A Modern Christmas Carol

Posted on December 20, 2017 by Marshall Ramsey

Scrooge sat in his office, warmed by the glow of the flat-screen TV in the corner. On it was a chryon screaming, “Breaking news: Massive Tax Package passes both House and Senate, signed into law.” Scrooged grinned. It would be a very merry Christmas after all. He recognized the young man with the gavel. A few years ago, he had entered Scrooge’s office asking for a donation. Scrooge had initially tried to shoo him away, thinking he was one of those do-gooder charity people. But the young man had hit Scrooge with a different pitch. He was running for Congress and would go to Washington to fight the deficit — with Scrooge’s help. Scrooge, being the businessman he was, immediately wrote a huge check for the young man’s superPAC. It was the best investment Scrooge had ever made.

Scrooge picked up his tablet and read The Wall Street Journal. Sure, the deficit would soar under this plan, but he’d benefit nicely — and that was all that mattered. His corporation, Scrooge and Marley, Inc. would have a lighter tax burden and he’d personally get a nice chunk of change to slip into his pocket. It was his money after all. He’d have to give that nice young man another donation.

“Crachit, put some more coal on the fire!”

Bob Crachit was Scrooge’s assistant, or a FTE (full-time equivalent).

“Yes sir, Mr. Scrooge. I see you’re supporting the coal industry whole heartedly today!”

Scrooge dreaded what was about to happen next. Whenever Crachit sucked up to Scrooge, he wanted something.

“Um, Mr. Scrooge, um, tomorrow’s Christmas. May I have the day off?”

“Oh go home and rob me blind for a day,” Scrooge grumbled. But he was actually in a pretty good mood. He had just gotten a huge Christmas present from Washington. Crachit left his office and another man entered.

“Merry Christmas Uncle!” Scrooge cringed at the sound of the voice. It was his annoying Millennial nephew. “I just wanted to come by and wish you well and invite you to dinner.”

Scrooge knew better. Thanks to a reduction in the inheritance tax, his nephew stood to make a fortune as soon as he bit the dust. He was just there to suck up. “No,” Scrooge growled. “Go eat your Ramen by yourself.”

That night, Scrooge limped back to his gated community. As he prepared to punch in the access code, the keypad turned into his old partner Jacob Marley’s face. It couldn’t be. Marley had died of a heart attack in 2008 as the markets crashed. Scrooge shook his head quickly, entered his mansion, poured himself a drink and sat down.

Clang, clang, clang! He heard chains dragging down the hallway. “Maria, is that you?” Scrooge called out for his housekeeper — but it was just him in the house.

“Scrroooooooge.” Jacob Marley’s ghost hovered in front of Scrooge. “My business was mankind,” Marley moaned. Oh Lord, don’t tell me Marley had become a whiny liberal, Scrooge thought. Marley continued, “You will be visited by three ghosts.”

Scrooge said, “No, I won’t. Ghosts are fake news and you are fake news. I just had the best day of my life and you aren’t going to screw it up.” Scrooge knew it was his drink talking to him but just in case, he continued the conversation. “And don’t come in here preaching personal responsibility. I’m successful. You’re dead.”

Marley shook his head. “You hard-headed old fool, Scrooge. It’s Christmas.”

Scrooge thought of all the money he had made today and said, “Humbug.”

Marley pulled out his iPhone 1 and made a quick call. The Ghost of Christmas Future floated into the room. Scrooge felt a chill and he was suddenly swept out of his chair and into a graveyard.

There was Crachit burying his sickly son Tiny Tim. The CHIP program (which provided Tiny Tim’s insurance) hadn’t been reauthorized in time and he had passed away. Then the spirit showed Scrooge another gravestone. Scrooge used the light on his smartphone to illuminate the name. “EBENEZER SCROOGE.” Scrooge looked at the dates and immediately woke up. He knew what he had to do.

The day after Christmas, Scrooge waited for Bob Crachit to arrive. “Bob, you’ve been an loyal employee, but I’ve outsourced your job. I’m giving you one-week severance for every year you’ve worked here. Gather your things and be gone.”

Scrooge watched Crachit walk out of the office stunned. It was just business afterall.

Marley was sitting over the corner shaking his head. “You don’t get it, do you?”

Scrooge just smiled and said, “Jacob, this isn’t a weepy Christmas movie. It’s reality. And if I’m going to croak, I’m going out on top. Now go haunt someone else. I’m busy making Christmas great again.”

