Keepin' It Real with Cam Marston

Weekly observations on travel, work, parenting, and life as it goes on around me. Airing Fridays on Alabama Public Radio.

Warriors 09/15/2023

Warriors Warriors need to be praised. ----- Young men have always been warriors. They’d go fight the battles while the elders sat around the campfire. The elders decided if fighting was the right thing and when and how to do it. The warriors executed the plan. When they returned, they were glorified for their success, or they were coddled in their loss. Either way, they were praised for their efforts. Most old men don’t seek glory like young men do. Something happens after about forty years old, where glory no longer drives behavior. Old men prefer instruction and guidance. Not glory. Learning from mistakes is more important than celebrating victories. And old men want to help others learn, too. In today’s parlance, the young warriors seek celebration for kicking tail and taking names. It’s been this way forever. The old ones seek correction, guidance, and offer feedback. “What did I do wrong,” they ask, “and how can I get better?” It’s mankind. It’s human. It existed before any of us and will continue well beyond us. Which brings me to football. My favorite youngest son watched the entire game from the sidelines a few weeks ago. He followed his coach up and down the field, never more than a few feet distant, like a puppy hoping for a treat. He wanted in. But the game was against our school’s biggest rival and it was close. And my son, a sophomore, wasn’t yet ready for that stage in a tight game. I found my son after the game. I hugged him and told him I loved watching him out there. I told him his time in practice had helped ready his team for a well-deserved, hard-earned close victory. I told him I was proud of him. He flashed a tiny smile. He shook his head. He said he had wanted to play. “I know. I was watching. Keep working hard,” I said. “Your time will come.” I did this and said this because I did it the wrong way a couple years ago. I made a mistake. My favorite oldest son had walked off the football field after several great catches and a couple touchdowns. He was beaming. That young warrior had conquered and had conquered well. And I…I immediately pointed out a block that he had missed. I had offered him the feedback that I, an old man, might have wanted. Not what a young warrior aches to hear. My son’s face changed. I immediately realized what I had said, and what I had done, and how I had made him feel and my guts hurt to this day. Catches. Touchdowns. Yards after catch. A great team win. And I start with his mistakes. Ugh. I tell this story often. It’s my penance. Warriors need to be praised. Warriors need to be praised. Remember that. Warriors are not always right. Warriors are not above discipline. Warriors aren’t infallible. Warriors are not above correction. But, whenever possible, warriors need to be praised. It’s ancient. If you, too, are an old man like me, you’ll learn from my mistake. I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep it Real. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/28020123

Gettin' Through it Together 09/08/2023

Gettin' Through it Together It's been a tough few weeks. This commentary offers no specifics, but I've learned some things. ----- Many years ago, my neighbor in Charlotte, North Carolina knocked on my door one weekday afternoon. His wife had just told him she’s leaving. She climbed her car and drove away. He was dumbstruck and he needed to talk. My wife and I had just moved in. I hardly knew him. I didn’t know what to say or what to do. I froze. To my everlasting shame, I rushed our conversation so he’d stop making ME feel uncomfortable. I realized years later he was crying out for help and I failed him. I know this now. And I’ll never do it again. To this day I regret my behavior that afternoon. When I was a much younger man, I chose to remain ignorant other people’s problems. Mainly because of the way their problems made ME feel. But I now realize that when someone shares their problems, when they confess a deep vulnerability, they’re taking on risk by sharing it. They’re vulnerable and are hoping I won’t fail them like I did my neighbor many years ago. In fact, to be thought as one who might can help is, in fact, a privilege and should be treated that way. I’ve learned. Today I do my best to help; I try to do what I can. I’ve changed. Folks, there are no awards for bearing deep emotional pain alone. There is no Hall of Fame for keeping your horrific and debilitating suffering to yourself. We say we don’t want to burden someone else with our problems. But how many times have you and I wished, regarding our own friends, that we would have known about something so that we could have tried to help. Asking for help is not a weakness. Asking for help is the first step to elevating a problem and finding someone who can help you solve it. There’s no shame in it. To my wife, my friends and my family: I commit to working on a solution when I fall into these vulnerable states. And I do fall into them. I may sound sanctimonious right now, but I’m vulnerable. Deeply so. Maybe we all are. And I commit to not suffering quietly out of pride or shame or embarrassment. To my wife, my friends, to my family; to those who listen to these commentaries – I need you to commit to taking care of yourself, too. I need you. I need to know not only that you’re out there, but that you’ll be there. My wife has told me many times – there’s a big difference in listening to yourself versus talking to yourself. When you listen, you let the demons in. When you talk to yourself the right way you make yourself stronger. You keep the demons at bay. Folks let’s agree to talk. To ourselves. To one another. Let’s agree to admit that we all have problems that we can’t solve them on our own. And let’s agree to get through this - whatever it is – by relying on each other. Together. I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep it Real. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/27961470

North 09/01/2023

North My wife and I were headed to a cocktail reception where we knew no one. "This is an opportunity," I said. ----- My wife and I were driving to a short cocktail reception full of people we’d never met. Most of them knew one another. Us? Not a soul. This is an opportunity, I said. Let’s run with it. I proposed that she and I create a story for ourselves. Pick a personality and a background and a job. We’ll create something bordering on sensational and come up with a few very specific details that will make whomever we talk to truly wonder. About us. About whether we’re telling the truth. They don’t know us. It’s a short event. Let’s see if we can pull this off. Nothing to lose. I used to do this on blind dates back in the day and I got pretty good at telling long haul truck driver stories. A glance at my wife in the passenger seat and I saw what I’ve come to expect. A roll of her eyes. A shake of her head. “I think I’ll go with having invented the direction North,” I said. Prior to my invention, no one knew where anything was. People were getting lost in round rooms. I gave them direction. Today I get small commission every time a new compass is printed. And this younger generation today - they use Waze and Google Maps and Apple Maps all the time and North is usually on every screen. I only get a fraction of a cent each time that happens but the money ads up. Each day I spend a lot of time promoting North as very popular direction and I feature it in a lot of my social media. Two other guys came up with East and West and we split commissions on directions when we collaborate. And I have a new direction being released soon but nondisclosure documents prevent me from talking too much about it right now. Sideways glance. Silence from the passenger seat. How about I was the original voice artist for the beeps trucks make when they back up. Today they’re electronic, but in the good ole days when they beeped, that’s me. Age has made it hard to recreate that sound any more but… beep beep beep. Can’t you hear it? The recording came down to me and this little pre-pubescent teenaged girl, but she suffered an awful blow to the throat by a masked man outside the studio after her audition. They called me back because I was the only candidate remaining. I’m not exactly famous, but you’ve probably heard me. Nothing. Time to go for it. How about we’re royalty from a small principality in Europe called Genovia. People won’t remember the Princess Diaries movies. They’ll have heard of Genovia and maybe think it’s a real place. We’ll tell them it’s similar Lichtenstein but smaller. And near the edge of Austria. Our citizens there are not known as Genovians, by the way. To us Genovian royalty, they’re actually known as our Genotail… “STOP,” she said. “Just stop. Who we are is plenty. It’s actually more than enough.” I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep it Real. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/27912897

