Marshall Ramsey

I went to Washington D.C. last October and was afraid to drink the water.  Apparently something causes people up there to lose touch with reality.  The reality of the average American who’s trying to weather this economic storm.

I understand that jobs are very important to the folks up in D.C. — well, their jobs that is.  2012 is the focus and both sides of the political aisle are going to do whatever it takes to hold onto (or grasp more) power.  There’s gridlock and a complete lack of trust.

Saturday I sat in the backyard of a west Houston home.  Houston, Texas is not a bastion of liberalism, so I knew that I was talking to a pretty wide cross-section of folks. There was an airline mechanic and pilot. A rancher. A man who was retired and lived in the country.  One of the nations brightest melanoma researcher.  A retired English teacher from New Orleans.  All without much in common politically — other than they were all completely fed up with Republicans and Democrats. And they were all worried about the direction this country is headed.

They were smart people who are completely frustrated.  It’s interesting to hear the talking heads on cable TV news and politicians going on about how they are righteous.  That kind of surety in this economy makes me thing that the Mayans just might be right — 2012 will be the end of their political world after all.

It was late in the evening and the dog would have licked himself, but thanks to the vet and Bob Barker, that would have required a trip to the town dump to do so. “Spay and neuter my fuzzy butt,” he thought. But what was gone was gone, so he did the next best thing: He went to sleep on the human’s bed.

Next thing he knew he was awakened by a crash of thunder.

It was 4 a.m.

“SON OF MY MOM!” he barked as he fell off the bed and onto the floor.  He hated storms. No hated wasn’t the proper word. He LOATHED storms..  He paced around the room, shivering, before he went and checked on the human kids. They were his pack and he was the pack leader. There was so much to worry about when you were a dog.  Humans had no idea.

The lightning looked like a thousand paparazzi were out in the yard taking pictures. The continuous flashes lit the night sky. “How could the humans sleep through the end of the World ?” he thought as his heart rate began to race faster and faster.

A bolt of lightning hit an old oak nearby. The instantaneous crash of thunder shook the house and rattled the China.  He barked in panic!  ARRRGGGGGHHH!!!!.  (He could feel a little bit of pee come out!)  Then the rain started to fall.  Gentle at first but then more and more  a torrent that made a sinister hissing noise as it hit the roof. The gutters overflowed from the copious amount of rainfall.  Another close bolt of lighting caused the dog’s  panic to hit 11 out of 10.  He began to pant.  Fear had hooked its leash to his collar and was taking him for a walk.

The Weather Radio went off.  “GREAT,” the dog thought. “I’m going to DIE!”  It was Severe Thunderstorm Warning.  Apparently the radio picked up the obvious frequency.

Noise stirred from the master bedroom as one of the humans got out of bed.  Feet hit the ground with a thump and footsteps came toward him.

“Hey boy,” the half-awake human said, as he knelt down and started petting the frightened dog. “I don’t like storms, either.”  The dog had been fine with storms until Hurricane Katrina blew through in 2005.  After that Hell storm, no mas.  The big, sleepy man gently comforted the little brown dog.  “Let’s take you to your Crate of Solitude.”

The Crate of Solitude was a dog kennel with towels over it.  The dog felt safe in there and could not see the lightning (which was the worst part for him.)  The human picked him up and continued to stroke his head. “It will be OK. I promise.”  Another bolt of lightning and crash of thunder mocked his assurances.

The dog was put in the crate with a treat and a blanket.  He turned around three times, searching for the proper place to lie down.  It took a fourth, but he finally found it.

The dog sat in his Crate of Solitude, pondering the meaning of storms and worrying about his pack.  After much pondering and worrying, sleep finally came and stroked him behind the ears.

It had been a two-hour flight but it seemed much longer. Apparently airline seats were designed by grumpy sadists, the weary traveler thought. Or at least small ones. He was 6’2″ and wished he was about three-feet tall. Crumpled into a question-mark shape and feeling the pain in his back, he leaned his head against the hard plastic side of the plane and tried to sleep.  It evaded him like an escaped prisoner hiding from the law.

He stirred around trying to get comfort without hitting the man sitting next to him. He had a better chance of locking lips with Angelina Jolie. Next to him was a large man who was even larger than him. His big row mate was in his own world and devouring a magazine word for word.  For an hour and a half they sat there trying not to bump into or speak to each other.

The jet pierced the white clouds at 27,000 ft. and then the whine of the engines changed pitch.  The familiar sinking in the traveler’s stomach meant that the plane was beginning its descent.  The flight attendant took his peanut bag and the two men looked at each other.

“How are you?”

“Fine.”

“You live here?”

“Yup.”

The small-talk flowed like water.  And then something unexpected happened: The small-talk turned into meaningful-talk.

It was an amazing conversation about politics, the problems with America, the frustrations of the economy and the hope that this great nation could turn around.

“You know the secret of it all is, don’t you? Particularly with your children.”

“What,” the traveler asked to his now-talkative row mate.

“Love your wife and spend time with your children. Read to them. Throw ball with them. Listen to them. Be a family. Take the time to be in their lives.  It’s all about time and time invested. ”

The traveler sat there stunned. It was wisdom he desperately needed to hear.  For nearly two hours he had sat there in silence only to then get 15 minutes of sage advice.

The plane landed and taxied to the gate. The doors opened and the crowded jet emptied out. The row mate got off the plane first and headed up the jetway.  The traveler fumbled with his bag in the overhead bin and ran after him to thank him one more time and to get his name. But by the time the traveler got to the terminal, his row mate was gone.