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A Conversation with Santa

Posted on December 12, 2017 by Marshall Ramsey

Dateline: The North Pole

As I trudged down the ramp of the giant cargo plane, I was greeted by a short man with pointed ears. Snow whipped around us like a leaf in a hurricane as his high-pitched voice pierced the roar of the engines, “Welcome Mr. Ramsey, I’m Randy the Elf.

I shook his tiny hand and lugged my suitcase off the plane.

“The main house is this way. Big Dog is waiting on you.”

Little did I know that Big Dog was Santa Claus’ security name.  One look would make you understand why.  He was 6’4″ and probably 325 lbs with bright pink cheeks. He chuckled as I approach as his belly jiggled like, well, a bowl full of jelly.

“Marshall! It’s good to see you!”

I was a little surprised he knew my name, but as we set up for the interview, I remembered that he knew if I was naughty or nice. Of course he knew my name. In a candid moment, he looked over at his TV. A panel of people on cable news were arguing over a no-brainer moral question.

“People have seemed to forgotten that the Naughty list has nothing to do with political affiliation.”

Soon the crew had the lights set up and cameras ready.  We both settled into our giant green plush chairs.  I pulled out a list of questions.

Are you real?

“Do I look real? Of course I’m real. I live in the hearts of those who believe and in every mall across America.”

So you haven’t been banned from any malls?”

“I’m not Roy Moore.”

I don’t think he cared for that question.  I went back to my list.

Age? Are you married? Do you have any aliases?

“I’m timeless. Mrs. Claus, who is at Bunko tonight, is my bride. I do go by several names. Google it.”

Let me ask you about your operation.

“Claus, Inc. Is a multinational corporation with factories across the globe. Ireland recently made us pay back taxes but I have our headquarters here to avoid high tax rates. I am hopeful the corporate tax cut being pushed by the Republicans will go through. I could use the cash to buy reindeer food.”

You brought up delivery, how do you deliver toys in one night?

“You know Dasher, and Dancer, and Prancer and Vixen, Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen, but do you recall the most famous reindeer of all?”

I answered, “Rudolph?”

Santa chuckled, “No, the UPS/FedEx/Postal delivery person.”  He seemed quite pleased with that answer.

Another political question, what do you think about our current President?

Santa rubbed his whiskers carefully before he answered, “You know those Tweets he sends?  Well, let’s just say he has truly made coal great again.”

Speaking of coal, how has global warming affected your operation?

“We lost our old factory to melting ice three years ago. That’s part of the reason I’ve moved my operations across the globe.”

What are you going to give Mississippi this year?

“The two museums was an early Christmas gift.  And a nice December snowfall for Central and South Mississippi, too.”

What about the war on Christmas?

“I watch a fair amount of Fox News and hear about that.  There is no formal war on Christmas.  The only place where there is a war is in peoples’ hearts.  Have you read Twitter lately?  People are so angry and hateful. They are self-proclaimed victims and are suspicious and jealous of everything.  THAT is the true war on Christmas. The reason for the season is the message of love brought to the world by that special little baby born that day.”

Your favorite Christmas TV special?

“I love Santa Claus is Coming to down. (Santa starts to sing “One foot in front of the other.”). Rudolph is good, too. Bumbles bounce, you know. I had a couple of elves who wanted to be dentists before the downsizing. But I love “A Charlie Brown Christmas.” The scene where Linus tells us about the real meaning of Christmas is divine.”

How about Christmas song and movie?

Santa Claus is Coming to Town by Bruce Springsteen and A Christmas Carol with George C.Scott — although I am partial to It’s a Wonderful Life, too.  I’m a big sap for happy endings. I starred in the original Miracle on 34th Street.”

Is there really an island of Misfit Toys?

“Yes. The Returns Department at Target. ”

Am I on the nice list?

“Don’t push your luck Ramsey. Don’t push your luck.”

 

 

 

 

 

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December 8, 1941

Posted on December 7, 2017 by Marshall Ramsey

December 7, 1941 is the date that lives in infamy, but December 8, 1941 is the date when America started to pick itself off the ground. The Pacific Fleet’s battleships lay in ruin. Oil burned on the harbor. Rescuers desperately attempted to help trapped sailors in the U.S.S. Oklahoma. Marines and Army troops fought futile battles in the Philippines, Guam and Wake Island. Germany had yet to declare war on the U.S. but three days later, the country would be sucked into that conflict, too. I’m not sure how Franklin Roosevelt and all the military leaders handled December 8th. Being in the fetal position would’ve been most people’s choice, I’m sure.