Burning Our Brains 08/25/2023

Burning Our Brains The heat's cooked our brains. ------ The heat’s taken its toll. It’s been unrelenting. Brutal. The greenery looks weary. The grass dries and turns brown within hours of any moisture. My car thermometer regularly reads around 110 and I saw online that it feels much hotter. We need a break. We need relief. My dog looks at me and says “No way I’m walking on that street. That street will burn my feet right off” and she’s right. It's affecting us mentally. We’re budding on crazy. It’s cooked our brains. Recent headlines are all you need to see. A lady in Birmingham faked her own abduction. She was missing for a few days before she showed up again. I don’t think anyone knows where she was. I’m betting she found some air conditioning and was just sitting in it. “Let people look for me, let the donations pile up,” she thought. “That’s fine. At least I’m cool.” Lady, I get it. A brawl on the Montgomery riverfront didn’t cite heat as an instigator but it certainly had to be. Those fools on the pontoon boat had been cooking themselves in the sun all day. It melted their brains. They likely had a big cooler full of cold pops that had turned warm, too. All day in the searing sun, cold pops now hot and tempers can’t help but rise. It all triggered some bad decisions. Same with the folks on the riverboat. It had been a nice cruise but it’s time to find the comfort of AC at home and anyone preventing them from getting off that boat… Well… I’d grab a chair, too. Down here in Mobile we’ve had a fully adult Roman Catholic priest head off to Europe with an 18-year-old female high schooler just after her graduation. Reports say they’d been together for a while but I’m sure the heat accelerated things. Cooked their brains, especially his. Those priests wear those heavy vestments and garments and such – no way to stay cool under all that. And black clothes with those closed priest collars? He’s made a heat related mistake and the Archbishop has defrocked him – un-priested him. I’m guessing Mr. Romeo Priest may a bit upset now that’s he’s come to but he’s happy to get into some cooler clothes. As I write this it’s the hottest day of the year so far here in Mobile. As I look online right now, it says it feels like 116 degrees outside. Meaning my car probably reads 125 or so. It’s brutal. It’s the seventh layer of Dante’s Inferno. When I get home, I’m going to watch on TV what crazy things the cooked brains in our city did today. Someone misbehaved. Someone surely snapped. Can’t wait to see who. As for me, I’m going to stay right here lying down in my underwear on this cool tile floor, feeling the wash of cold air flow over me each time the refrigerator door opens above me. Wondering what the camera crew is doing here. And why the convenience store clerk keeps pointing at me. I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/27845745

Crossing 08/18/2023

Crossing Last week I danced in front of a train to try to get it to move. ----- Trains have always held great symbolic meaning. They represent the future, a new destination, an opportunity. In movies, the characters board trains in the hopes of greater things down the tracks. Lovers tearfully depart at train stations. Though tragic it’s what’s best for each of them. Bandits of the wild west knew there was a strong box on a train full of money. Convicts break out of jail and if they can make it to the train it will take them away from the misery of prison. Songs, too. The Midnight Special. Midnight Train to Georgia. Folsom Prison Blues. People Get Ready. Downbound Train by Bruce Springsteen. Lots of train songs. Lots of them. Trains are a metaphor. They represent a passage. A transition. A breakthrough, though that breakthrough is often difficult. A transition, a passage, and a breakthrough was anything but the case two Thursdays ago here in Mobile. Our GulfQuest Museum invited me to give a speech called The Stories Behind Keepin’ It Real. They wanted the stories behind my most popular commentaries. The stories behind the commentaries most difficult to write. And I offered to play the commentaries and tell the stories behind the ones that never were allowed to broadcast. The ones that were veto’d and blackballed. Having never given this speech, I was nervous. What would I say? How would it go? I love writing and recording these things, but a formal presentation about them? I was nervous. Excited. Very excited. But also very nervous. And rolling into the GulfQuest Museum early to get set up I was greeted with…a train. Blocking the tracks. And cars beginning to pile up at the train crossing waiting, like me, to get in. In the cars were my audience. They waited patiently, avoiding the brutal heat by sitting in their cars in the AC. I called the train company to ask them to move the train. “Ok,” the CSX dispatcher said. “Any minute now.” We all waited. I went to the federal transportation bureau website and submitted a form asking them to move the train. Nothing. I called back to CSX about their train. “Any minute now,” they said again. I danced in the tracks in front of the train to try to get the conductor’s attention. I called CSX a third time. Nothing. I began walking to the waiting cars to assure them they wouldn’t be late to the speech and they wouldn’t miss the speaker because I was the speaker. I begged them to wait. Don’t give up hope. The train will move eventually. Because there is nothing worse than giving a speech to one or two people in a nearly empty auditorium. It’s humiliating. And nervous as I was, I knew an auditorium with some people was better than a nearly empty one. About forty minutes later, the train slowly rolled away. The speech went well. You can find it on the GulfQuest YouTube page. At one point I was excited about Amtrak returning to Mobile. Now I hope I never ever see another train. I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep it Real. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/27773649

Caricature 08/11/2023

Caricature This week I take an imaginary walk through Jackson Square in New Orleans and ask a caricature artist to draw me something...different. ----- There are sections of our society that have become parodies of themselves. Once proud, they’re now laughable forms of their former self. Imagine this: You’re walking through the New Orleans French Quarter. You stop at one of the caricature artists on Jackson Square. You say, “Hey Mr Caricature artist. I don’t want a picture of me. I want you to draw a picture of, let’s say, today’s country music.” That caricature artist would draw country music exactly as it is today. Because country music has become a caricature of itself. It would be both a portrait of country music and a caricature at the same time. The musician’s goal is to find rhymes for the words beer, mud, tire, and truck many multiples of times in just under three minutes. Fishing a few weeks ago, I heard the song “it’s a bad bad day to be a cold cold beer” over and over again. It was a parody of country music. A caricature of itself. The ghost of Hank Williams has his ghost head in his ghost hands and he’s crying ghost tears. Another one. Imagine saying “Hey Mr Jackson Square caricature artist. How about drawing me a picture of today’s Republican party.” They’d draw the Republican party exactly the way it is right now. The GOP has become a caricature of itself. It would be, again, both a portrait and a caricature at the same time. Once the party of integrity, honesty, and character, it now denies those qualities and, and in fact, spoofs them. It’s imaginable that a person could change their favorite color one day. But political party going from railing against liars and the mistreatment of women to saying today, “Ah, well. Maybe that stuffs not so bad.” A complete reversal. The Democratic party is still vaguely recognizable for of what it once was. The Republican party? A parody. A caricature. A spoof. They used to be amateur wrestling. Now they’re the WWE. Another one: “Hey, Mr Jackson Square caricature artist. You smell of strange herbs and your eyes are barely open. Can you see well enough to draw me a caricature of college football.” Folks, I love college football. I can’t wait for it to start up again, but my narrow-eyed caricature artist friend would draw a portrait of college football as it is right now. It’s a caricature and a parody of what it used to be. A spoof. Transfer portals and NIL money have taken their toll. The only ones playing for love of school, sport, and a college degree are the ones who never see the field. The third and fourth stringers. It’s a shame. What purity and innocence it had, if it ever had any, is gone. After reading this through – maybe one more. Hey Mr Caricature artist, draw me a caricature of a bitter, grumpy old man. One who doesn’t like change and lives too much in the past. And please be kind. I’m Cam Marston and I’m just Keepin’ it Real. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/27701271

