Marshall Ramsey

“So, you growing an eggplant on your hand?” I looked at my son’s thumb. I thought it could had been jammed but the discoloration was too bad. It was probably broken.

“Let’s go get an X-ray.”

Yes, it’s broken. His arm and my wallet are now in splints. We go see another doctor to see what we need to do next.

My family’s luck with hands continues to suck.

I also was tested for Strep. Have been sick all week and still pushed through my schedule. But I can’t seem to shake my sore throat. Let’s just say that the nurse is lucky I didn’t projectile vomit all over the room after she shoved the Q-tip down my throat.

Good news. Not Strep.

I sat in the car this morning feeling beat. I was making up a to-do list for today and looking for the energy to plow through that list. The bad news was starting to get me down.

Then I started looking for the silver lining.

I get to emcee Pepsi Pops. My family will have a fun evening and I will help host an event that I absolutely love. My son will have fun with friends and eventually will get a cool cast. It will all work out. It always does.

Life’s good. It’s uneven sometimes and will even punch you in the mouth. But you learn to roll with those punches. And then you punch back with the good.

When my oldest son was 10, I took him with me on a speech as a reward for straight A’s. This was during the BP oil spill, and the casino where I was speaking was nearly deserted. Heck, the whole coast was nearly deserted.

So we’re walking through the barren gaming floor on the way to the convention center. There’s one lady on oxygen who’s smoking. And another man who had apparently died while playing a slot machine. My son looked around and said, “Dad this place smells like cigarettes and despair.”

I was trying to think of what the boys and I could get Amy for Mother’s Day. Here are a few things that rattled from my brain:

1. A George Foreman Grill.
2. A Cup of Nightcrawlers and a Zebco 202.
3. A book of McDonaldland Gift Certificates.
4. Dipping Dots — the Ice Cream of the Future.
5. An ant farm.
6. Sea Monkeys
7. A Mr. Microphone.
8. A gift card to my favorite restaurant.
9. A Soccer Ball
10. An Apple Watch.

Hmmm. No, I don’t think she would appreciate any of those. Especially things that could be considered an “appliance.”

Amy is a rock star mom. She irons clothes that have been thrown under the bed. She bandages knees and consoles broken hearts. She helps with homework for hours. She watches bad TV with the boys and has good food on the table for them when they get home from school. She jokes with them and can still lay them flat with her special wrestling move. She’s a boy mom. And a damn good one.

But she’s also like most moms — exhausted and stressed out.

So we need to show her that we care. Sure, a trip to the spa would be very welcomed. But she also needs us to step it up around the house. And it needs to happen not just on Mother’s Day — it needs to happen EVERYDAY. She needs for love to be a verb, not just a noun.

She gives and gives and gives and gives. And it’s all from her heart. Now it is up to us to make sure she knows exactly how special we think she really is. Why? For no other reason than she is my kids’ mom.

And I may get her an Apple Watch with my name on it just in case.

You’re crossing a street. Traffic is coming. You stop and panic. Do you blame the cars for coming at you? Do you complain how far it is to the other side? Do you lie down and feel sorry for yourself? Do you become oblivious to your situation? No. You get the heck across the street before you become road pizza.

Was thinking about some problems I have. About all of them can be solved with action. Not a pity party. Not complaining. Not blaming other people for my problem.

I need to get moving. I need to get busy. I need to get my butt across the street before I become road pizza.

May is Skin Cancer Awareness month. Thanks to being diagnosed with Malignant Melanoma, I’m aware of if every single day.

You should be, too.

Melanoma (cancer of the melanocyte — what gives you pigment) is deadly and difficult to treat if not detected in time. The good news is that it’s easy to detect — all you have to do is check your skin. Look for the ABCDs. Asymmetry: Is the mole irregularly shaped? Border: Is the mole’s border ragged? Color: Is it black or two-toned? Diameter: Is the mole growing or larger than a pencil eraser? Does the mole bleed or itch? Has it grown or appeared rapidly? Those are all signs that you need to get a doctor to check it. Don’t hesitate. It’s a decision that could save your life.

I know. It saved mine.

I looked around at the parents. Many of them I recognized — we have been together as a group for a decade now. We’re grayer, bigger, balder and of course, older. So are out kids. The kindergarten munchkins now are pre-adults. They will soon be 10th graders.

Time doesn’t fly. It travels at the speed of light.

My son’s class is an exceptional class. The honors handed out today meant that we sat for over two hours hearing their names called. Yes, my son did well today, also. His name was called a few times — He’s a very good kid. His mama and I are proud.