But we looked around and saw what we still had going for us. The Japanese did not hit the U.S. Navy’s aircraft carriers. They were out at sea. Fuel tanks and dry docks were also untouched. Within a few months, all but three battleships (the U.S.S. Arizona and U.S.S. Utah still remain in the harbor, the U.S.S. Oklahoma was raised for salvage) had been raised and sent back to war. Aviation legend Jimmy Doolittle and his raiders sent Japan a message when they bombed the mainland with their surprise attack. Marines stopped the Japanese in Guadalcanal. U.S. Carrier planes turned the tide of the war in Midway. The rest is history.

December 8th, though was truly the turning point. We had been punched in the mouth. We could have folded or fought. We chose to fight.

Think about this in your own life. You get punched in the mouth by life. What do you do? Complain? Whine? Fold? Quit? Or do you look around, see what you have in your favor and fight back?

It’s a good question to ask yourself.

But for right now, I salute the remaining Americans who fought back after Pearl Harbor. You went through Hell and returned forged tougher than steel.

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Happy Birthday Mississippi

Posted on December 5, 2017 by Marshall Ramsey

Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday Mississippi. Happy birthday to you.

Two-hundred years old? You don’t look a day over 100. But wow, two centuries is a long time.  And you definitely haven’t had a dull life.

I’ve only been here for a little over a tenth of it. So yes, I am a newcomer.  Some even say a Yankee, although I grew up in the Atlanta area.  I’m a Mississippian by choice. My kids, however, are Mississippians by birth. They’re why I always want the best for you.  I want them to see opportunity within your borders.  It would break their mama’s heart if she had grandkids who lived far, far way.

You’ve seen moments of great pain and moments of incredible triumph. Humans being held as slaves is about as painful as it gets. A great civil war burned across you, leaving scars we still feel today. Poverty has gripped you, too. It took the Civil Rights movement to get us to live up to the promise of Thomas Jefferson’s words — all men are created equal. And natural disasters? Among the worst that have ever hit this land.  Floods, tornadoes and hurricanes have not only shaped your landscape, but your culture. The river that gives us your name rose in 1927. The level broke and brought pain — and an exodus.  When the Devil met Robert Johnson at the Crossroads, it wasn’t his first trip to your land.

But the grit of sand in your oyster created amazing pearls.  The incredible pain of slavery and the Jim Crow era gave us the beauty of the Blues. Your natural disasters shook us into doing the right thing at the right moment. As I have said before, when things get bad, we get good. We saw it after Katrina along the Mississippi Gulf Coast and inland. We see it every time there is a tornado. Before you can crawl out the wreckage and say “chainsaws and casseroles,” there will be a church van in your front yard full of people who will feed you and cut the trees off your house.

That’s who your people are.

From the hills of Northeast Mississippi, to the flatness of the Delta, to the Pinebelt on to the sea, you are a complex state full of complex people.  There is no true black or white in Mississippi — and I don’t mean race. I mean good and evil. There are many shades of gray.  You are a land that tests every fiber of our being. Like a forge, you make us stronger. And you challenge everything we stand for. Well, some of us.

My great great grandfather spent a little time here during the Civil War.  I have his memoirs and have read what he had to say about you.  He liked you so well that he stuck around and became a Methodist Circuit rider in Northeast Mississippi. A teacher by trade, he founded the late Wood Junior college in Mathiston, Mississippi. I think he was run out of the state eventually — a fate that I’m sure will happen to me, too. But he loved it here.  I think it appropriate his great great grandson ended up here, too. I, too, love it here.

Your history is rich, textured and runs as deep as the great river on your western border.  From cannonballs to cotton balls, you have a heck of a story to tell. For many years, others told your story. It wasn’t always flattering. Sometimes it was harsh and undeserving. Sometimes it WAS deserving.  I applaud that you now have two grand museums to tell your story to generations to come. As our musicians and authors prove, this is a land of great storytellers and stories. I’m glad you have the courage to tell them.

Congratulations on the museums and 200 years. We have overcome so much. And we have a way to go. It’s a not always an easy journey. But it’s one worth taking.

Thanks for allowing me to come along for the ride.  Your birthday card is in the mail.