Thirty Years 08/04/2023

Thirty Years After thirty years of the same family tradition - I give some thought to the future. ----- For the thirtieth year in a row my SUV left my garage headed for the North Carolina Coast the second to last Saturday in July. If we weren’t in it, it would go by itself. It’s what we do. It’s what the car does. And it was packed tight with everything from fishing gear, to bed sheets, to food, to 150 oysters in the shell on ice, two cakes from Bake My Day, and a case of get-along juice, also known as wine. My in-laws have rented a house on Ocean Isle Beach in North Carolina every summer and we are all expected to be there – there were sixteen of us. Question for you – Name one spouse you know or have ever even heard of that’s vacationed in the same place, in nearly the same house, with the same people, on the same days every summer for thirty consecutive years. Unless that person is me or my sister-in-law, that person doesn’t exist. I can’t speak for my sister-in-law, but it makes me… Well… I don’t know what it makes me. Honestly, it makes me afraid for my life to declare that having vacationed in the same place, in nearly the same house, with the same people on the same days for over half my life that I’m now ready to do something different. It wouldn’t go over well. It's this week at the beach every year plus a few weekends in the fall at my father’s camp in Clarke County, Alabama that I’m reminded of the great disparity in penalties for loud noise in the nighttime versus loud noises in the morning. This does require some explanation: I go to bed early. After about nine PM, I’m useless and am eager to get to sleep and start again the next day. However, some of my family like to whoop it up at night and at 9pm they’re just warming up. They make lots of noise. They’re having a ball. But little consideration is given to those of us that retire early. There’s little penalty applied for keeping us from getting to sleep or waking us after we’ve fallen to sleep. However, the reverse is not the true. I’m an early riser. And early risers must tip-toe through the house, careful to not make a sound or else face the wrath of the late sleepers. Their being inconveniently awakened by the early riser’s God-awful sounds of the unloading of the dishwasher or the brewing of the coffee are intolerable fouls against the family’s 30-year-old tradition. I’ve come to live with it. It’s a small price to pay. It’s not a big deal. But there’s some sort of economy that needs to be flushed out regarding penalties for preventing sleep versus penalties for awakening sleepers. Small penalties are applied for preventing sleep. Large penalties are applied for awakening sleepers. Its’ not fair but we live with it. How long will this yearly tradition last? I don’t know. My children have grown such that we now need two cars to make the 22 hour round trip. And if we decide stop one year, we’ll know when that week comes because the SUV will go anyway. It’s simply what it does. I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/27648486

Bunge 06/30/2023

Bunge She hopped to the edge of the platform, raised her arms, and jumped. ----- The video opened on my phone and my daughter was leaping off a bridge and falling out of the frame. It took my breath away. I watched it again and texted her. “Since you sent this to me,” I said, “I assume you survived the fall?” “Yea,” she texted back. “It was awesome.” She’s in South Africa as I write this. She’s spent the month there with a student group called Lead Abroad. It’s a one-month trip where she and about thirty others study leadership and communication skills while experiencing the adventures that the host nation has to offer. The day she sent the video they were bungy jumping off Bloukrans Bridge. I watched as she walked to the edge of the platform, raised her hands over her head, bent at the knees and leapt forward, falling into the abyss. It was hard to watch but I was so proud of her. I had no idea how much I’d enjoy her being on this trip and it’s mainly because she’s eating up every opportunity that’s come her way. There is nothing she’s not tried with a wide-open spirit, no question she’s not asked, not experience she’s passed up from the food, to the native face painting, to the safaris, to the paragliding, to the shark diving, to the bungy jumping, she’s done it all. Each of her messages home are full of energy. I’m proud of her. She’s worked hard for the trip. She’s saved money for a few years to afford it. Her summer jobs gave her a little spending cash but most of her earnings went into savings. She does small decorative signs for friends at college for a little pay and saves some of that, too. My wife and I and her grandparents have her helped a small bit, but this is largely her doing. She’s experienced the satisfaction of hard work, disciplined savings, patience, and the fulfillment of it all paying off – a lesson I didn’t learn till much older. There’s still another part to my pride. It’s watching a child take risks, meet new people, try new things well outside her comfort zone, and thrive through it all. Right now, my wife and I have a child who has confidence in herself, confidence in her social skills, confidence in her risk taking and all that. And that’s no small thing with young adults today. This experience will become the ground for more experiences like it; for her not being afraid to get outside her comfort zone. From what I see and hear right now, she’s truly living life. It’s a delight to see. Parenting continues to surprise me. Things that my children do that I thought would have no impact on me end up taking my breath away. Other things that I thought would be momentous become unremarkable. I need to stop making predictions about what I’ll do and how I’ll feel when certain moments arrive and just experience them in their fullness. Which is exactly what my daughter is doing right now on her hard-earned trip to South Africa. I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/27334395

Coffee with Milo 06/23/2023

Coffee with Milo A cup of coffee with a friend and a few strangers was a wonderful start to a great day not long ago. ----- I’d like to say Hello to Randy Fowler. On Friday mornings he’s in his car on his way to the Restaurant Five in downtown Tuscaloosa with his dog Milo. He’s a regular listener to these commentaries and he reached out to me a few years ago when he liked one to offer a compliment. Turns out Randy’s daughter, Julie Otts, lives a few doors down from me here in Mobile. It’s a small world. Randy and I have visited a few times when he’s in town to visit his daughter, son-in-law, and grandkids. Several weeks ago, I was in Tuscaloosa for my son’s Bama Bound orientation and Randy invited me to join him and Milo for coffee with his regular crowd one morning at Restaurant Five. I was welcomed as one of their own. We sat, we talked, we drank coffee, and watched all the dogs interact. These old friends have been meeting for coffee for years. They offered greetings to each other, shared inside jokes and laughs. They were wonderfully kind to me and invited me back whenever I’m in town. That morning, as I waited for Randy to arrive, a very tall man walked past with a coffee and a doughnut and he stopped to talk. He was in town with his son, Grant Nelson, to meet with the Alabama basketball team. He was Nels Nelson. Randy arrived, invited Nels to join us for coffee and Nels did, sharing what life was like in his hometown of Devils Lake, North Dakota. We talked cold weather, the near-by Canadian border in Devi’s Lake, and buffalo. We talked javelin since another of Nel’s sons was a collegiate thrower and my son and Randy’s grandson also throw. Nels, like me, was genuinely appreciative of the warmness Randy and his coffee-drinking friends at Restaurant Five showed him. I’m sure Nels got back to the hotel and told his son – “It’s gotta be Alabama, boy. You gotta play here. It’s simply too friendly to believe. I’m coming back to just have coffee with these people, ya know.” We were all told as children to not talk to strangers. That’s simply bad advice. Talking to strangers is one of life’s most sure-fire ways of making it a great day. However, it often goes against our inclinations. We worry about improbable outcomes. We misuse our imagination. We think, I don’t know them. What if they don’t like me? What if they don’t want to talk to me? What if they offend me? What if I offend them? And my reply to all that junk? Who cares? So what. The risk is worth the reward and do you have to lose? Most people are much nicer than we imagine them to be. Our brains, our leaders, our media, whoever, wants us to think that everybody’s out to get us. They’re not. They’re absolutely not. It’s untrue. Introduce yourself. React kindly to a stranger’s introduction. Find someone new to talk to. You’ll live longer. You’ll be happier. You’ll be glad you did. And you’ll have a great day. Thanks again for the coffee, Randy, I still remember it. I’ll see you and Milo when I return in the fall. I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/27205245

