Marshall Ramsey

With Father’s Day coming up, I thought I’d jot down 10 random things I love about being a dad.

10. Watching the kids sleep. Sure, it’s the least stressful moment of parenthood, but there’s something remarkably magical about watching their little chests rise and fall with each breath.
9. Chest-swell-with-pride time. Straight A’s, athletic achievements, etc. You know the drill. Those good times that recharge your patience after you have to snake the toilet because of toys down the drain or pull gum out of the dog’s fur.
8. The first time your kid greets you at the door when you come home from work. Nothing quite like it. You feel like you’ve liberated Paris during World War 2. “DADDY!!!!”
7. Stories at bedtime. One time, I awoke to my youngest son poking me in the forehead. I had fallen asleep while reading “Goodnight MOON!”
6. The first time your kid says, “I love you dad.”
5. Throwing ball with your kid. Actually, any time you spend with them. It can be boogie boarding, grass cutting, house painting or car washing. Riding horses or bike, hiking or doing homework. It’s about time. All about time.
4. A potty-trained child. No more diapers? It’s a raise.
3. When your kids make you laugh — intentionally or unintentionally. In our house, love = humor.
2. Childbirth. Realizing you had a part in creating a new and amazing new life (and all the terror that comes with it.)
1. The privilege of watching them grow up.

My mop glided quietly across the tile floor. I had a method of hitting two rows of squares at a time, thus making my work go by quickly. I still had a couple of classrooms to mop. It was 8:30 p.m. — three hours until quitting time.

Pope High School resembled a tomb. The kids were gone and all who remained in the building were the custodial staff. I was their newest member and fresh out of college. I quickly learned that mopping should be done close to the end of the day. You didn’t want people walking across your work.

I wrung out my mop and continued on.

Suddenly a man turned the corner and walked right down the middle of my floor.

“Um, sir,” I protested, “the floor is wet!”

The guy looked down his nose at me and said, “So? You’re just a janitor. You can re-mop it.”

I should have stuck the mop handle up his butt but instead I just stood there and stared. How dare he talk to me that way?

Jackass.

I heard his voice for days. “You’re just a janitor.” I wasn’t “just a janitor.” I was a recent honors graduate from college. I was an award-winning cartoonist. I was… I stopped and thought for a moment: I realized I’m not my job. But how I do my job is a reflection of who I am.

It was one of the most important lessons I ever learned.

Today, editorial cartoonists are going the way of the passenger pigeon. I’ve seen several of my peers lose their careers entirely. And when their jobs went away, they sank into depression. They were their jobs. Knowing that I’m not a job title gives me strength in uncertain times.

I’m not just an editorial cartoonist. Or a speaker. Or an author. Or a radio host. Or a…

I am who I am. The rest reflects that.

I could easily end up mopping floors again at Pope High School. If I do, I hope that guy walks down my floor again. First I’ll thank him. He led me to the most important career advice of my career. And then I’ll stick the mop handle where the sun don’t shine — just because.

My leap of faith began from paradise. I had a great job, amazing bosses, fantastic coworkers and I lived in San Diego, California — a city with the finest weather in the U.S. A southern voice on my answering machine had offered me a job — my dream job.

It was nearly November and I had just come back from the beach.

Without hesitation, I dialed the number and accepted the job. Soon, I would be the new editorial cartoonist in Jackson, Mississippi starting on December 16, 1996. My wife shot me a look like, “I hope you know what you are doing.” I shot her a look back that replied, “me,too.”

Most of what I knew about Mississippi emanated from books and, unfortunately, Hollywood. I had been through the state on my way out West — that was when I got my first rock ding in my windshield. I remember traveling down I-10 thinking, “this is where Camille hit.” Sure, I was from Atlanta — but that didn’t count. I needed to do my homework. And needed to start immediately.

I walked from our apartment down Washington Avenue to the local library. I asked for all the books they had on Mississippi and the librarian returned with a whopping two books. One was a book on the general history of Mississippi. The other was a biography of Medgar Evers.

