Marshall Ramsey

Tomorrow night, I have the honor of speaking Northwest Rankin’s graduating class. Two of my fellow Sprayberry High School classmates will be in the audience. Their daughter, a very talented and bright young lady, is the salutatorian.

It seems like a million years since her parents and I crossed our stage. Actually it was 29.

I have twenty years of mistakes and lessons to use for my speech. Amy asked me what I was going to say — I can tell you this, it will be fairly brief. I’m not the star of the show. The graduates are. But I want them to understand that they will fail and that the lessons gained from that failure are what plants the seeds for greatness. And I want them to understand the importance of heart.

I was most talented from my class. I think I’d be a bigger success if I had won most persistence. Heart is the secret to succeeding. Heart that leads to passion.

Passion is like bacon. It makes everything better.

Tomorrow night, I get to wear a robe and a funny hat. I’m looking forward to it, to be honest. I can’t wait to meet our future and tell them “congratulations” first hand.

H.O.P.E. defined.
Monday: H — Humor.
Tuesday: O — Opportunity to serve.
Today: P — Physical well-being

The sun peeked over the horizon, kissing the clouds and creating a red/orange blanket the covered that football field. But I didn’t notice. I was pushing a board to the 20-yard line and back. Sweat poured down my face and my heart raced. From 5 a.m. until 6 p.m., I left my fat and sweat out on the football fat during my bootcamp.

If this were a book, this chapter would be the longest. I can’t stress enough how important physical well-being is to your success in life. Virgil was right when he said, “The greatest wealth is health.” I realized that when my own skin tried to kill me.

Just remember this: If you don’t take care of your body, your body can’t take care of you.

That involves diet, exercise and stress-reduction. You can’t eat junk food and sit on the couch and expect long-term health. Eating a bowl full of pills isn’t a good solution, either. It’s expensive. And you generally feel like crap. And if you feel like crap, you don’t have the energy to achieve great things.

Personally, I do an hour of aerobic/strength training four days a week and aerobic exercise two more days. I rest on Sundays. I also try to eat healthy. At this point, if I eat junk food or fast food (the same), I feel sluggish and rundown — like I put sugar in my gas tank. Oh yes, then there is sugar. I’m addicted to it and have made a real effort to cut it out of my diet. That’s tough to do. Processed food is loaded with it. It’s in those delicious, fizzy drinks. I’ve tried to find natural substitutes. I keep apples or bananas in my bag and eat a little snack every two hours to keep my blood sugar even. Since I’m active, I seek out complex carbohydrates. They give you a more even form of energy because of the fiber involved slows your body’s release of insulin. I have self-medicated with sugar before when I was down. That is a huge mistake because the crash afterwards leaves you craving more sugar.

It’s a vicious cycle. One that once left me at 250 lbs. Today, I’m 210lbs. and eight inches smaller in the waist just from moderately monitoring my diet and exercising regularly.

Right after one of the most stressful times of my life, I got shingles. Then I got a melanoma. My body was telling me something! Stress kills your immune system and causes all kinds of problems from inflammation to heart and vascular damage. Our bodies can’t handle being in the fight or flight mode 24/7. We have to learn how to unplug and unwind — and I know that’s hard — I have three kids and eight careers! But exercise helps me some — and acts as a natural antidepressant. I’m also trying breathing exercises and meditation. Trust me, it’s not easy to focus in this chaotic world we live in. But just know your life depends on it.

None of this is rocket science. We know what we have to do. But sometimes, it feels awesome to sit on the couch and each ice cream. I think about the advice former football player turned actor Rosie Greer once gave about weight loss, “Instead of eating the whole cake, I eat one piece.”

Take care of your body so it can take care of you.

Right now Pip is lying against my wife’s legs. She’s smart like that; the dog knows who to suck up to. She is Amy’s dog. Or more accurately, Amy is Pip’s human. I am the person who scratches her stomach and feeds her. My boys’ legs are her chew toys. In an Alpha World, she thinks she is the boss.

It’s hard to believe she is coming up on three — the night she was born was a tough night for us. Pip and Banjo’s souls crossed paths on that fateful July night. He was going and she was coming. I think we thought he’d somehow slip a little bit of his soul into her.

Ha.

She’s too big of a personality to allow that to happen.

