A time to give

Right now, thousands are waking up on a shelter cot, wondering, “what the hell is next?” Because Hell already visited them in liquid form. Brown, murky flood waters quickly rose in the night, stealing homes, dreams and lives.

Our friends in Louisiana are suffering.

A flood really is the worst. When the water goes down, your stuff is still there. It’s just ruined. Plus, it’s not like your neighbor can take you in. He or she is equally suffering. Heck your whole neighborhood and town are, too. And because it’s not as sexy as a hurricane or tornado (which both suck), the national media practically ignores you. The cavalry aint’ coming from afar.

It will be your neighbors after all. Good people who somehow avoided the devastation will put their boats in the water and will rescue you. The Cajan Navy is a prime example of this. Good people do good things.

There are a lot of good people in Louisiana.

This once-in-a-lifetime weather system put down as much water as the Mississippi River dumps into the sea — in 40 days. It will be years before the affected areas fully recover. We’re sitting here, 100 plus miles away, high and dry. But our day will happen. We learned that during Katrina. During our various tornadoes and ice storms. And as Jackson has learned itself, during floods.

Louisiana will recover. They are tough people. But it will happen quicker if we help. If you get a chance to make a donation, do. Because there will come a time that we need that kind of help, too.

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Scars

Scars make you tougher.

I just finished a piece about the flooding in Louisiana and a couple of the comments reminded me that yes, Louisiana will be OK. But they will be scarred.

I know a little bit about scars. A friend of mine asked me recently if I had any tattoos. I replied, “no, I do scars instead.” And boy do I ever — I have 80 of the darn things. Most of them are nearly invisible now (the gift of a great plastic surgeon), but they’re there. I feel them when I work out. When the weather changes. And when I stretch the wrong way. I have one that is several inches long on my back. I used to tell staring swimmers that it was from a shark attack.

If you can’t laugh at things that drive you crazy, you’ll go, well, crazy.

Most of my scars are from bad moles. I’ve had one malignant melanoma, two melanoma in-situs and nearly 70 dysplastic nevi. I’m darn lucky to be here. And when I forget that? I rub my scar.

Because of my scars, I appreciate life in ways I never did before. I am more empathetic, too. There is nothing quite like your own skin trying to kill you that will make you less self-centered.

Scars are bookmarks for your life story. Whether it is a great loss, a broken heart, cancer, heart surgery or an accident, they represent that moment in time when you had to make a choice. “Will fight or will I give up?” Your scar is proof that you fought — and won.

I wouldn’t trade a single one of my scars. Not a one. Although the I do mourn the loss of my career as an international back model. But somehow I think I will survive.

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An open letter to my boys on the first day of school

To my boys,

School is here. While the thermometer may disagree, summer is over. No more sleeping late. No more binge-watching Netflix. Time to cut Snapchatting back by at least 1/2. It’s time to get up, get ready and get the heck out of the house. Here are a few things I want you to remember today:

  • You’ve gotten your school schedules. You’ve already done reconnaissance on your teachers. Great. I only request one thing: Go into their classes with an open mind. Remember, just because one of your friends didn’t like a teacher might have something to do with your friend, not your teacher.
  • Sit as close to the front as you can. Ask questions. Seek help after class or make an appointment. If your teacher knows you, that will help your grades — and your learning experience.
  • Do your homework. I know, you just heard that in your mother’s voice. But do as much preparation as you can before you get to class. The more you are exposed to material, the easier it is to learn it.
  • Don’t make good grades your goal. Make learning your goal — good grades will follow.
  • Don’t cram for tests. Trust me, you won’t remember anything a couple of days after the test.
  • Don’t procrastinate. Do as Elvis said, “Take care of business in a flash.”
  • Have fun. I’m 30 years out from high school and I still remember the good times. (Just don’t have too much fun. I’m still your parent, after all.)
  • Know that your mother and I are very, very, very proud of you. We are here to support you. Now, if you screw up and get in trouble, you must pay the consequences. But we’ll always be behind you to help you succeed. We know your potential. You can exceed us in so many ways.

Just remember this.

Chase your dreams. Catch your dreams. Own your dreams.

You’ve got this.

Love, Dad.

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Laughs 4 Life: Making your story about how you got back up

Frank Caliendo is stunned by my impersonation of him impersonating me. He said I sounded just like myself.

Frank Caliendo is stunned by my impersonation of him impersonating me. He said I sounded just like myself.

If you fall down, don’t make that your story. Make how you got back up your story.