I sat in our living room reading Evers’ story. A cool sea breeze rattled the blinds as a seagull went by. Heck, a 747 could have flown by and I wouldn’t have noticed. I started reading parts of it aloud to my wife. Courage. Love. A desire to make his home better for his children. I think I read the book in an afternoon. Then I reread it.

Last night, I presented the courage award at a scholarship banquet in Medgar’s honor. Myrlie was there. His brother Charles, too. And I got to meet some of his kids and several of his nieces and nephews. I leaned over to his nephew Carlos and said, “I’d imagine your family reunions are amazing.” People that knew and loved Medgar were standing at the podium, telling stories about their friend 52 years after he was assassinated. He came alive again in the Hilton hotel.

When the banquet was over, I briefly spoke to actor Dan Ackroyd. He went on about his love of Mississippi and how more people needed to know about it. I agreed whole-heartedly. I heard the same excitement in his voice that I’ve had for the past 20 years.

I leapt from paradise when I came here. But I found a different kind of paradise when I landed. It’s more flawed. It’s a land of challenge and courage.  One that shapes you into a better person.

Soon, I’m visiting Washington, D.C. I’m taking my sons through the Arlington Cemetery. I want to show them where heroes guard freedom for eternity. And somewhere in that garden of stones, we’ll find Medgar Evers’ grave.

I thought about that biography last night and how it made my evening so special. A leap of faith requires courage. And I learned it from a man who died a long time ago.

Met Dan Ackroyd last night. He’s been around Jackson quite a bit lately — so meeting him is getting easier by the day. I spoke to him for a couple of minutes as the Medgar Evers Scholarship Banquet ended. Let me tell you this about him.

1. He’s very kind and polite. There was no “I’m a star” going on there. He was gracious to everyone who approached him — including me.
2. He absolutely loves Mississippi. He told me, “I want to make sure more people know about this place.” I think he sees the same thing in this place that has kept me enamored for the past 20 years.
3. His family donated money to the scholarship fund. The five recipients received an extra $1,000 towards their education thanks to him. That’s a pretty meaningful way to change lives for the good.

You see famous people on TV and the movies and you imagine what they are like in real life. And you hear horror stories about how people are jackasses when they are approached. I’m thankful one of my favorite actors turned out to be a good guy.

As his world crumbled around him, Gary Brandon couldn’t help but notice the taste of gun oil. He sat alone in his one-room apartment twitching the .38’s trigger. One pull. That’s all it would take to end his pain. One pull. Just one pull. He felt the muscles in his finger tighten on the steel. One pull.

But something stopped him.

Gary exhaled and thought about everything that had led him here. His wife had left him. She had cheated on him but the courts gave her the kids anyway. That had left him broke. Then he lost his job. Insult always follows injury.

How had he fallen so fast? Just a year ago, he was the top television meteorologist in town. Now he was broke and licking a gun barrel.

“Go ahead and pull the trigger. I always knew you were weak.”

Gary’s head swiveled around. Nothing. No one. Where had the voice come from?

“C’mon, you puss. Pull it. Put you out of my misery.”

Gary had heard the voice before. He searched his memory and uttered, “Naw. Couldn’t be.”

But it was. A ghostly specter came limping out of the darkness.

“Yep. I’m your guarding angel. #$%#$ imagine that.”

” But I thought you were in Hell.” Gary spat. He immediately recognized the wrinkled face. It was his high school offensive coordinator.

“What? No hug?”

“You’re dead. You died of a heart attack years ago.”

Gary’s old coach, sighed, “And for some reason, I’m now standing here. So you going to do it? You going to quit?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You tried to make me quit before.”

“And you did.”

Gary put the gun down and screamed, “BULL@#$!!. I stuck with your abuse.”

“But you stopped giving your full effort. You felt sorry for yourself. Just like you’re doing now.”

“I’M IN PAIN!!!!” Gary screamed.

The old coach spit and looked at his former star quarterback. “So you’re going to give that pain to your kids?”

Gary’s mouth opened. No sound came out.

“It wasn’t personal with you kid. I was getting back at your dad. Yeah. There it is. I’ll admit it, now.”

“You jerk.” Gary said.

The coach smiled, “Yeah. But it was fun watching him suffer when I benched you. So, you going to quit again? Or you going to fight this?”

