Marshall Ramsey

It was Lord of the Flies without the conch.

I volunteered at my son’s school today to help the his class build space creations out of things like milk cartoons, cardboard tubes, duct tape, foil and hot glue. (Basically the same materials my house is built out of.) As we walked toward the art classroom, my son’s teacher warned me, “You can turn back now.”  I looked into her eyes to see if she was kidding.

She wasn’t.

We entered the room and there were three moms in there.  They could sense fear in me. I had to mask it better. The kids would chew me up.

The door flew open.  I thought about the scene in Toy Story 3 when the preschoolers came flying into the room after the toys.  It was a 2nd-grader tsunami.

My son came over to me and gave me a hug (I’ll forever hang onto that memory.)  And then all the kids dumped their “spacecraft parts” onto the desks.  The building began.

I will hear “I need tape” in my sleep tonight. The kids said it more than Haley Barbour says “Marsha and I.”  Mr. Marshall, I need tape.  I need tape.  I need an aspirin.

I helped with three boys projects and assisted with four other kids’.  I got to know the kids.  Heck, I had a blast.

The hour passed quickly.  I went down and saw some of the other things the kids were doing and spoke to  a couple of the teachers I knew.  Then it was time to leave. As I walked out to the car, I came to these conclusions:

1. If I want my kids to get a good education, I darn well need to be part of it.

2.  I make a better uncle than parent — as in, I couldn’t teach full-time.  I am patience-challenged.  And I respect teachers — especially good ones — that much more.

3. A great school has great parents.

I pulled the last piece of tape off my face as I drove out of the parking lot and smiled.  I hope my son enjoyed it as much as I did.

My three-year-old woke in the middle of the night with a vicious nosebleed.  It’s not a good feeling to find your child’s head in the middle of a pool of blood. But it’s funny how your subconscious kicks in at a time like that. My wife held him, keeping him upright and I swooped in, stripped the sheets and cleaned the blood right up.  I was sound asleep — or as close to it as you could be an be considered awake.  My years of janitorial experience took over and the blood was gone within five minutes (my secret — hydrogen peroxide, in case you were curious). My subconscious ruled the day.  Or night in this case.

If I had been awake, I probably would have worried about it or even felt grumpy about the mess.  I guess it was a good thing I was asleep.  I probably should sleep through most of my life.  I’d be much more successful if I did.

Fear is a powerful motivator — for the short run.  You can only go so long being scared out of your mind and keep doing good work.  Like being chased by a bear, eventually you will wear out and be consumed by what you’re running from. You’ll run  out of steam. Break down.  One thing that has motivated me consistently over the years is pride.  Pride in where I work. Pride in the work that I sign my name to.  Pride in the community I serve (yes, I serve my community because I honestly want Mississippi to get better.). Pride is a long-term motivator.

I remember when I took the job at The Clarion-Ledger. My wife and I pulled up to the apartment complex we would eventually move into and I noticed a Clarion-Ledger paper box.  I thought to myself, “That’s MY paper box.” I’d walk into the building and look around and think, “This is MY paper.” That drove me for many years. It made me drive all over Mississippi and speak when others were home with their families. It made me draw seven cartoons a week (even on holidays and vacations) when most cartoons drew five a week.  It propelled me to two Pulitzer Finalist finishes.

Today I’m driven in pride in my work. And pride in this community.  November changed many things for me — but it will never change those two things.  Pride is what motivates me to plow forward when I don’t want to budge.  It’s my secret source of motivation.

Today I’m speaking to a group of spouses of Mississippi politicians. Fifty bucks I don’t survive.

You see, I’m not afraid of the people I draw.  Now, their spouses on the other hand — well, let’s just say I watch my back.  As you could imagine, I’ve had a few chilly receptions along the way.  But I’ve also had some laughs, too.  Phil Bryant’s wife Deborah likes how I draw her husband. Marsha Barbour does, too. But my favorite story revolves around one of my favorite people, former First Lady Pat Fordice.

Not long after Pat and Governor Kirk Fordice were divorced, I spoke at Galloway Methodist Church’s Wednesday night supper.  We moved into the sanctuary and I started my dog and pony show.  I told a story about a certain former Congressman’s wife who climbed my frame about how I drew her hubby and then I said, “I’m not afraid of the politicians. I’m afraid of their wives.”  Right as I finished, an immaculately dressed older lady popped up in the back of the room and shouted, “Don’t worry honey, I LOVE the beret (I drew Gov. Fordice with a “I heart PARIS” beret.  It was the former First Lady. I nearly dove under the table holding my projector.  The room roared with laughter.  I had no clue she was in the room and for one of the few times, someone got the best of me while I was speaking.