmy “Killer” O’Reily grumbled. He knew the Taliban could see them for miles. As he leaned on the Humvee’s .50 caliber machine gun, he scanned the hills.

They were a sitting duck and he knew it.

And he knew it from experience. This was his fourth tour overseas. One to Iraq (that was a bucket of chuckles) and three to Afghanistan. The moon was a more hospitable place than Afghanistan. And there weren’t little green men trying to kill you every turn along the road. His luck was running out.

An A-10 Warhog roared overhead. Basically a plane built around a Gatling Gun, the A-10 was a Marine’s best friend. When it came time for close air support, it was Killer’s weapon of the choice. The sound of its gun firing made a “BRRRAPPPPPT!” sound — and it sounded like the song of angels. Or at least the song that sends people to see the angels.

Death. Killer tried not to think about dying. But he had seen too many friends go home in body bags. There really was nothing more heavy than a corpse.

He wiped his forehead with a glove.

And then everything went black.

Killer found himself sitting on a worn, wooden dock. He looked around at the green trees in the distance. This wasn’t Afghanistan. No, there was too much water. And too much foliage. It looked like…. like….. well, it looked like the Tennessee River. But it couldn’t be. And besides, the water wasn’t murky brown. It was crystal clear. He saw bass and bream swimming by the dock. The dock seemed familiar.

Killer recognized it immediately. It was the dock at his grandparent’s cabin.

“There you are little Jimmy. I’ve been lookin’ for you. Need any help baitin’ that hook?” Killer recognized the soft Southern drawl. It was a voice who had comforted him when his parents had died so long ago.

“Grandpa?”

“Of course. Who else would it be?”

Something must have happened. One minute he was in Afghanistan and the next…

The old man sat down on the dock next to him. “Been waitin’ here for you. I love fishin’ with my little Jimmy.”

Jimmy felt tears well in his eyes. “Grandpa, why am I here?”

“Because you aren’t there.” It sounded like something the old man would say. “But you can be. You have a choice. You can stay here and fish with me. Or you can go back.”

“Back?”

The old man waved his arms and the clear water turned into what looked like a video screen. There, in front of Killer, was a burned-out hulk of the Humvee and a crater where the roadside bomb had gone off. A Medivac Blackhawk helicopter landed and loaded his body on board. Killer saw the dust leap off the water.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you stayed. It will be a rough road for you.” He waved his hand again. Killer could see him going through multiple surgeries. “You’re not going to come out of this whole.”

Killer saw himself in rehab. He saw the struggle. He could tell he was in pain.

“You have a choice.”

“A choice? Why should I go back?” Killer felt fear creep into his soul.

The old man waved his hand again and Killer saw himself at the Children’s Hospital, playing with kids who also had lost their legs. He saw himself running a marathon. He felt the inspiration as he spoke before other veterans at the local VA. He saw himself in Congress. He saw his first child being born.

“You have a choice. You can live. But you’re going to have to truly live — and pay your blessing forward. But no whining. No pity parties. You have served your country. Now you must go serve your fellow man.”

Killer looked at the water and said, “God doesn’t give you anything you can’t handle.”

The old man ceased to look like his grandfather and started glowing.

“No son, I don’t.”

Right now, our brothers and sisters up North are laughing at us (just like we laugh at them when they melt when it gets over 75 degrees). They think it is downright hilarious that we can’t drive in snow. Well, for the record, we can drive in snow. What we can’t do is drive on several inches of ice. And I don’t think our Northern friends can either. Add to the misery is that the only plow we have is connected to a mule. We believe that salt goes in margaritas and not on roads. We don’t live in the frozen tundra (Boston) so we don’t have the experience of driving on white death. I mean, c’mon, it was 80 degrees here yesterday. Add to it, I can make a solid case that we can’t even drive when it is sunny. (don’t even mention rain — there will be 100 car pile-up on the Waterworks Curve.)

So here are a few tips for coping with driving on today’s sleet and ice.

1. Get the Flu. Staying home is your best option.
2. Act like you have the Flu. Even better. That way you won’t have the flu.
3.Get your teaching degree. You stand a better chance of staying home when there is ice. Administrators try to avoid buses full of children from plunging off of icy bridges.
4. When you get to a bridge, slam on the brakes. Seriously, don’t do that. But I seems like most of you do. Ease off the gas and coast across the bridge instead.
5. Black Ice is not an illegal drug made in a RV by a guy name Walter White. If the road looks wet and the temperature is below 32, it’s safe to say the road is icy.
7. Elevated surfaces freeze first. That includes bridges, overpasses, culverts and politicians’ egos.
8. Scrape your windshield — unless you like driving blind. Apparently some of you do.
9. Pray. Because it seems like most of the cars around you have decided to let Jesus take the wheel.
10. Wait and let others do the wrecking for you. If you can telecommute, great. If not, let the trailblazers get out there and play demolition derby for you.

Bonus: Have a buddy with a 4×4 truck and a chain on speed dial.

Godspeed folks. And remember. When in doubt, slam on your brakes. Life is too short. Make it shorter.