Tinkle Bell 06/16/2023

Tinkle Bell I have an idea for a business. Make up words customers can't understand then upcharge 75%. ----- I think our dog is constipated. She rung her tinkle bell early early in the morning to go outside and she just roamed around the yard in a hurry with her nose down. I have no idea if this is what a constipated dog looks like. I’m assuming that’s her issue. She appears to want to do something but…can’t. The tinkle bell hangs next to the back door. The dog rings it with her nose when she needs to go out. In the wee hours my wife or I stand bleary-eyed in the door waiting for her to do her business in the bushes. The dog’s been trained, Lucy is her name, by the way. Lucy’s been trained to ring the bell then do her business in the bushes, not in the yard. It took about six months of my wife demonstrating this process for Lucy for Lucy to finally catch on about what to do and where to do it. Those six months, by the way, were quite awkward with the neighbors, as you can imagine. None of this would matter so much if I weren’t so very tired. I had my stroke about three months ago and it feels like every doctor in town has sensed an opportunity to run a test and send me an invoice. Yesterday at the doctor’s office the check-in document asked, “what are you here for?” I wrote, “something to do with taking a picture of the back of my heart through my throat.” Of course, there’s an official title for this test using a big giant series of important sounding words but I’ll get to that in a moment. In a shocking example of a customer service failure, when I was called to the front desk the attendant had her very large computer screen turned with its back squarely facing me. I couldn’t even see her. My first encounter with a human in a place I didn’t want to be was not with a human, it was with the back of a computer screen with a disembodied voice somewhere on the other side. It was so shocking I took pictures of it on my phone. It was clear the computer screen was much more important than the patient. No reason to actually see me, or welcome me, or smile at me, or make eye contact which took me from not wanting to be there to angry about being there. Anyway, the drug they used to sedate me was milky white. I asked about it when I saw it in the syringe. They said, “It’s white because it’s lipid based.” What? If I ever start a new business, it will be one using words and providing explanations that mean nothing to the customers. Businesses that use their own language can charge more than businesses where customers actually understand answers to their questions. I’ll create a business, use some Latin-sounding words, drop them into customer conversations, and upcharge at least seventy five percent. Anyway, the sedation lingered all day and at eight PM I fell into bed exhausted. Until the tinkle bell began ringing and I wished my wife had demonstrated for Lucy how to hold it. I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/27169287

Rahhhl Tihhhde, Y'all! 06/09/2023

Rahhhl Tihhhde, Y'all! My wife and I were at Bama Bound this week for my son's college orientation. ----- I am oriented. It’s official. My wife, my son, and I spent a day and a half in Tuscaloosa this week at Bama Bound – the school’s orientation for students and parents. Roll Tide! Or as my wife says “Rowl Tihhhdee, yall”. We heard a lot of that these past few days. I attended out of curiosity to see what a parent’s college orientation includes. Here’s my review. And since this commentary broadcasts from the University of Alabama, if you’re hearing it, it cleared the censors: First, the director of campus security assured us there are many ways our cherub-like son could get arrested. He listed them all. There is no shortage. One included domestic violence from parents and children fist fighting on move-in day due to disagreements over dorm décor. Apparently, it’s happened. I’ll need to remember that in August when we move him in. Next, there are 687 different student organizations including ones for watching Disney movies together and another made up of guys who gather solely to discuss trucks. “Rahwl Tidde.” At one point in the business school session with my son, I suggested that this degree sure sounds like a lot of work and maybe we should just go to the book store buy a degree. He shook his head. Rolled his eyes. I learned I must get my son’s permission to see his grades and to see where he’s spending our money. As the parent, the bill payer, the bailer-outer, the “hey, what’s going at school-er”, I’m not allowed to see his grades or how our money is being spent without his permission due to privacy laws. In a parent’s only session, we had a group of students there to take any random questions we had. The room had some super-moms and Karens and some super-dads and we’ll call them Darrens. Super Karens and Super Darrens ran the show. They asked questions that I had never considered. We had to cut the session short. Suffice it to say that there are parents leaving no part of their children’s college experience for the children to enjoy or figure out on their own. There is a part of me that wants to know where my son is and what he’s doing when he heads off to Tuscaloosa in August. There is another part that wants him to discover much of it on his own. For him to solve some problems and tell me about them when he comes home. So, somewhere between knowing everything and knowing nothing may be the Goldilocks zone. May be just right. Leaving the event I stopped in the campus bookstore. There is nothing on God’s green planet that cannot be branded with an Alabama logo. At the register in a big cardboard bin were blank diplomas and a Sharpie marker. I’m now have a Doctorate in Average Parenting and he has a double MBA with a concentration in College Football. All for forty bucks. I’m going to display mine in my office and hold his until he gets that other degree in, I hope, four-ish years. I’m Cam Marston and I’m just Keepin’ It Real. Rahl Tyde! /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/27095943

Gettin' Out of the Funk 06/02/2023

Gettin' Out of the Funk I had a tough day the other day. Thankfully, I know a recipe that gets me out of them. ----- My eighteen-year-old son is headed to Tuscaloosa next week for his Bama Bound orientation. My wife and I are going, too. I’m wondering why the parents need a college orientation so I’m tagging along. It’s about a day and a half worth of stuff. As a student, my Tulane orientation was this: “Don’t mess with the New Orleans police department during Mardi Gras,” some guy said from the stage, “or you’ll likely never be heard from again. Good luck at college. Don’t forget to study.” Thursday my oldest daughter left for a month abroad as a part of her college studies. We dropped my youngest daughter off at Camp Mac near Talladega this week where she’s now a worker – she’s a counselor in training. We are paying for her to be there to work, by the way. She and her twin brother turned sixteen on Tuesday. Long ago in a moment of parenting bravado, my wife and I promised our four kids we’d help them buy a used car when they turned sixteen, but they’d have to save a good bit on their own and we’d be a multiplier for whatever they saved. Today we are on the hook for two cars. Suffice it to say it’s quite expensive around here right now. I knew these days were coming and…they’re here. However, there are moments of doubt when I wonder how this is all going to work, how it’s all going to get paid for and I get, well, a bit anxious. And I’m certain there is no parent that hasn’t experienced something similar. Regardless of the size of the family or the size of the income, parents wonder how they’ll make ends meet. My father sure did. He’d walk through the back door of the house at the end of his workday and we’d ask how his day was and he’d say, “slow” with an uncertain look on his face. Standing in front of him was my mother, my two young brothers and me. Mouths to feed. Clothes to buy. College tuitions. And I had one of those moments this week. In times past those moments immobilized me, but trial and error has taught me a recipe for getting through them. The key is to recognize what’s happening and get started on the recipe. First, I remind myself that I have a perfect record for getting through difficult days. I’ve had many before and yet here I am. One hundred percent perfect record. Two, I need to get outside. Something about being outside. I can’t explain it. Three, I need to do some exercise. Any exercise. Get the blood pumping. And at this point I usually feel the stress dissipating. Four, have a good conversation with someone. Anyone. It gets the focus off of me and gets me out of my head. And five, reread the good books and relisten to the good stories. I just jump in and out of the books and stories randomly to remind myself of the messages. And I did all of this. Every bit of it earlier this week. And it worked. It usually does. I love my recipe. I hate that I have to use it. But I gotta be honest, thank goodness it’s there. I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/27020010