 

 

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A few notes from my brief career as Grand Marshal Marshall

Posted on December 2, 2017 by Marshall Ramsey

A few notes from my brief career as Grand Marshal Marshall.

1. I rode in a bright red, new Chevrolet Camaro SS Convertible. The 455 hp V-8 will propel the car from 0-60 in four seconds — and the only thing that kept me secure was clasping onto the car’s back with my butt cheeks. Thankfully we never got over a couple miles per hour. I did not fall off the car.

2. I made it goal to say “Merry Christmas” to nearly everyone (in groups) along the whole route. If it had been a drinking game (with eggnog, of course), I would have passed out by the first traffic light.

3. There were some really cute little kids along the route. A couple thought I was Santa (thanks to my hat). I said, “Well, I’m not that old, but I know you’re on the good list.” The parents would usually give me a knowing shake of the head and the proper look to go with it. Another young boys said, “There’s Mrs. Ramsey’s husband!” My celebrity knows no bounds.

4. I thanked as many people as I could for allowing me the honor of being their Grand Marshal Marshall.

5. My son was marching in his last Christmas parade behind me. That made being selected even more memorable. I got to get out at the end and see him march past. He had a harder chore, holding a baritone the whole time.

6. The weather was perfect. Cool, not cold or hot.

7. Saw many friends along the route. The best though, was seeing the look on my 10-year-old’s face when I went by. I offered him a chance to ride with me, but we didn’t slow down and I think he thought I was kidding. I did stand up and take a bow when I got to the judges stand. Maggie Wade Dixon, Kim Allen and Jan Michaels did a great job judging the floats.

8. Someone asked me why Pip didn’t come. She would have barked the whole route. Loudly. And probably would have gone after a dog or two along the way. She can be a brat sometimes.

9. The low-fuel light came one (a V-8 Camaro gets thirsty when driving in first gear). I figured I’d have to push. We made it with no problems.

10. It was fun. People were smiling and having a great time. I had a great time. Sadly, though, it had to end. I asked Amy if I could continue being called Grand Marshal Marshall. She said no. After my Camaro went away, I turned back into a pumpkin and went home and raked my yard.

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If the State of Mississippi was a Football Team

Posted on November 28, 2017 by Marshall Ramsey

In an auditorium, deep in a generic state building, a man with a bad haircut and a rumpled jacket walks onto the stage. The crowd falls into silence as he speaks.

“Good afternoon ladies and gentleman.  My name is Yazoo Jones and I’m the athletic director for the state of Mississippi.  As you may be aware, we’ve had several seasons of budget cuts and slow economic growth.  I’m here today to announce a potential coaching change and that we have hired a search firm to begin looking for a new coaching staff.  Here at the state of Mississippi, we value our fans and have a commitment to winning. I will now open the floor for questions.”

Reporters shoot their arms up in unison.

Jones points to a grayheaded reporter in the front, “Yes Rick.”

“Yazoo, what kind of buyout would the coaches receive if they are fired?”

Jones looks at his feet, shuffles them a bit and then says, “If we make a change, it’s called SLRP, Rick — Supplemental Legislative Retirement Program.  They get a sweetened retirement.  And of course, the 13th check.  Emily?”

Another reporter stands up and asks, “You mentioned slow economic growth? How slow is it?

Jone pauses and then continues. “We want to put the best product on the field. We have amazing talent.  In fact, I’d say among the most talented in the nation. But we’re losing players to other states. And we have a revenue problem.  The Legislative Budget Committee, projects the state will collect less general fund tax revenue than last year. This has happened three out of four years since 2016. And it doesn’t seem to get any better — the  projection for next season is only .37 percent more than what was collected five years ago.  Our program isn’t moving forward.  We are stuck at 5 and 5.”

The next reporter asks, “What about tax cuts?”

Jones shrugs. “Good question Hugh. They were promised to spur economic growth.  Doesn’t seem like that is happening yet. But you do have more money in your pocket.  You can use that to fix your car’s front end from the potholes in state roads or use it toward your kid’s rising tuition.”

The reporter follows up, “But there’s a lot of waste.”

Jones nods, “Yeah, it’s state government.  That happens. We’re hoping a potential new head coach can help make the program more efficient. But we’re cutting into the marrow now. The waste we find won’t be able to fund the needs we have. Tuition increases at colleges, teachers having to buy their own supplies, cuts in Medicaid, Health Department cuts, bad bridges and roads — that’s not waste. That’s hurts the program.”