“Why are you here? If I was going to get a guardian angel, why not someone who gives a damn about me?”

“Because the Boss knew you’d respond to me. And I’ll be honest, I’ve watched you grow up. You’ve kicked butt several times when faced with challenges. I am a little reluctant to say this, but I even have a little bit of respect for you. Didn’t see that coming.

But if you pull that trigger, you’ll be the quitter I always thought you were.”

Gary looked at the gun and then at his old coach.

“Kid, you still have fight in you. You’re still in the game. Breathe. In and out. Take a step and then another one. You have the rest of eternity to be where I am.”

Gary emptied the bullets out the gun and threw it across the room.

He then looked at the old coach and something amazing happened. His gray complexion began to glow. And as the room lit with a blazing white light, he changed into a ten-foot angel.

“You are a blessed man, Gary Brandon. Never forget that. I’ll always be your coach.”

Then the room went dark and Gary was alone.

As the University of Tennessee’s football team walks out of their locker room and onto the field, there is a sign above the door that each team member touches.

It reads, “I will give my all for Tennessee today.”

I love that. In fact, I like it so well, I am going to modify it ever-so slightly and hang it on our door out to the garage.

Our sign will read, “I will give my all for this family today.”

Because that’s what it is all about. We either succeed as a family or we fail as one. Everything I do is for Amy and my boys. And remembering that larger purpose is healthy.

The fact that its National Cancer Survivor’s Day just popped up in my Twitter feed. Honestly, it wasn’t even on my radar for some reason. I’m not speaking anywhere about surviving cancer. Nor have I made any elaborate plans. I ate cold pizza for breakfast (which I kind of regret now –That wasn’t exactly a healthy move on my part). I haven’t rubbed my melanoma scar or written anything about how people need to get checked for cancer. It’s 8 a.m., so I guess the day is young.

I did take my oldest son to the church so he could head off to scout camp. He’s 15 now. He wasn’t even one when I was diagnosed. I’m about to memorize some lines for a TV show. I need to plan my week. I am sitting here listening to my wife sleep. My youngest son is still snoozing, but I will make him breakfast soon. I woke up, saw the sunrise and said my thanks to the Lord.

Hmm. I guess I am celebrating National Cancer Survivor’s Day in the best way possible: I’m having a perfectly normal day.

And for that, I’m grateful beyond words.

I’m thankful I live in the era of:

1. Sneeze Guards. Let buffet food’s grossness stand on its own.
2. Air Conditioning: I bet the people in the 1800’s smelled.
3. Deodorant: See #2
4. YouTube: My wife said she’d watch MTV all day to see a Duran Duran video when she was a teen (good luck finding a video at all on MTV). Now she can watch one as quickly as she can type in “Her name is Rio.”
5. Airplanes: Orville and Wilber, you guys rock. Sure, airports kind of suck — but the whole experience of crossing world in hours instead of months is awesome.
6. Airbags. Not the kind that explode in your face randomly. But it beats the steel posts called a non-collapsable steering column that would impale our parents.
7. Remote controls. Yes son, when I was a kid, I was the remote control. I changed all three channels.
8. Microwave ovens: Making leftovers better since 1946.
9. Safety razors: Five safe blades > One scary-horror movie one.
10: The Internet. Teenage boys had to rely on National Geographic (um, for world knowledge.) Now you have the whole world tied to your phone. Great for sounding smart at parties. And copious pictures of cats.
11. Football. I’m still struggling with the whole concussion thing (because I had a few myself), but there is no better party than an SEC tailgate.
12. Netflix: Binge watched House of Cards last night. Allows me to watch stuff when I want it.
13. Modern Dentistry: Novocain for the win.
14. The Weather Channel. OK, showing my weather geekness here. But watching Jim Cantore in a hurricane is good TV.
15. High Fructose Corn Syrup: I hated being thin.
16. GPS: Now when people tell me to get lost, I smile say, “not possible.”
17. Turvis cups: No more sweating cups on the table.
18. Ice Makers: Ice trays were the devil.
19. Elevators. (Except for perfectly healthy people who take them only one floor.)
20. E-mail: I never would have gotten my million dollars from the man the nice man from Nigeria without it.
21. Star Wars. I’ll even forgive the prequels.
22. Personal groomers. Trimming nose hair is now a snap.
23. Soft-toilet paper. OK, toilet paper in general.
24. Interstate Highways. By-passing Mayberry’s speed traps since 1956.
25. Random lists of Facebook.