She barks at brooms, vacuum cleaners, squirrels and Moe the dog next door. And she barks loudly. You can hear her a neighborhood away.

I love the little brown dog. While Banjo was a muse, Pip likes to amuse. She sits on your head and climbs into the dishwasher. We probably should have called her Sassy. She yaps at us when she begs.

She’s 18 lbs. of attitude.

Jim Harvey allowed her to come into our life. Jim raises champion Border Terriers. Oh, he sent us a champ alright. Pip is a world champion — at least in her head. But don’t tell her anything different. She’d never believe you.

She’s my Pip. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Get on your butt. Then walk toward your feet with your hands and feet. It’s called Crab Walk. It looks more like a dog wiping his butt on the carpet. This morning we had to do that for 20 yards. First we ran 40 yards, then crab walked and then ran for another 40 yards. Sounds fun, doesn’t it?

Imagine doing this with your son kicking your butt the whole way. My child has recently discovered his super power is making his father look like an arthritic turtle. He put the old in “my old man.”

I’m going to take four days to bring you H.O.P.E. Hope is word that gets thrown around a bunch these days. But I think we live in a time when really need more of it. H.O.P.E. stands for the four pillars of my life that help me get through my biggest struggles. Each letter stands for something that reduces stress and propels me through my toughest moments.

Today, I bring you H. H stands for Humor. It shouldn’t shock you that I think that laughing at the things that drives you crazy is good medicine.

Immediately after my melanoma diagnosis, I nearly went crazy. When your own skin tries to kill you, it can and will stress you out. I think my parents realized that (they are both cancer survivors) and that may have had something to do with our family vacation that year. My sisters and their families joined my parents and my family in Destin, Florida. Of course, there is something inherently wrong with taking a skin cancer survivor to the beach, but I digress. While they were out on the beach, I was in watching Dr. Phil. I’m like a fork in microwave — I spark in the sun. So I avoid the direct sun during the middle part of the day.

About six that night, I decided to go for a swim. I took my shirt off and ran toward the surf. When I got there, there was a mom and two little girls swimming in the ocean. The mom noticed my six-inch scar on my back and stared right at it. It was big, red and ugly. Now, I’m not used to women staring at me (it doesn’t happen often) so I felt self-conscious. Actually, I felt annoyed.

I had a choice. I could be ticked off or I could make a joke. I made a joke and have been telling the joke for 14 years.

She noticed that I had noticed and felt embarrassed. I pointed at the scar and said, “Oh, this.” She nodded sheepishly. I then said, “It was a shark attack and it happened right where your girls are playing.”

She scooped up her girls and ran out of the water. My wife was over on the beach shaking her head.

That joke was an epiphany for me. I use the same techniques I use when I draw cartoons and apply them to my life. You will hear me making jokes. Sometimes they are inappropriate. But at the end of the day, they are my survival mechanism. H stand for Humor. Lord knows we could use a lot more of it in this world today.

In 1991, I graduated from the University of Tennessee and immediately put my degree to use cleaning Pope High School in Marietta, Georgia. One of my fellow custodians was a lady named Maggie. It took me a while to get to know her (because I was in the midst of a major pity party), but once I did, I really grew to like her. She was in her mid-40’s and funny. Like me, she didn’t want to necessarily be there.

Her husband Ron was an Eastern Airline pilot. Because of the pilot’s strike, Ron had lost his job. Maggie, who hadn’t had to work in years, got a job as a custodian to keep the family going. I knew her oldest son Kevin — he and I had worked in many of the same places growing up. She also had another son and a daughter.

One day Maggie came up to me and asked, “My daughter broke up with her boyfriend. How would you like to go out with her?” First of all, her standards for her daughter were remarkably low. Second, I’m not sure that her daughter was in on this deal. But in a few days, Maggie brought her daughter up to my second job at a local golf course — and promptly locked her keys in her car. I got plenty of time to get to know her daughter.

I used to think being a janitor was the worst thing that ever happened to me. I know now it is the best. If I had not had that bad moment, I would not have had the four best moments in my life — I got to see that daughter walk down the aisle and our three boys born with her blue eyes.