If I was going to personify that statement, I’d nominate Hattiesburg’s Kent Oliver. Oliver was recently diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma, which is cancer of plasma cells (a type of white blood cell normally responsible for producing antibodies.). But instead of making that his story, he decided to find a way to serve others. That’s how Laughs 4 Life was born. And last night, Hattiesburg benefited from Kent’s vision.

Comedian and impressionist Frank Caliendo performed a hilarious set at the Saenger Theater to a packed crowd of over 800 laughing folks. Caliendo, famous for his impressions of Morgan Freeman, George W. Bush and John Madden, brought the house down. Pure joy is hearing him impersonate John Madden fawning over Brett Farve with Brett Farve in the room!

Kent’s vision raised over $100,000 for Multiple Myeloma research and the Forrest General Cancer Center. And the Hattiesburg area was treated to an amazing night of comedy.

Here’s the thing, Kent could have sunk into sorrow. He could have used the cancer as an excuse to give up. But instead, he used it as an opportunity to serve. His story isn’t about illness. It’s about joy and laughter. Since last April, Kent and his friends put together a dinner, a comedy show and an after party. They raised thousands of dollars. They educated people about a devastating form of cancer. And they pushed the needle closer to a cure.

It’s not how you fall. It’s how you get back up. And Kent Oliver got back up with a smile.

We all can learn from that.

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Take a beating at 5 a.m. so you can take one at 5 p.m.

Ten weeks into my boot camp, I am sore.

That says a lot about the difficulty of my workout — and for the fact that I missed a few days due to my dad’s passing. The heat hasn’t helped either. I do terrible when it is over 75 degrees. Apparently my people came from caves in Sweden. I sweat profusely and I get melanomas.

I’ll admit, I was tired this morning. But I’ve been tired for over two years. Getting up and crushing it in the morning is my form of psychotherapy. If I challenge myself at 5 a.m., I can handle what 5 p.m. throws at me. You have to build your will like a muscle.

This morning, my will got a solid workout. I think the most challenging moment for me was bear-crawling across the football field with a 25-lb. weight balanced on my back. I did it. And now I am ready to lose 25 lbs.

I left the field covered in sweat and exhausted. And I’ll do it again tomorrow. Life isn’t going to get any easier. Now is the time for train for it.

Did I mention I am sore?

Take a beating at 5 a.m. so you can take one at 5 p.m.

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Thanks Dad

DadThese are remarks about my Dad’s passing that I shared on my 7/11/16 radio show:

 

A week ago, I was sitting in a hospital holding my father’s hand as he struggled to breathe. I had just rolled into Atlanta from Mississippi and was in shock from all the driving and the sensory overload caused by the hospital. Dad had been admitted earlier in the day and hadn’t opened his eyes, but he knew I was there. And he knew my oldest sister was there, too. She had just gotten back from her vacation. When he heard our voices he’d mumble or squeeze our hands. When my middle sister made it in from out of town, he turned his head slightly toward her voice.

He was glad we were with him.

Dementia had robbed him of much of his memory – the last couple years have been rough on him and our family. But dementia never truly defeated my dad. He still knew his kids. He still loved his wife. Although he struggled with details, the core of who he was still existed.

But we weren’t there because of dementia. His kidneys were shutting down. He had a UTI infection. And he was letting go.

The next day, my sisters and I continued to hold his hand after he had been transferred to hospice

He was transitioning.

The peacefulness of the hospice facility caused him to be more calm. I arrived early Tuesday morning to tell him what a good dad he was. What a difference he had meant to the community. And what an amazing life he had.

My dad died the way he lived – with a purpose. He passed away on his 59th wedding anniversary and was surrounded by his three children. When he took his last breath, I thought of Victor Hugo’s quote: To love another person is to see the face of God.

It was definitely a God moment.

In typical Ramsey fashion, my sisters and I worked hard to execute all the plans my mother (to her credit) had set up. The funeral home was contacted. So was my parents’ minister. Everything was set. My sisters and I sat together that night and thought of all the good memories we had – and some of the bad ones. My dad never played favorites with us. Yes, he loved us in different ways. But we are very different people.

We are remarkably close. It’s my dad’s gift to us.

Saturday, my sisters and I stood in front of a fairly full church and told everyone what we had learned from our dad. My middle sister spoke first and was elegant and funny. My oldest sister then spoke and hit it out of the park. I batted cleanup and told what lessons I had learned from dad. When my sons were born, I realized I had no experience with kids. I fell back on his example on how to be a father.