The gray sea looked like glass to the horizon. A terrible storm had hit this coast 71 years ago. Now all that remained were  the salty tears on Lucy Gilds’ cheeks.

She gingerly made her way down the path from the bluff to the sea. Her journey was simple compared to her father’s. But she wasn’t dodging bombs and bullets like he did. Going to the sea was easier than coming from it.

Pvt. Lawrence Gild had done it on a Higgins Boat. Spray and vomit stung his face. Lead killed his friends. Blood stained his clothes. He came ashore on Omaha Beach during the second wave. He was near the tip of the spear on D-Day.

Lucy hadn’t known it until March 15, 2015. Her jaw dropped when the lawyer read his final request. Now she was honoring it.

She knew he served in the Army during the war but thought he was behind the lines. At least that was what her mother said. Her mother was a woman full of secrets.

While she loved her father, she knew her mother’s heart belonged to someone else. She had met and fallen in love with a young Marine named Skip Walker.

Lucy had found their yellowed love letters while playing in the attic as a little girl.She held the flashlight and read his last letter. He was fighting on an island somewhere in the Pacific. While her father was storming ashore on Omaha Beach, a Japanese sniper ended Skip’s life.

Part of her mother died that day. The rest died in 1968 when the men in uniform showed up at their front door.

Her brother, a Marine (she remember her father’s anger he hadn’t joined the Army), was shot in the head by a Viet Cong sniper (how cruel that had to be to her mother). She and her parents stood in the cemetery as cold rain fell around them. The moment his coffin entered the earth, her mother stopped talking and started crying. Her mother would cry as her father sat at the kitchen table holding a glass of scotch.

Cancer took her a year later. But Lucy knew that it was a broken heart that killed her. Her father never remarried. A dark chill fell upon their house.

The Greatest Generation was a tortured generation.

Lucy had always thought her father to be cold and unloving. Now she knew the truth. Now she knew demons were haunting him.

Demons born on this beach.

After the war, her father came home, went to school on the G.I. Bill and became a teacher. Mild mannered Larry Gild. Her father retired in 1985 as superintendent of schools. Dementia slowly stole him from her in the late 2000s.

He died in his sleep at the age of 91.

Sleep. That was when the demons normally came. She remembered the screaming she and her brother heard from his bedroom. Her father, like so many of his generation dealt with it by swallowing it. He suffered from what was now known as PTSD.

Lucy took her shoes off and felt the sand under her feet. She quickly crossed the beach (something her father was not able to do) and walked into the surf. There she opened a small container and pulled out a bag of ashes.

Tears hit the water as the ashes touched the sea. After a lifetime of war, her father finally found peace.

I’ve always kind of liked Gordon Ramsay (other than he spells his name wrong.). He’s the foul-mouthed, passionate chef that pops up on TV judging contests and helping restaurants reinvent themselves. I’ve met Master Chef winner Whitney Miller and she thinks the world of the guy. I respect her, thus, I like him more.

Last night I watched him deal with a couple of particularly narcissistic restaurant owners (we were watching his show on Netflix). They’re from Arizona, I think — and even went on Dr. Phil afterwards because they came off so badly on Ramsay’s show. Ramsay offered them constructive criticism so they could help their restaurant recover from some bad online reviews and they blamed EVERYONE but themselves for their problems. Normally, he’s pretty darn rude. But he sat there and remained calm.

Then he walked away.

THAT impressed me. He chose not to argue. He could’ve cussed. He could have ranted back. But he didn’t.

It showed me a couple of things. One, people sometimes offer constructive criticism. And sometimes people just attack you. If you truly want to get better you have to be smart enough to know the difference. Get your damn ego out of the way.

And secondly, when people truly don’t care, they shut up and walk away.