The Blessed Boast 05/26/2023

The Blessed Boast Some social media posts have been gettin' to me a bit... ----- The caption read “blessed.” The social media posts were of a woman surrounded by her friends wearing designer clothes. Another of her on a private plane drinking champagne with friends. And another sitting in a suite with friends at a world-famous event. Perfect hair. Perfect teeth. Blessed, it read. Blessed? Really? I think what she meant was “More blessed than you.” Or maybe she misspelled blessed and it should read “Boast.” When Christians want people to see how well they’re doing, they post a “humble brag.” I think the new alternative to the “humble brag” is the “blessed boast” and social media is where it happens. Social media is where self esteem goes to die. It’s where comparison happens constantly and comparison has always been the thief of joy. And if you want to feed from a comparison trough, social media is the place for it. It takes some wisdom and maturity to keep comparison from destroying self-esteem. Most young kids don’t have it. Heck, there are many days I’m not sure I do, either. And before you argue, social media has its good points, too. Anyone looking on Facebook on their birthday knows what I mean. But the blessed boasts get me. They’re never pictures of someone blessed to simply not be dead. Or blessed to be able to build wonderful things. Or blessed to be able to comfort those who are suffering. Or blessed to be able to make a donation that will help out the less fortunate. On social media, they’re always blessed to be in a first-class seat. Or blessed to be wearing a Rolex. Or blessed to own a nice new car. Here’s the recipe: Take a photo of yourself with things or doing things only the top one percent of society can access then hide behind God and your oh-so humble spirituality by captioning it with “blessed.” I’m pretty doggone sure God spits or throws a lightning bolt in disgust when he sees blessed boasts. The way I understand it, the spiritual gifts we’ve been given, our “blessings”, are our unique talents and skills from our creator, if you believe such things and I do. Once we discover these talents and skills we are to use them to serve our creator and others. Our blessings are talents given to us to use for the betterment of one another. People who know this, and do this, are, in my experience, universally happier than the rest of us. They’ve found their calling and through their calling they are a blessing to us all. Blessing are not and have never been things. I don’t mind the photos of my friends with fantastic items or doing fantastic things. But let’s be honest and caption the photos accordingly. How about “Oh my goodness. What a day. How did I get here? How lucky am I?” Or “I don’t have as many friends as the picture suggests but it’s a great day and I’m having a ball.” Are you blessed? Maybe. But your new Porsche has nothing to do with it. I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep it Real. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/26937474

Trophies 05/19/2023

Trophies Recap and thoughts from a client call a few week's ago. We were discussing a problem they're having that all of us had a hand in creating. ----- “I didn’t realize it would be so hard.” That’s from a conference call with the leaders of a mid-Atlantic hospital system a few weeks back. We were talking about their young, newly minted doctors. I was putting the finishing touches on a workshop for their spring leadership conference. It seems that medical residency has gotten much easier. Less stress. Less sleepless nights. Less intensity. Less rigor. Once residency is over, the newly minted doctors are shocked at how hard the real work of being a doctor is. They’re demanding more money. More vacation. Fewer hours. When asked why, they say “I didn’t realize the work would be so hard. I need more.” The hospital is making major exceptions for the new doctors and it’s causing big problems. They told me of doctors leaving patients mid-procedure because their shift was over, assuming someone will show up and finish. “What in the world is wrong with kids these days?” was my immediate response. But that’s misplaced blame. A shoe box in my daughter’s bedroom is full of ribbons from her days as a young swimmer. They range from 6th to 11th place. She was never a good swimmer. She always got ribbons. Today she laughs at them. “Participant trophies,” she says, rolling her eyes. Let’s be clear: those ribbons are a parenting trend. Parents like you and me bought them and gave them out. We thought it was the right thing to do. Today, my kids are older and think participant trophies are silly. But the trophy’s impact remains with them today and it’s this: Any amount of effort, regardless of outcome, deserves recognition. That’s what a participant trophy is. The greater the effort, the more elite the participant, the more the recognition needed. The young doctors in my client’s hospital system are no different. They’ve been taught by people just like you and me that since it’s hard and since they’ve put in a big effort they deserve more. Medical residency’s historically rough road has been flattened and paved for them. “They’ve worked hard, let’s help them out,” some residency director, and likely a parent, said at some point. And incremental creep continually makes the road easier. And it’s not just doctors, it’s everywhere. Add Covid money plus work from home and suddenly doing little and getting paid for it is possible. I was clear with my hospital client: this problem is not solvable in a half day workshop. I can give them a new way of understanding the problem that will give them a start in changing their culture. The truth is, though, this is a societal problem that began long ago. The workplace solution is to model the behavior you want to see and make it the defining part of your workplace culture. It will take time. I told the doctors on the call, if you thought the final chapters of your career would be easier as the next generation steps in and takes the lead, it probably won’t. I’m sorry. But remember, it’s a problem that we – all of us – created. I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/26880042

Our World Needs a Prophet Today 05/10/2023

Our World Needs a Prophet Today We need change. And someone special who can bring it. ----- Another mass shooting last weekend. By the time this airs, there will likely be another one or two. It’s awful that these events no longer horrify us the way they should. I hardly read the story anymore. The details are all too familiar. A young male. An assault weapon. A troubled background. A history of affiliation with hate groups. Concerns by neighbors and employers of mental instability. And, boom. I’ve warned my children: at some point in your life, you’ll experience a mass shooting. Know what to do, I’ve told them. Our politicians blame guns, blame parenting, blame hate groups, blame mental health, all trying to out shout each other. All hoping NOT to solve the problem, but, instead, all hoping to get reelected. Bluster. Pomp. Self-righteousness. Self-important. I’ve said it before: If it weren’t for politics these people would be unemployable. Our world needs a prophet today. Someone who steps forward and offers a compelling alternative view of our reality that creates change. Traditional faiths tell us that in times of chaos, confusion and disharmony, a messenger arrives, shouting from the edges, from the craziness of our world, showing us we’ve lost our way. There’s a better way, they say. We need that person now. Prophets have always been outsiders but never strangers. They’re on the edges but are active in the customs and the traditions of the group they’re trying to reform. They see a truth that has escaped those of us in the center who gain traction by attacking each other. The prophets call attention to something different, something more important, and often, something obvious – right in front of us – that we can’t see. However, aside from a tight group of early adopters, profits are reviled. They threaten the status quo. And those who benefit from the status quo act quickly to silence them. Pastors and priests make careers out of teaching the Bible’s lessons of the prophets. Rest assured though, if a prophet showed up and questioned the value and the teaching of churches and pointed to a new, inclusive path to eternity, those very same pastors and priests would attack. But how would a prophet’s voice break through? Who could it come from? It won’t be a politician. Campaigning saying we’ve lost our way makes that person unelectable. It won’t be on social media. That person would be cancelled. It won’t be in business. That person would be accused of only trying to make money. And it won’t be through entertainers. THAT person would be cancelled. So who? And how? And from where? Our world needs a prophet today. Someone to refocus us. To remind us of what’s important. No prophet ever said, “Hey. I’ll do it. I’ll be your prophet.” They took the job reluctantly, feeling inferior to the task, but compelled by change that needs to happen. Our world needs that prophet today. I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/26795124

Jazz Fest Recap 05/05/2023

Jazz Fest Recap Lots of sights and sounds at New Orleans Jazz Fest. ----- My wife, a college friend and I stood amidst the peace and quiet of Jazz Fest in New Orleans last weekend along with what must have been 100,000 of our closest friends. It was a sight. When my wife and I told our friends we were going, they reacted the same was as when I told them we were going to Mexico for spring break – “Oh no,” they said. “That’s dangerous over there. You’re going to get shot.” During my thirty-six hours in New Orleans, I never once felt unsafe. To the great disappointment of my schadenfreude friends, we returned to Mobile unscathed. Which has led me to the conclusion that many of my friends are ninnies and are best left at home. I’m hoping heaven is a lot like the Gospel Stage at Jazz Fest. A cool breeze blew through the tented area. People were happy to slide a chair or two over to make room us. Most importantly, there were chairs. And, wow, the music. Argue if you want, but there’s more energy coming from the Gospel Stage than any other Jazz Fest stage. When you’re singing about the glory of the Lord, energy comes naturally. And when this middle aged, overweight, thinning haired white guy rose to his feet waiving his palms in the air to show that the spirit was moving…well, I couldn’t believe myself. It was very out of character. But I felt it. And I loved it. One thing I don’t love are large sweaty shirtless men. Or even small sweaty shirtless men. And there were a lot of them at Jazz Fest. They were everywhere. We left the Gospel Tent to wander the exhibits and try the food…and they were everywhere. One of the hardest movie scenes to watch ever is the scene from Along Came Polly when Ben Stiller’s character plays basketball and, well, rubs up against a big sweaty guy. If you know what I’m talking about, you know. That was my fear. Shirts should be required when you’re standing in crowded areas waiting for the acts to start. And when the music starts, the shirtless men more than others, become quite the charismatic dancers. I minded my own business, but I kept them in my periphery hoping I wouldn’t have one of those Ben Stiller moments and have to wash my entire body in molten lava or, more likely, decide my life was simply no longer worth it. After watching Jon Cleary play some fantastic funk music, we turned to leave and hordes of people were filing in to see Kenny Loggins finish out the day on that same stage. You gotta respect Kenny Loggins but, for me, his music isn’t good enough to risk proximity to gobs of sweaty, shirtless, charismatic dancing men. Not my scene. But in they marched, packing the area, eager for Kenny Loggins. They were excited to get Footloose as they headed into the shirtless Danger Zone. Don’t Fight It. This is It. And as for me not seeing Kenny’s show, I’m Alright. I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep it Real. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/26749452