The staff buzzed around the set, tying up loose ends before the show came back from commercial break. One of the band members sneezed causing the host to joke, “Do that again and I’ll kill you.” The audience laughed — probably the hosts’ funniest comment of the evening so far. The director shook her head. “He always waits until the camera is off before he starts to get funny.”

Late night television wasn’t for sissies. It was about creativity and the caliber of the guests. But the host knew the next guest was a home run. Yup. A home freaking run.

The host straightened up behind his desk (Carson had once sat here, you know) as the director waved her arms… 3….2….1…. she dropped her arms and the red light came on.

“Welcome back to the Late Tonight Show. Our next guest is considered the World’s foremost motivational speaker. He has motivated millions of men and women through his books, TV show, podcast, XM radio show and blog. Give a warm Late Tonight welcome to…”

The audience held their breath in excitement.

“A dog.”

A small brown terrier trotted across the room and hopped up on the couch. He nestled next to Taylor Swift. She scooted away.

The dog looked at her and quipped, “Obviously a cat person.”

The host chuckled and said, “It is OK if I call you Dog, right?”

The dog smiled and continued, “Of course. Although I go by many names. Pooch. Puppy. Canine. Kujo.”

The audience laughed. The dog was obviously very comfortable in his own fur.

The host continued, “May I ask what qualifies you to be a motivational speaker?”

“Funny you should ask that. You don’t have to have a license to be a motivational speaker. But you do to be a dog.”

The audience again erupted in laughter.

“Seriously, you can call me something else — Man’s Best Friend. Not Man’s so-so friend. Or man’s part-time friend. Nope. I am Man’s Best Friend. And let me tell you why.”

The host nodded and the dog continued.

“Remember the last time you came home. How did your dog act? Like you had just liberated Paris in World War 2. That’s how. We are always glad to see you. Now imagine what the world would be like if we all were glad to see people.”

“Well, give me some of your other tips on life,” the host said. “Let me guess you’re going to tell me to eat out of cat boxes and chase cars.”

The dog shook his head. “You humans act like you’ve never done anything gross. Sure I drink out of toilets. But you pick your nose and eat it. That’s pretty gross. But since you asked, here are ten of my tips on how to have a success in life.

1. Always be positive. A dog that wags his tail gets more pets than a growling one.

2. Blaming yourself for something you had no control over is as fruitless as chasing your tail.

3. Always bury a few bones for a rainy day.

4. Your real friends are the ones who still will pet you when you roll in something dead.

5. Just because someone puts a collar on you doesn’t mean they own you.

6. Cherish the moment. The treat. The nap. The walk. The scratch behind the ear.

7. If you want friends, be a friend. How do I know this? I’m man’s best friend aren’t I?

8. Always be excited when someone you care about comes home. Greet them accordingly. When they leave, act like it is the biggest tragedy ever.

9. Fiercely protect your territory. Your people. Your pack.

10. Happiness may or not be a warm puppy, but it works for me.”

The host nodded and said, “works for me. But what about your critics?”

“They’re squirrels,” the dog said.

The host laughed and scratched the dog behind his ears, “Thank you Mr. Dog for for sharing your wisdom with me. We’ll be back with more of the Late Tonight Show on FBS.”

P.S. Thanks to Banjo for teaching me these lessons.

The tide came in.

Gulls played along the blue-green surf. Foam tickled the feet of the little girl playing along the water’s edge. She dug with purpose, building a sugar-white sand fort.

“This castle will be where I meet my prince charming,” she announced to the curious gull. He cocked his head knowingly as a slight breeze blew in off the Gulf of Mexico.

A voice startled her. “Can I play with you?”

The brown-haired girl looked at the skinny, freckled red-headed boy and laughed. “I don’t play with boys. Boys are stinky.”

The little boy sniffed his armpit. “I don’t stink.” He walked away with a frown, looking for his own patch of beach to build his dreams.

Ten years later.

The little girl had grown up into a teenager. She and her two friends walked down the beach, looking for boys to impress with their new bikinis. There, at the water’s edge, were two boys playing football. One was a god — blonde, muscular and just beautiful. The other, well, the other was skinny and pale. “Hi beautiful!” the pale boy awkwardly said, “Do I know you from somewhere?” He did. But neither of them remembered that moment ten years before. The brown-haired girl laughed and began flirting with his friend.

Neither of them noticed that the tide was rising.

Ten years later.