From him teaching me to waterski (my father waterboarded before it was popular), I learned resilience. He’d pull the boat up to me after I had fallen and drank about half of the Tennessee River and say, “It’s not how you fall, it’s how you get back up.” After I had cancer surgery, he made me get out of bed and walk the neighborhood. As he walked with me he said, “It’s not how you fall, it’s how you get back up. Make THAT your story.”

He taught me that humor is a healing balm. I learned about giving back to the community. I learned about having a quiet faith. Dad was a pray in the closet kind of guy. He wasn’t flashy. But he tried to be good to others.

We need more like him in this world, not less.

Whenever we’d all go out to eat, Dad would announce “That was the best meal I’ve ever had.” My kids joke about that. Heck, I do to. But as we were sitting together the other night after his funeral, I realized I had had the best meal I had ever had. And it wasn’t the food. It was the company.

Dad loved his family first. That was the meaning of success to Dave Ramsey. He lived for family. And he died with them holding his hand.

He was the most successful man I’ve ever known.

We live in a world of turmoil. The past week has had violence and brutal killings. People are talking past each other, not too each other. Empathy is not a hashtag. Empathy is understanding. Dad taught me empathy.

I sat by his coffin Saturday afternoon as it was about to be lowered into the ground. I saw two motorcycle policemen salute dad as the flag was folded. I saw graves for people of every race, gender and nationality. But they all had one thing in common – they were underground. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

We’re all headed there. While it is fun to get on social media and scream about our differences, we all have the same fate in store for us.

I was blessed to have my dad for 81 years. He was funny, grumpy, wise, kind, loud and giving. He believed in his son and his crazy dreams. He wasn’t perfect – neither am I but he was perfect for me. As his coffin exited the church, the organist played Rocky Top and the crowd sang. Everyone left on an up note – dad, a UT graduate, would have wanted that. That’s who he was in life.

Thanks Dad. I celebrate your life. And I’ll see you again. But until then, I hope I’m half the man you were.

 

 

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It’s not the heat, it’s the humility

When my son and I got out of the car at 4:45 a.m., it felt like we were stuffed under a tongue. I knew today’s workout would be difficult. For once in my life, I was right.

I was sweating profusely during warm-ups.

Oh Hell.

Literally. It was nearly 80 degrees at 5 a.m. The humidity was like syrup. New flash: I don’t cool down efficiently. My inability to sweat enough made today struggle. So by the time I got to the pushing the bags across the field, I sucked. Big time.

I was gasping like a catfish on a dock.

I ran off the field today a little discouraged. After 8-weeks, I should have done better than THAT. I guess it would have been easy to beat myself up after today’s lackluster performance. But I didn’t. I changed my self-talk. I told myself that I made it through the workout. I pushed myself and I will get better. Tomorrow will be better and the day after that will be, too.

How many times do we self-sabotage ourselves by the narrative in our heads? If you’re like me, way too many times. I caught myself this weekend being very negative. I sat down that evening and vowed to change what I say to myself. The next day, as I was running up the Biloxi Bay bridge, I kept saying, “You’ve got this. Take it one step at a time.”

Times are tough. I see people claiming to be victims every single day. While I have sympathy for those who truly are, I don’t for the rest (and this includes many politicians.) I refuse to be a victim. I refuse to lie down when I have a bad day. I don’t need people telling me I need to because things are unfair. No kidding. Of course things are unfair. Not sure life ever has been.

So I’ll keep pushing. Failing and getting back up.

Yes, I’ll sweat. A lot. But I’ll keep going. This morning was a not-so-subtle reminder of why I need to.

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Reaching the Summitt: How a chance encounter with a legend inspired me.

I read in the Knoxville News-Sentinel today that legendary UT women’s basketball coach Pat Summitt is not doing well. According to the article, her family said that she could die today, tomorrow or within the year. She suffers from early-onset dementia and has quietly faded from public view. As anyone who has had a loved one with dementia knows, it is a tiring and painful journey.

When I went to the University of Tennessee and worked for the student newspaper Daily Beacon, I’d occasionally eat at the basketball arena’s cafeteria (which was near the paper’s office). Several times, I’d notice Coach Pat sitting by herself eating so one day, I gathered up the courage to say hello. She invited me to sit down and asked me all about myself and my studies. I found out (to my surprise) she liked some of my cartoons. Then she asked me if I wanted to do that for my career. I said yes and she proceeded to give me some great life advice.

I wish I had had a tape recorder!

She was a TOUGH basketball coach. But I tell you, she was also one of the kindest people I met at the university. I was a fan before that conversation. I’ve been a massive one since.