TLAs and FLAs 04/28/2023

TLAs and FLAs Today's Keepin' it Real - the language of insiders. ----- I made a short statement the other day and my son immediately replied, “That’s cap.” C A P. Cap. I’m unsure what it means. It’s either “that’s the gospel truth” or “that’s a boldface lie.” I thought about it for a moment and decided I didn’t want to know. For centuries generations have used hairstyles, vocabulary, music and clothing to separate themselves from adults just like my kids are doing today. We called things “cool” or “grody” or “sick.” Today my kids use Cap and ‘lit’. When I say someone was ‘lit’ it means they were very overserved. With the kids today, ‘lit’ means cool or fun or hip or exciting. There’s a part of me that wants to adopt this language to try to stay young. There’s a bigger part of me that says stay away. My daughter and her friends use the word ‘like’ as an opening quotation mark. For example: “She said like I didn’t do it and I immediately said like it was you. I saw you. And then she said like, Well, that’s cap.” And again, I’m clueless. The stay-at-home women in my part of town have starting using the expression “all the things.” It means just so much of everything. “I’ve got so many chores and errands and the kids need me and you know, all the things.” All the things. Listen for it. It will be coming from a SUV driver in yoga tights. Sociologists have studied that shared words and, specifically, acronyms self-identify people as part of an in-crowd. At a financial services conference I was amazed by the overflow of TLAs and FLAs. Attendees bandied them back and forth to say to each other, “I am an insider” and to remind outsiders like me that I’m an outsider. Financial services love their TLAs, and when find a tidy TLA won’t do, they go to FLAs. Three letter acronyms and four letter acronyms, by the way. In a conference call a few weeks ago I was immediately told through the use of insider language that I was an outsider. It was a passive aggressive masterpiece. The TLAs and FLAs numbered in the dozens. The guy leading the call was letting me know he’s my alpha. It wasn’t like he was a silverback gorilla standing on a rock and beating his chest to declare his dominance but it was very much like a silverback gorilla standing on a rock and beathing his chest to declare his dominance. The evangelicals have an insider language, too. This may offend some of them, but you’ll recognize the use of the word ‘just’ in your prayers. “Father God, just just wrap us in your love and just heal our hearts with your manifest of greatness and just feed us with the bounty of your loving kindness as we just work to serve your steadfast love and just just keep your son in front of our eyes…” I stop listening and start counting. I can’t help it. And I’m pretty sure if the universe’s editor in chief were to speak to us he’d say ‘what’s with all the justs? The reason I don’t answer your prayers is I lose focus counting.’ I’m Cam Marston and I’m JUST JUST JUST just trying to Keep it Real. And all the things. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/26685639

Twins in Mexico 04/21/2023

Twins in Mexico This week I'm on the heels of a spring break trip with my youngest children - my twins. ------- I’ve wondered how often my teenaged children brush their teeth. After spending a week in a hotel room with two of them I learned that it is much less frequently than I had thought. Spring break was last week. It’s already been quite a year in the Marston household. With a daughter off at college and my wife and son away on a trip with his classmates, the twins and I flew to an all-inclusive resort on the Pacific coast of Mexico. Unlimited smoothies and milkshakes for them. Long days of compare and contrast light versus dark Central American rums for my mojitos for me. To my surprise and delight, somewhere in the past nearly sixteen years, my twins have become interesting. I’ve always loved them but there were times I didn’t particularly like them. I was, admittedly, very lacking in fathering skills or interests when my children were babies. I did what I had to, did what I should do, but I have a deep aversion to needy things or people. I plant things around the house that can survive neglect. Buying a car, my primary motivator is how much upkeep is required. My spouse is fiercely independent and self-sufficient. A baby, however, is the very essence of a needy thing. And for the twins, my wife and I were given a two for one deal we hadn’t expected. It was in Mexico a week ago that I realized the joy of finding my children interesting. Asking questions because I’m curious about their thoughts and their opinions. Their voluntary observations of their surroundings were insightful. They thought about other people who they felt would appreciate the trip. And while they stared into their phones a lot – truthfully, so did I – they took time to observe, to notice, to wonder, and, from time to time, to empathize with strangers. I enjoyed listening and watching as they worked to bring their high school Spanish classes into play asking questions and ordering food. They wondered what was on the other side of the ocean. They were curious, polite, and considerate of others. I was proud. And even with some very odd questions – the one that stands out is “Do you think my earlobes are disproportionate to my face” to which I had to reply “Of course they are. Amazing you’re just now noticing. We’ve struggled to not say anything. But they’re nothing compared to your big toes.” – I thoroughly enjoyed their company and was proud to tell my wife when we returned that I never grew tired of them. Bonnie Raitt is right – Life gets mighty precious when there’s less of it to waste. And my time with them was precious. Their sixteenth birthday is coming up in about a month. They look nothing like their baby pictures any more, but that’s who I still see. I won’t be giving them toothbrushes as birthday gifts, by the way. They’d go unused. I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep it Real. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/26601555

Let's Go! 04/07/2023

Let's Go! Listener's responses from my request last week: ----- To the many of you who pulled your Subaru’s over last week and emailed me, thank you. For those who don’t know, I had a stroke about two weeks ago and am, thankfully, ok. I walked out of intensive care about twenty-four hours later. Other than a fistful of pills every day, I’m back to normal. And as I said last week, it was close and I got lucky. My request last week was what does this all mean? I got very close, received an enormous outpouring of support, and got stuck on the question, “What’s it all mean?” The emails from listeners had three consistent themes: gratitude, the small things, and people. Lara Shows emailed to say “find joy in every day even in the mundane things” which I tried to put to use in the Atlanta airport Sunday with a delayed flight. I watched the planes come and go, tried to enjoy it versus getting upset about the delay. Lawrence Hughey of Mobile and I exchanged a few emails. He wrote “all of us are surrounded everyday by blessings and miracles but we don’t see them. Our vision is faulty and limited. But for you,” Lawrence continued, “I’m betting your vision is greatly improved at this point.” And it is, Lawrence, and I hope to never lose that vision and I know I have to work to keep it. There was Andrew Willis who works at Alabama Public Radio. He began as an intern where one of his first jobs was learning to edit audio content and used my commentaries years ago as practice. He’s now the Assistant Program Director and Radio Producer. His message: “It’s not about the lifestyle changes that you need to make, but the relationships you have with people. Set aside more time for those relationships. That’s where you really make a difference.” Andrew, I don’t know if I make a difference or not, but I do remember lying on that table in the hospital and telling my wife I’m not ready to die yet. The imagine in my head was of my children and how badly I want to watch them grow up and celebrate all the chapters in their life that lie ahead. I’m not ready to acquiesce that dream yet. And I’ve made some subtle changes with them already. In the movie It’s A Wonderful Life, George Bailey’s guardian angel, Clarence, says, “You’ve been given a great gift George: A chance to see what the world would look like without you.” I was not given that gift, but I the stroke I had two weeks ago was a big scare. And I’m going to decide it was a gift and see what I can do differently going forward to try to make a difference. My doctors told me to take it easy but get back to living. And all this rumination on life and such along with waves of emotion have been exhausting and they’ve left me feeling a bit melancholy. I’m ready to take my newfound lessons and move forward, renewed. If you offered thoughts for me, I can’t thank you deeply enough. Truly, thank you. Now, let’s get going. I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/26470143

