Marshall Ramsey

Last weekend, our nephew Ian got married to his wonderful girlfriend Lindsay at the town hall in Rosemary Beach, Florida. It was a grand affair — one of the happiest weddings I can remember.

They’re off to a good start.

During the reception, a voice from behind me said, “Are you Marshall Ramsey?” Considering 99.9% of the crowd was from the Atlanta area, it caught me off guard. Maybe someone else besides us was from Mississippi? I turned around and saw a woman about my age. She was attractive but I didn’t recognize her.

“Yes.”

She replied, “You took me to the senior prom.”

I looked again and sure enough, she was right. It was Tammy Wayne, who had gone with me as a friend. We ate, went to the dance and then I dropped her off afterwards. She was dating someone else by that point. I went off and had fun with my friends.

It was nice night.

I didn’t see her again after that.

Thirty six and a half years later, there she was.

We caught up on three decades of life, I introduced her to Amy and my middle son. I couldn’t hear well (the band was amazing and loud and I’m deaf when things starting getting the least bit loud). I did hear her say a couple of times that I hadn’t changed.

I drink Formaldehyde after all.

She is a good friend of the bride’s mom. I’m uncle to the groom. What are the odds?

She walked away and I didn’t see her again after that.

Life is totally random. And I’ll probably bump into her again in the nursing home.

My dad, Dave Ramsey, graduated from The University of Tennessee in 1959. I graduated from there in 1991. Talking UT football was our currency — it was the one thing I knew we could always talk about. I’d love calling him after a game and sharing notes. It was a tradition that started on September 6, 1980 when he took me to my first UT game. Tennessee had just expanded Neyland to seat 98,000. The day was crowded, hot and electric — My blood turned from red to orange. That’s the game when Herschel Walker ran over Bill Bates. Georgia won the game but lost a prospective student. In awe of Neyland Stadium, I looked at Dad and said, “I’m going to school here.”

Six years later, I did.

When dementia cast a cold shadow across his mind, I could no longer call him up and chat about OUR Volunteers. Dementia is like getting an advance on grief.

I would love to hear his hot takes on the Vols big win over Alabama.

This much I do know: He’d love Josh Heupel and would love seeing Neyland Stadium back alive like it was on that hot day in 1980. I know I do.

A few years ago, when I was in Neyland, I walked down at the end of the game from the club section to where Dad and I sat on that hot September day. I plopped onto the aluminum bleacher and I sat for a moment. I closed my eyes and was transported back to 1980. The stadium came alive. I was 13 again. I could feel Dad sitting next to me.

As Amy and I were driving home from our sons’ university Saturday night, I listened as Tennessee finally got the Alabama monkey off its back. I looked off to my right and saw the sky in North Mississippi glowing a beautiful bright orange. My hand reached for my phone to call my Dad.

God how I wish I could give him a call.