Another reporter raises his hand, “Will the search committee look for someone within the program?”

Jones rubs his double chin and says, “Yes. Mississippi has leadership out there.  Our current coaches are talented, too. It’s just that something isn’t working.”

A voice from the audience chimes out, “You sound like a liberal.”

Jones chuckles a little bit and then gets a very serious look on his face. “This isn’t a conservative or liberal issue.  This is about winning.  Our program is stuck in neutral and we need to get it moving.  I don’t want to raise ticket prices. I want to make our product on the field so compelling that people are willing to come here and be a part of it.  We have the talent. We need to inspire that talent now.  We need to coach up our three-star recruits through education and keep our five-star recruits in the state.  We can’t burn the program to save it. But the people of Mississippi are fired up. They love their state.”

Another reporter asks, “what’s the time frame?”

Jones walks back to the podium and says, “We have two years to decide if we want to keep our current coaches or get new ones. Boosters and fans need to pay attention to the news and see what direction the program is going.  Then in November, we will vote to make a change or not. One last question.”

A voice comes out of the very back, “What about the team flag?”

Jones looks weary and sighs, “Just don’t put a black bear on it.”

 

 

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A brief history of Thanksgiving

Posted on November 17, 2017 by Marshall Ramsey

Happly Thanksgiving! It’s the one day of the year when we do what we should everyday. Yes, I mean give thanks. But did you ever wonder where all our Turkey Day traditions come from? Me, too. Here are a few dates, facts and tidbits for you to read while you stuff your turkey and your face:

1621 — After finding The Mayflower (a the local restaurant) closed, local Pilgrims are relieved to find a really good local Indian restaurant open. The starving Pilgrims enjoy a hearty meal of wild game, turkey, corn, fish heads and cranberry sauce from a can. Stuffed, Pilgrims declare the day a day of thanks.

1621 (later that afternoon) — First reported case of tryptophan poisoning occurs.  Pilgrims found facedown asleep in their plates.

1784 — In a letter to his daughter, Ben “I don’t have sense to come in out of an electrical storm” Franklin proclaims that the Thanksgiving turkey was “as wiry and tough as an eagle.” Then he rambles on that the eagle on the seal looks like a turkey. A myth was born.

1846 — Donner Party heads out on trip to see Grandma on Thanksgiving. Meal didn’t consist of turkey.

1863 — President Abraham Lincoln, while looking online for a new stovepipe hat, proclaims, “We need the day before Black Friday off.” He later went on to proclaim a national day of “Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwellers in the Heavens.”  The next year it was just shortened to “Thanksgiving” to better fit on calendars.

1890 — First documented case of an obnoxious relative spouting off about politics occurs.  Uncle Billy Bob Smith begins a 20-minute tryrade about President Benjamin Harrison and his ungodly liberal beard. That starts a timeless tradition that lives on even today: The relative who brings a big dish of awkward to the meal.  Later, investigators name alcohol an unindicted co-conspirator.

1897 — Jello-O brand gelatin invented. Dorothy (Dot) McMaster accidentally drops a salad into a cooling dish of gelatin. The Jello-O salad is born.

1920 — The National Football league is formed and Thanksgiving games begin. There are three games: One hosted by the Dallas Cowboys, one by the Dallas Cowboys and one with no fixed opponents — which I hope doesn’t mean fixed like a cat. In 2017, an NFL player takes a knee causing drunk uncle Billy Bob to unplug the TV and go on a rant.

1924 —  Inaugrual Macy’s Day parade kicks off in New York City.  In 1927, Felix the Cat debuted as the first giant balloon in the parade.  In 1932, the parade was broadcast.  Lipsynching singers appeared soon after that.  Santa, however, is real and don’t you ever try to convince me otherwise.

1942 – 1944 — World War 2 causes Macy’s Day parade to be canceled. Balloons were handed over to the government for scrap rubber. By 1945, the world was thankful World War 2 was over.

1956 — Interstate highway construction authorized by the Federal Aid and Highway Act of 1956. No longer will people have to travel over the river and through the woods to go to Grandma’s house.

1973 — A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving debuts. Snoopy gets trapped in a garage door. Kids eat popcorn and toast. Woodstock forced to eat another bird.

1974 — Grandma gets stuck washing dishes by herself. She stews quietly for years.

1980 — Mr. Whiskers the cat jumps on the table and eats the turkey. R.I.P. Mr. Whiskers.