Stroke of Luck 03/31/2023

Stroke of Luck It was big. I got lucky. And I'm not sure what to think about it. ----- My wife and I moved to Mobile in 2007. We had four children ages four and under and needed cheap arms and laps – better knowns as family - to help through this overwhelming time. We committed to staying awhile so my wife and I did our best to invest ourselves in our community. That investment manifest itself last week. Last Tuesday morning about 8:30 I was on the treadmill. About 8:35 I was mumbling, drooling, the left side of my face was sagging, and I was leaning against the wall. About 9:20am I was rolled into the University of South Alabama emergency room from the ambulance. The stroke code team was waiting. My femoral artery became the channel for a catheter thingy that went into my brain’s right side with a grabber thingy on the end, surrounded a blood clot and removed it. I was fully functional moments later and I walked out of intensive care unit on my own the following afternoon. No damage. It was close. I got lucky. In the uncertain moments I learned many of our friends, the families we know, our church community and so many others asked God to wrap his arms around me, to cloak me in his protection, to lift me up. Massive quantities of food have materialized. Flowers, too. Calls, texts. Notes and gifts from strangers in our mailbox. My wife and my community showed up to a degree I’m not sure I deserve. I’m beyond humbled and, honestly, am struggling with it a bit. The stroke was not a consequence of lifestyle choices. My doctors can’t say “I told you so” because, per all the data, I’m in very good health. Which makes me ask, what’s the lesson here? What’s the takeaway? How do I change? What should I change? Or should I even change other this new diet of blood thinners? Should this event move me but not change me or change me but not move me. I don’t know. The outpouring of support has caught me off guard. So many people have contacted me, my wife, my kids, my father, my brothers, all to check on me. All expressing gratitude that I’m Ok. My eyes have been regularly wet for well over a week, and they are again right now - not because of what almost happened, but because of what did happen – a gush of support. I’m unsure I deserve it. I hoped to finish with an impactful lesson from all this. But I don’t have one. Truthfully, I don’t know what to do or say. I don’t know what to think about it. Certainly some of you listening have similar stories. Stroke. Heart attack. Car wreck. Something. What’s time taught you? What’s the lesson? I need my intelligent and vocal public radio listeners to pull your Subarus to the side of the road and go to CamMarston.com where you can email me or call and leave a message. What’s all this mean? What’s the grand take away? I need your guidance. I’ll share what you share next week. Until then, I’m Cam Marston and I am truly grateful to be here. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/26370261

Camping 03/24/2023

Camping I've been offered an invitation to go camping... ----- Years ago, my wife and I got a deal on some camping equipment. We headed into the North Carolina mountains to a creek camp site and set up our fancy new tent and tried out our new gear. When night fell, we unpacked our fancy new sleeping bags that were rated to keep us warm well below that night’s low temperature, climbed in, and waited to get warm. And we waited. And we waited. Then we started shivering. Teeth began chattering. After an interminable amount of time, I asked my wife what time it was. “Ten PM,” she said. The night wasn’t even half over. It was awful. As soon as there was any hint of daylight we packed up, hiked out, drove home, climbed in bed. That was well over twenty years ago. The cold got into my bones that night and has never left. I’ve still not warmed up. Mankind, and especially Western society, has gotten soft. In fact, a book called The Comfort Crisis documents this and I’m right in the crosshairs of that book. Humans have figured out how to make nearly any environment on earth more and more and more comfortable. Along the way we’ve lost some toughness, some resilience. At the same time, however, I don’t think the solution to too much comfort is to seek discomfort. And this is on my mind right now as I have, once again, been invited to go camping. I have a certain friend who claims to love camping. And I think he really does. But he has a hard time finding anyone to go with him. He invites me multiple times each year. The reason that no one joins him is that we know camping is not fun. It is unfun. It is the inverse of fun. It is proactively seeking discomfort. And this current invitation involved a five and half hour drive one way to sleep on the cold ground for one cold night and then drive home. And I’ll say it again: Five-and-a-half-hour drive. Sleep on the ground. Very cold night. Drive home. Un-fun. For two summers during college, I worked in Glacier National Park in Montana. Each summer I planned to become a camping savant. Each summer I camped one time and never did it again. I lay there all night hoping a grizzly bear would come maul me because it’s got to be better than this. The idea of camping is glorious. Nature and hiking and self-sufficiency and wildlife and all that. It’s romantic. But it’s like horses. I love the idea of being a horse person. But I’ve been around horses. They’re big and they’re strong and they spook easily and run very very fast and I’ve learned that I love the idea of being a horse person. But I have no interest in actually being a horse person. The same is true with camping. It disgusts my friend when I tell him this, but on a pretty night when the wind is out of the north with low humidity in the air, I’ll open my bedroom window and throw an extra blanket on the bed. And that’s as close as I’m gonna get to camping. I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to keep it real. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/26317941

Too Much Bottom 03/17/2023

Too Much Bottom What my wife and I saw on my recent business trip to a Bahamas resort was more than enough. ----- My wife and I spent four nights at a Bahamas resort on a business trip and here are my observations. Here’s what I saw. First, I remember hearing that most traffic accidents happen within five miles of the driver’s home. Seems inverse of what you’d expect. The reason? When you’re driving through your home territory, you’re so familiar with the roads, the traffic, the scenery and such that you let your guard down. The familiarity and the routine make you vulnerable to carelessness. When you’re out of your home territory, you slow down, take notice of what’s around you, and are cautious. The same can be applied to people at a vacation resort. We were all strangers in an unfamiliar place, carefully navigating around each other in sometimes tight quarters and sometimes long lines, like drivers navigating unfamiliar roads. We were all polite and accommodating. Everyone was on their best behavior. And the resort was huge – 2500 rooms – on 1000 acres fronting the beach. It was more Six Flags amusement park than a beachfront resort. There was a water park. And there were one million places to get overpriced food and two million places to get a very overpriced drink. We heard at least five different languages. We saw lots of what I think were Orthodox Jews – it’s not something we see a lot in south Alabama, so I’m not sure – and quite a few people dressed in what I think was Muslim attire. There were same-sex couples of all ages and mixed-race couples of all ages. There were people dressed luxuriously as they walked through the huge casino, and some dressed like they lived under a bridge. However, for the most part, there were no sideways glances. No looks up and down. Just lots of acceptance, space, and privacy in close quarters. It was nice. However, there was one notable exception. The one thing my wife and I saw way too much of was very, very small bikini bottoms. Actually, the reverse is true. We saw very little of the bikini bottom, it being so small, and a whole lot of what the bikini bottom was not covering. Bottoms were everywhere. Everywhere. Call me a prude. Call me whatever you want, but it was way too much. Many of those displaying were young girls and I felt awkward being around it. But there was no escaping it. If I looked towards the ocean, they walked in front of me. As I stood in line for a towel, there they were. At the pool. At the poolside restaurant. They were even walking inside through the casino late in the day. Bottoms. Lots and lots of bottoms. It appears, with the way things are going, many of the women at that resort will soon be emulating the same bikini bottom Eve wore in the Garden of Eden. The majority of them were most of the way there and, well, I wish they weren’t. This old fuddy duddy wanted to say, “Pardon me, miss, at the risk of being rude, I don’t care what the fashion trends today are, do yourself and the rest of us a favor and please put on some pants.” I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep it Real. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/26210391