Messengers show up in the strangest places and in the strangest ways. And usually, they disappear the same way.

Right after takeoff from Houston’s Hobby International Airport, the airliner banked hard and turned toward home.  My nose was pressed against the window, looking straight down at the ground. I watched as the plane chased its shadow across the city of Houston and the MD Anderson Cancer Center complex.  I thought about Kelly. She was down there somewhere. Her smile. Her one swollen leg. Her tumors. I thought about Kelly. How she had put her life on hold and moved to Texas to seek a miracle — a cure for Stage IV melanoma.

Last Saturday, I had the honor of emceeing the fourth annual AIM at Melanoma 2011 Houston Walk. It’s the baby of Judy Sager — an amazing woman who’s fighting the horrible disease that took the life of her husband Jurgen Sager.  Each melanoma survivor got a special t-shirt. And when I wasn’t talking, I was seeking out the special shirts and the survivors who were wearing them. I was amazed at their stories of bravery. Of pain. Of fear. And of hope.

Kelly’s story really moved me.  Maybe it was her sense of humor (just like mine) or maybe was it her inspiring determination to make a miracle happen (she managed to walk half of the 5K course).  Or maybe it is because she’s my age and is a parent, too.  I felt my scar as I talked to her.  There but for the Grace of God go I.

Later that afternoon, I met the Chairman of the Melanoma Department, Dr. Patrick Whu.   We discussed the research MD Anderson has been conducting.  How they are on the verge of making miracles.  Saturday’s race gave them over $80,000 to help do just that.

I said goodbye to Kelly late Saturday morning and hoped it wouldn’t be for the last time. I prayed that Dr. Whu and his team will find that miracle for Kelly and the thousands of other melanoma warriors need. I want them to live long and full lives.

I thought of Kelly one more time today as my plane pierced a cloud as the shadow and the City of Houston disappeared from sight.

Nearly twenty years after he had uttered the words “I do,” the middle-aged man sat awake in his bed staring at the person who had echoed those fateful words.  She was bundled up in her blanket, almost in the fetal position. Her face wore a scowl — if she was dreaming, it was a fitful dream. Being married to him would do that to a woman.

The room was dark as he spun his feet to the left and planted them firmly on the carpeted floor.  He had woken up before his alarm once again:  4:48 a.m.  A quick stretch and he quietly stumbled into the kitchen. He plugged in the hot pot; it was time to make tea.  He thought about attaching jumper cables to his nipples to wake himself up.  Nah, caffeine would have to do.

The water in the pot started to hiss, breaking the silence that held the house in its cold grip. On the other side of the house, the kids were asleep. He walked over to their rooms and stuck his head in to peek at them.  It made him laugh how much they looked like their mother right now.  The boiling water beckoned him back to the kitchen.

He grabbed two bags of green tea and dunked them in the quart-sized cup.  He had hated green tea initially — it was like drinking grass clippings soaked in dishwater. But over time, he had grown to enjoy it.  Steam rose off the cup and he savored the aroma of the steeping beverage.

It was silent again.  And dark.  It was the first day of fall and even the sun was sleeping in this morning.  He picked up a pen and started twirling it in his fingers.  It was a move he had learned from watching Top Gun in 1986.  That was the spring of his life.  And like the day that was about to dawn, the season of his life was moving into fall, too.

He looked at the pad of paper and started jotting down the blessings in his life. That quickly filled a page.  He then wrote down the challenges.  That also filled a page, too. He realized that he had been so caught up in his own concerns that he had just turned inward.  Not good.  He started twirling the pen again.  He felt the need. The need for caffeine.

He stared at the steaming cup again and wondered what a man had to do to get an epiphany.  It always seemed so easy — like when Maverick grabbed Gooses’ dog tags while fighting the Mig 28’s and decided to engage the enemy. What would it take for him to engage his own life. To quit being afraid?  He looked at the steaming cup yet again. Why did he keep going back to it?  Tea. TEA.  TEA!

He needed TEA! He wrote furiously.

T for Talent: He was a big fan of the Parable of the Talents. Twenty years ago he stumbled across their power and always worked hard to be the servant who didn’t bury his talents.  He knew that he could apply his God-given abilities and dig out of any hole.  At that moment, he renewed his vows to his talent.  From here on out, he would make the most out of what was given to him.

The tea seemed to be steaming even more now.

E for Effort: GET TO WORK!  It’s one thing to have the talent — but you have to apply it! He thought about Mark Twain’s great quote about reading, “A person who won’t read has no advantage over one who can’t read.”  He knew that having a talents meant NOTHING if you didn’t use them!  And more you worked, the more you used them.  He smiled and checked the tea. It seemed hotter than ever.

But what was the missing ingredient? One last cloud of steam rolled off the cup.

A for Attitude: Talent and effort meant nothing unless you had a positive and energetic attitude.  People were attracted to a winner.  A person who smiles. Who does instead of complains.  He hadn’t been that guy.  And it was like trying to drive with your parking break on. His life was being held back by one person: Himself.

Talent Effort and Attitude.   T   E   A  — > Tea.   All had to be together or it wouldn’t work.

He held the cup of tea in his hands and it had finally cooled enough to take a drink. He felt its warmth flow down his throat and into his stomach. The caffeine lit the pilot light of his brain’s furnace.  He finished jotting down his new way of living life and headed back to the bathroom to take his shower. As he passed his sleeping wife, he looked at her beautiful face.  Her face’s scowl was gone, replaced with a slight smile.