1983 — Chrysler Corporation unveils the minivan. Trips to Grandma’s (who is still washing dishes by herself) house forever changed.

1989 — President George H.W. Bush is the first U.S. President to “pardon the turkey.”  Turkey later accuses President Bush of patting its behind.

2007 — Apple’s Steve Jobs introduces the IPhone. Families cease talking to each other at Thanksgiving and now just look at their phones.

2016 — Some stores open on Thanksgiving Day as Black Friday creeps into Thursday. Thankfulness replaced with raw consumerism.

2016 — Hillary vs. Trump means that millions of Americans sit silently at Thanksgiving dinner in fear, praying nothing is said about the election  — until Uncle Billy Bob yells, “Hold my beer.”

2017 — Grandma buys paper plates and orders Thanksgiving dinner from a restaurant. “To heck if I’m going to be stuck in the kitchen like the little Red Hen.”

2017 — Special Prosecutor Bob Mueller investigates a turkey’s tie to the Russian Government. President Donald Trump immediately pardons it.

2017 — I’m thankful for you and that you just read this column. Have a wonderful and safe Thanksgiving!

 

 

 

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Kindergarten 101 for Politics

Posted on November 15, 2017 by Marshall Ramsey

Since politics has devolved into kindergarten with big-boy pants, it’s a good time to revisit what we learned in preschool.  It was that time in our life when we suddenly were thrust into a classroom with different people. It’s where we learned how to get along with those different people.  Today, some of our leaders could use a refresher course in Kindergarten 101.  Here’s a handy, dandy guide of some of the things we learned back then.

Projection — Projection is when you are guilty of something but blame others around you. For example, little Johnny’s parents stuff him full of bean burritos the night before class. He comes to school and is gassy.  After a few unfortunate toots, he begins to accuse Sally, Jennifer, Mike and Jimmy of the crime.  Politicians LOVE projection. Just remember the old saying: He (or she) who smelt it, dealt it.

Whataboutism — This is super popular these days. Donny is caught with his hand in the cookie jar and says, “But what about Billy?!?”  A politician is caught with in a sticky ethical situation and his supporters all bring up a politician from another party who did something similar 20 years ago.  It’s logic that won’t work in a court of law (Sorry your honor, Frank murdered someone, too). But it sure works on cable channels and social media.

The Sandbox — Two kids, get in a squabble, sand is thrown and lots of crying.  But the two sand combatants don’t end up hating each other. They dust off the sand and get get back to playing.  Government used to be like that. It used to be similar to the sheepdog and coyote cartoons: They’d fight like heck all day long and then clock out as friends. Now if someone has a different letter behind their name, you have to hate their everliving slimy guts.  To quote one well-known orangish politician, that’s sad.

The Kickball Team — Rivalry is good. And if someone on the other team is caught cheating, you raise Hades over it. But if one of your players cheats, you don’t ignore it. Just because they are on your team, it’s still wrong. We’ve forgotten that.  It’s where we are today.  We bend into pretzel knots to defend someone on “our team,” when they do something despicable.  We use “whataboutism” to defend them. We claim to have the moral high ground but wallow in the ditch of excuses.

Taxes — If the big kid comes in an takes half your lunch money, you go hungry. You either deal with the bully or figure out a way to bring more lunch money.

The Martyr — This is the “I’ll take my ball and go home” kid.  The martyr says everyone is out to get him (or her). After awhile, the insane level of false victimhood gets annoying and the rest of the playground says, “Good, we’ll get another stupid ball.”  No one liked a whiny kid in kindergarten. I’m not sure why certain politicians think this is a good look for them today.

The Playground — The playground is a great metaphor for society. You can go out, meet people and play or you can just sit in the corner or hang with people just like you.  If you chose the first option, you will live a more fulfilled life.  And you won’t be scared witless of people you meet who are different than you.

The Meltdown — Ever notice how some kids would try to make you mad? And when you did explode, they’d steal part of your lunch?  Be wary of politicians (or anyone for that matter) who try to upset you. They’ll use you.  You don’t make good decisions when you’re mad. Don’t believe me? Watch the news.

Kindergarten was when we learned to play well with others. Today it’s a dying art. We’ve become polarized, distrustful and afraid.  It’s enough to make you want to go eat paste — or take your ball and go home.