My wife is very close to her mother. I’ll admit Maggie and I have had a few arguments over the past quarter of a century. She’s tough, stubborn and opinionated. But I respect the hell out of her. I saw her work her butt off to keep her family together. Her work ethic is second to none and her loyalty is something we all should aspire to. Maggie is a great mother to my wife and grandmother to my sons. On this Mother’s Day, I’m glad she is part of our lives.

SHORT STORY: The Lucky Dime
Two crisp dollar bills went into the machine. Two quarters, a nickel, a soda and a tarnished dime came out.

John held the dime in his palm and adjusted his glasses.

“196…,” he mumbled under his breath and then looked at the ridges. It wasn’t a 1960-1964 dime — the edge would be silver. Instead it was nickel plated onto copper. That change came in 1965.

It was a 1965 D. D standing for Denver. This particular dime had 1,652,140,000 brothers and sisters. In the battered condition it was in, it was worth a dime.

“I wonder what kind of stories you could tell?” John said as he slid the coin into his pocket.

In 1965, the newly minted dime was deposited at First Bank & Trust in Rahway, New Jersey. There is was given to a solider from Fort Dix, New Jersey. The solider pocketed the coin and used in the next week while making a phone call to his girlfriend in Tulsa, Oklahoma. He told her that he was being sent to Vietnam the very next week. The dime sat in the phone for a week until it was emptied. The phone company deposited it back in the bank where it was given to an elderly man who was cashing his retirement check. He took the dime and used it to buy a drink out of a soda machine.

1966 found the dime being given to a child as a gift by an uncle. The little boy dropped the dime in a offering plate at First Methodist Church of Richmond, Virginia. The pastor cashed a dollar out of the collection plate and used the dime to pay for lunch at the local diner. A waitress pocketed the dime and then gave it back as change to another man. That man was from San Diego, California. The coin rode first class on a Boeing 707.

1967 came and the dime was still sitting in a change jar. The man grabbed a handful of change and used the dime to make a wish in a public fountain. The coin, cold and wet, wondered if this would be the end for him. But he was soon scooped up and handed over to a local soup kitchen. The director used the dime to pay a local Marine for his help at the kitchen. The Marine packed it in his sack and soon was on his way to Vietnam.

The dime had never felt anything like the heat and humidity in Saigon. The Marine said it was his lucky dime. He’d use it to flip to make decisions about combat. One day, the odds went against the Marine. His buddies went through his personal effects and his best friend pocketed the dime at as his friend’s flag-draped coffin was loaded on the C-141 bound for home.

His friend carried the dime everyday until 1985. He was walking into a tall office building in Atlanta, Georgia when his left arm went numb. At the funeral, his son went through his pockets and found the dime. “Funny they forgot this, ” he said as he put it in his own pocket. He used it later that day (with a few more coins) to buy a beer.

The bartender looked at the beaten up dime and pulled it aside. “Bet you have a story to you.” Just then, two men in ski masks robbed the bar and shot the bartender. While he survived, the dime did not stay with him. The men grabbed all the money they could and ran out the door. The dime was later used in a parking meter off of Peachtree Street.

The man emptying that meter accidentally dropped the dime. It sat in the grass for five years until a sharp-eyed little boy noticed it. It was 1991. The dime was headed to Knoxville Tennessee.

In Knoxville, the little boy used the dime in a vending machine and got a pack of Peanut M&M’s. From there it went to the bank, to a blind customer, to a restaurant owner and then to a sock full of coins. There the dime sat for another decade until the man who owned the sock cashed his coins out to buy a bottle of Jack Daniels.

The dime left the liquor store into the hands of an elderly woman. She took the coin and used it to buy gas for her Buick Regal. The gas station attendant dropped it and it rolled under the counter. There it sat for three years.

A janitor noticed the coin and pocketed it. “Finally, a raise,” he thought. He spent the dime as part of his payment for a sno-cone in Gatlinburg. There it was given to a tourist from Jackson, Mississippi as a change. The dime was headed South. It ended up in another change drawer. And then, in 2015, was used to buy a Diet Mountain Dew in a vending machine. It dropped out of the slot, tired and beat up. And it fell right into John’s hands.

“Funny,” he said as he looked at it. “My grandmother said my grandfather had a lucky dime just like you in Vietnam. I think I’ll make you mine.” And with that, the lucky dime finally come home.