The Pensacola Bar was smokey, loud and crammed full of Naval Aviators and women who wanted to meet them. At the end of the bar was a stunning brown-haired woman who was sitting alone. “Five bucks I get her number,” the red-headed lieutenant dared.

“You’re on,” his buddy laughed. “there’s no way a scrawny, pale ghost of a man will ever get her to talk to you. And you don’t have five bucks. I stole your wallet five minutes ago.”

“OK, then can I borrow five bucks so I can win five bucks?”

Both men laughed as the red-headed lieutenant walked over to the beautiful girl and started talking to her.

Maybe it was the white uniform. Maybe it was the gold wings. But the two of them danced on the beach underneath a full Gulf of Mexico moon.

The rising tide tickled their toes.

Ten years later.

“Push! Push! Push!” The red-headed commander looked as he held his daughter in his arms. She was beautiful — brown eyes and hair just like her mother. And that moment, the tough Navy man broke down and cried. He was in love for only the second time in his life.

It was high tide.

Ten years later.

Storm clouds painted the horizon a sickly green.

He held her hand has she heard the dreaded three words. “We can do your treatment here,” doctor said clinically. “I’m afraid you’ll have to have a double mastectomy. And unfortunately, radiation and chemotherapy. Your lymph nodes are involved.”

She soon lost her beautiful brown hair. As they walked on the beach — the only place on the planet that could ease her pain — storm-driven waves crashed on the beach. The surge pounded at their feet and threatened to sweep them away. Sand stung their faces.

“You won’t love me anymore. I’m not beautiful!” She began to weep uncontrollably.

He pulled her close and held her tightly. Then put his hand on her chest and said all he could say, “What I love is in there. You are perfect the just the way you are.”

The winds calmed and the waves dissipated.

They were in the eye of the storm.

Ten years later.

Weak from another round of chemotherapy, she shuffled through the sand. “I can’t believe it came back.”

“It’s OK mom,” her daughter held her up on one side while the Admiral held her on the other. “We will always hold you up.”

“I know dear.”

They eased her into the surf. She felt the warm Gulf water baptize her and washing away her fear. Looking up at the two people she loved the most, she felt her pain leave her.

The tide was going out.

Ten years later.

The retired admiral and his daughter carried the urn to water’s edge. They sprinkled the ashes carefully on the warm Gulf water. “I will come back and see you often. And when I see you again, I hope you’ll let me play with you,” he said.

It was low Tide.

As he and his daughter walked out of the surf toward their condo, the admiral had to smile. There, on the same beach where he had met his wife so many years ago, his red-headed grandson was playing with a brown-headed little girl.

The tide came in again.

Rhythmically, I can’t walk and chew gum. Musically, I’m lazy but can play piano by ear. I’m also a decent harmonica player — but no Fingers Taylor. But music is very important to me. I appreciate and, at times, idolize talented musicians.

I have two in my family. My oldest son is an excellent Baritone horn player. He has won awards and played regionally. I know music helps him mathematically (an area where he is very gifted.) My middle son also plays in the band. He’s a French Horn player and who’s also first-chair. I’ve watched band improve both his guitar playing and his discipline in the classroom.

Music matter. Music education makes a difference. But it needs your help.

The Mississippi Symphony Orchestra (a great organization) has a fun fundraiser. If you go their website and vote for me ($5 a vote) you can help guarantee a bright future for our budding musicians — young men and women like my kids.

Mississippi has the most talented children per capita in the U.S. Your vote will help develop that talented. And make me look goofy in front of a crowd! Thank you!

CLICK HERE —> www.msorchestra.com/vote/ballot.php

The smell, the sound of my feet sinking in the muck and the sight of destruction burned into my brain. A cold rain fell that December morning. Ninety yards away was the sleeping Mississippi Sound. In between was complete and total destruction. Even that many days away from landfall, Katrina haunted the land with the scars she left behind. Six people had died in the distance I could throw one of the bricks that lay in front of my feet. The destruction was random and yet complete. Sheetrock was reduced to doughy pellets. Pieces of fine China survived. Cars were turned into beer cans.

On the way home, my priest and I stopped at a gas station south of Wiggins. As I went to pay for my drink, I looked at a trinket for sale at the counter. I had seen a similar trinket half buried in the mud just hours earlier. My mind flashed back to the destruction I had just seen.

It was at that moment a simple truth presented itself: At the end of the day, people you love are who really matter. Not stuff. Not toys. Not things.

I’ve seen that trinket in my nightmares a few times since. I think that’s the good Lord reminding me what’s really important in life.