 

 

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The house with a steel beam

Posted on November 14, 2017 by Marshall Ramsey

 

After 49 1/2 years, my sisters and I are saying goodbye to our parent’s home. Last weekend, we went through the last things to make sure we hadn’t left any precious keepsakes behind. I’ll admit, it was tough. Much tougher than I thought it would be. The house was such a part of who my parents were. Watching it being emptied out is like watching their names being erased in the sand by the surf.

When we were done, I walked around the house one last time. I went to each room to remember a positive memory. And I remembered some of the lessons I had learned, too.

I started in the basement. When Dad purchased the house in 1968, he bought it for two reasons: It had four bedrooms and a steel beam running the length of it. It was a solid structure. One that took a lot of punishment over the years. The funnel cloud that roared over it. Tree limbs coming through the roof. Drama from the people inside. I remember doing pull-ups on that beam to get ready for football season. It literally made me stronger. The house is such a powerful metaphor for my family: Not flashy, not perfect but strong.

I stood where my dad and I would work on cars together. When I was six, he and I restored a red 1953 Ford pickup. As he worked on the engine, he crushed his hand, let out a howl and a curse word. I asked him, “Isn’t it a sin to say that?” Dad smiled though his pain and said, “God and I have a deal. He’ll forgive me if I am good to other people.” While some may argue with his theology, I saw dad try to live up to that until his last breath.

I want to be like him when I grow up.

From there, I went upstairs to my bedroom. I could see an eight-year-old me sitting at my desk drawing cartoons while listening to the Braves games on WSB-AM. Dreams were born at that desk.

In the den sat two tubs of papers. I had missed them the previous times I had been through the house. There were clips of my cartoons, early drawings, letters of achievement, newspaper articles about my various successes and other scraps that tell my life story. My mother and I had some rough times but the fact she kept all that shows me that she was proud of me. That’s a comfort.

The dining room was where we ate together as a family. Our parents would make us sit down and tell them about the current events of the day. If we had an opinion, we had to back it up. My love for politics and political cartoons was born there.

I went to the backyard to say goodbye to my former pets. I thought of the love and joy they brought me. As I looked over the yard, it seemed so much smaller than when I was a kid. I took over mowing it in 3rd grade. One day, I couldn’t finish and had a meltdown. My dad came out, handed me a glass of water and told me, “If you had used that energy to keep cutting, you’d be done by now.” That was his way to teach me work ethic and to not be a whiner. I backslide occasionally. But when I do, I hear his voice telling me to keep cutting.

As I left, I could almost see my parents standing at the end of the driveway like they always did when I’d drive back to Mississippi. Then I looked at the house. That grand old house. It’s the place where I learned the values of strength under pressure, kindness, dreams, pride in your work, persistence and hard work. I said my final goodbye and said, “thank you.”
I hope it serves the next family equally as well.

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Ah the stories we tell

Posted on November 8, 2017 by Marshall Ramsey

A cold wind blew an even colder mist into my face. It felt like I was being stabbed by millions of little needles as I walked across the football field.

I looked at my watch: 4:49 a.m.

Ugh.

Lactic acid, the by-product of anaerobic exercise, burned in my legs. They were trash — the last two days’ workouts had beaten me down physically and mentally. I kept telling myself, “I’m tired. I can’t do this @#$@ today.”

That was the story I was telling myself. And you know what, if I had stuck with it, I’d have been right.

I stopped at the 50-yard-line before rejoining the shivering group of my teammates. I started thinking new thoughts like, “I’m so fortunate to have this opportunity to workout. I’m grateful that I am 49-years-old and can still perform athletically like I did 30 years ago (close). Today is going to be a great workout. I’m going to push through the tough moments and enjoy the easy ones.”

It might have been the ibuprofen kicking in, but my muscle pain went away. And guess what, I had a great workout today. (Yes, I am sore! But it is a good sore — the kind that means you’ve accomplished something.) And yes, it was hard at times but I plowed through it with my head up.

I write this because I’m sitting here this morning thinking about all the other stories I am telling myself. About my family. About my job. About my health. About who I really am. How many lies am I telling myself? How much negativity is holding me back?

If you think things suck, guess what — you’ll find all the things that reinforce that story. If you think that things are tough but you’re learning and will succeed in the long run, you’ll find things to reinforce it. Same situation. Different outcomes.

My “self-talk” needs a tune-up. That moment standing in the middle of the football field was a bit of an epiphany for me. We are the stories we tell ourselves.

So tell yourself a good (and realistic) one.

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