She was one of the most important people on campus yet she took a few minutes to lift up a random student. That random student is now lifting her up in his prayers this morning. God bless Pat Summitt — and all who love her.

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You can travel away from Mississippi but you can’t leave it

While I was in Atlanta, I decided to find a track. I needed to do a little “speed” work and thought it’d be fun to run at my old high school. So I drove over to Sprayberry High only to find that the track was closed for resurfacing.

Bummer.

So I went to my other high school, Pope High School. When I pulled into the parking lot, I noticed a ton of construction going on. You couldn’t get back to where the track was, so I parked the car and walked over to where the football team was doing some conditioning. I approached one of the coaches and said, “Excuse me, I used to work here as a janitor but now I live in Mississippi and wondered if the track is open?”

He looked at me warily and answered, “No. It’s being resurfaced (apparently several of the high schools in the area are getting new tracks.)” Then he asked, “Where in Mississippi?”

I answered “Jackson.”

His eyes brightened, “Really? I grew up in Jackson. I coached at Jackson Prep and Madison Ridgeland High School. You know Rob Futrol, the pastor at Broadmoor Baptist Church?”

I said, “Yeah, ran into him at the C-L’s Best of Preps banquet. He gave the prayer and I emceed.”

He said, “My dad used to the be the pastor there.” He then asked,” Do you know Joe Mack Dove? Our wives are very good friends.”

I answered, “Yes. I worked with Joe at The Clarion-Ledger.”

He smiled. I think we both realized that if we kept on that we’d be kin.

You see, that’s Mississippi for you. No matter where you go, you’ll run into someone you know. Just like three weeks ago when we were in Manhattan at Carmine’s Restaurant, the OB who delivered my three sons was three tables over.

Anyway, it was good to meet Coach Jerry Mahon. To quote Joe, “You met one of the best coaches in America. Nothing to do with Ws or Ls, but who you would trust your child with to learn about values and character.”

And I had to drive all the way to Atlanta to do so.

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Sunday Conversations with George Washington

imageSeconds tick on the giant red clock in the studio:

9:59:58
9:59:59
10:00:00

An “On Air” sign illuminates as the host’s voice begins to fill the room.

“Good morning and happy Father’s Day. This is Sunday conversations and I’m your host, Nick Talkalot. Today we have a very special Father’s Day guest, the Father of our country himself, President George Washington. President Washington, welcome.”

George Washington fidgets, still uncomfortable being in a room full of electricity, lights and microphones.

“Uh, hello?”

Nick Talkalot positions the mic closer to Washington’s mouth.

“Um, I’m glad to be here … Er, I think. I mean yesterday I was dead and here I am sitting here with you.”

“So, President Washington, What are your impressions of the 21st Century?”

“I don’t know. Like I said, one minute I’m, um, dead. The next minute I’m having a really bizarre nightmare. But seriously, the U.S. Is nearly 240 years old and you can’t come up with better people to run for president? Forget throwing tea into Boston Harbor. I can think of a few candidates who should be tossed. If I’m the father of this country, the kid needs a good spanking.”

Nick Talkalot chuckles, drinks a sip of coffee out of a mug with his picture on it and continues, “So, what do you think of your legacy. I mean, you’re on one of these.”

Talkalot, forgetting radio isn’t exactly a visual medium, holds up a dollar bill.

Washington: “Well, I must not be too popular. It takes nearly 3,000 of those to go see a musical about Alexander Hamilton. I told him to watch out for Burr. And they named a town after me where all the politicians are? I’m not sure that’s a compliment. My monument looks like I’m compensating for something. Well, like that Trump guy said, I have big hands.”

Talkalot chuckles. “So what’s your favorite thing about 2016 so far?”

Washington rubs his chin. “Well, dentures have come a long, long way. And Game of Thrones is damn good television — that is what you call that box with movie paintings on it, isn’t it? Accidentally found a channel with disrobed women on it. Took me about 15 minutes to figure out how to change the channel. Oh, your muzzleloaders sure can fire a lot of bullets these days. But I’d say that air conditioning is my favorites. People really smelled bad back in the summer of 1776. Wool gets kind of itchy, too. I could have used a portable heater back at Valley Forge.”

Talkalot looks down at his pad of paper. “So, would you consider running for president again?”

Washington: “Well, the Constitution limits me. But if we can dig Martha up, she might be up for the job. She’d be better than what we have now.”

Talkalot looks amazed, “Really?”

Washington grins a woody grin and says, “I can not tell a lie.”

Talkalot looks at the big red clock and says, “More with the Father of Our Country after this break. This is Sunday Conversations on DC Public Radio.”

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