Roast or Toast 03/10/2023

Roast or Toast My wife invited some friends to a birthday gathering and gave them two options... ------ My birthday was last week. Right now, my wife is inviting friends to dinner and asking them to come and either roast me or toast me and if I were this invitation, I know what I’d do. I’m not sure if it’s me and my friends or just males or just certain types of males, but I’d roast me. My friends and I constantly work hard to roast each other whenever we can. It’s savage exchange whenever we’re together. For example: When I walk into my gym the head trainer starts trash-talking me as soon as he sees me. He leaves no stone unturned in his evisceration of me. And I smile and laugh at his creativity and usually come back with something like “I didn’t think it was possible for someone to gain that much weight since yesterday. You’re like a plump, wet snowball rolling down a hill. I wouldn’t tell anyone you own this gym looking like you do – it’s not good for business.” However, he and I have shared some of the most thought-provoking conversations I’ve had in recent times. Another one - Several weeks ago I nearly stopped writing these commentaries and I shared my reasoning with a friend. “Cam,” he said, “all of your commentaries are bad and some of them are actually worse than bad.” He then handed me his phone to show where he’d downloaded every one of them and had book-marked some to listen to again and again and others he shares with friends who he felt would enjoy them and others still he shares with people who he feels needs to hear them. It was a generous gesture on the heels of a sharp poke at me. In return, I won’t let him forget the nearly spectacular meal he cooked back in December. He, however, admitted that the meat was a bit undercooked. And now, that’s all I talk about with him now - his undercooked meal which was almost good but was not. The model of these roasts is, upon greeting – especially when there is a small crowd – loudly roast and eviscerate. We tell each other how badly each other looks with a beard. After they shave, we tell them we preferred the beard since it hid their face. We discuss each other’s incompetence in their job. It goes on and on. The only thing off the table are wives and children – we don’t include them. Do we discuss our wives’ and children’s disappointment in each other as husbands, fathers, role models, partners? Of course. That is a layup. That’s table stakes. Quietly and interpersonally, though, out of earshot of the group, we dial down the roasting and offer compliments and appreciation though sparingly. It's strange how weird yet comfortable this all is. It’s strange and weird how much I look forward to a brutal assessment of me whenever I step into a place where friends are gathered. So, to my friends who will join me for my roast or toast party, bring your best. I’m not worried. I know each of you well and know none of you are smart enough to bring anything that could sting. I’m Cam Marston and I will probably regret saying that. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/26164950

Sad Anniversary 03/03/2023

Sad Anniversary My mother died a year ago. Cleaning out her home office brought about some questions for my father and me as we gathered her things. ------ My mother died nearly one year ago today. It was March 5th, the day after my birthday. I think of her frequently. Last week, my wife, my daughter, and my son and I placed purple flowers on her headstone for her birthday. Purple was her favorite color. We bought a purple orchid on the way home to remind us of her and it’s now sitting in the kitchen window. Last week I said in an interview that doing these commentaries helps me process things, they help me think through things that I’m seeing or that are going on inside. Which leads me to a somber day several weeks ago when my father and I cleaned out my mother’s home office. Lots of the stuff in there was easy to throw away – stuff that made no sense to either of us. However, some of the things did make me pause. What do you do with your mother’s faded black and white pictures of family members from long, long ago that have no notes or identifiers on them? They were important enough to her to set aside. But, without her explanation, they’re no one to me. My dad and decided to keep them, hoping the decision about what to do would be easier when we found them again someday. And I came across a Ziploc bag full of inspirational and spiritual and motivational quotes she’d had collected for what appeared to be half her life. Some were torn out of books. Many appeared hurriedly handwritten in her beautiful handwriting before the disease took her ability to write. Like she heard it and quickly captured it on a receipt or a church bulletin. There were probably two hundred of them. They meant something to her. Maybe, they even shaped her in some way or another. The ideals and attitudes she cherished, that she’d taken the time to gather for many years, sat in a Ziplock bag in my hands. Without her explanation, though, they were meaningless. Is it possible to capture someone, to gather who they were and how they engaged life in a plastic bag full of torn out pages and handwritten quotes? No, I don’t think so. But what do you do with something that was once so important to someone who’s now gone? I’ve been a bit surprised by how quickly my mother has disappeared since her death one year ago. How quickly all of us who loved her have moved on. I remember her daily which, I suppose, should be no surprise. And the same will happen to you and me. We will vanish from the lives of our cherished loved ones. They’ll come clean out our stuff and throw most of it away. We will be very gone. It’s what the wisdom teachers and philosophers have told us for thousands of years. And, of course, my mother cares the least about this. The benefit of the deceased they don’t have to make decisions about their stuff. And I think about these things. Like r ight now. As I stare at a Ziplock back full of meaningless quotes now sitting on the edge of my desk that, in some unexplainable way, capture my mother. I’m Cam Marston, and I’m just trying to Keep it Real. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/26095047

How to Embarrass Your Children 02/24/2023

How to Embarrass Your Children Embarrassing your children is a parent's obligation. It happened to me. I'm doing it to my kids. It's part of the contract. ------ Here’s a guaranteed way to embarrass your teenaged child. In a restaurant, say loudly where other diners are close enough to hear: “Your mother and I are going to a clothing optional resort in the Bahamas next week. It will be nice for us to get back in touch with each other.” My fifteen-year-old favorite youngest daughter flushed red, buried her face in her hands, and said over and over again “Please stop, Dad. Please stop.” Which is, for me, a big win. Please know my wife and I are NOT going to a clothing optional resort in the Bahamas next week. I am giving a speech at a banking conference in the Bahamas next week, but it is not at a clothing optional place nor is that the type of place I would ever go. In fact, when I take off my shirt at the beach, people usually shield the eyes from the glare and then run to splash water on me and say to each other “make sure his blowhole is clear.” Embarrassing your children is a right of every parent. I’m sure some woke parents out there disagree but they’re simply wrong. It’s a right. It’s our duty. I remember a summer day when my mother encouraged my friends and me – all of us teenagers at the time – to start a car washing business in the neighborhood. We were skeptical. She made up a jingle and suggested we go door to door singing it. “You’ll kill it,” she said, “The jingle alone will get you tons of business.” She then made up a dance and sang and danced in front of my friends. I flushed red, got angry, and quickly pushed my friends into my bedroom. Then a knock on my bedroom window. I pulled back the shade and my mother was now in the front yard dancing and singing the jingle. My friends laughing. Me an angry and embarrassed wreck. On our twins last day of grade school years ago, my wife and I threw the car in park in the carpool line and began dancing. Grade school carpool was over forever and this deserved celebration. Our twins stood watching in horror on the curb. Parents dancing seems to always do the trick. Watching middle aged people try to dance is typically very difficult to stomach. Children watching their middle-aged parents try to dance like cool kids and imitate the dances of the day puts their children into a spiral of embarrassment. And when the parents notice this, they double down and really go for it. Tik Toc is made up of such videos. I’m fairly certain the ancient Greeks found way to embarrass their children. So much of our Western society today is made up of early Greek philosophies and concepts that one must imagine some part ancient Greek culture included embarrassing their children. It can’t be new. Anyway, back to my favorite youngest daughter who is fifty percent of my twins. Embarrassing her in the restaurant last night was a big treat. Her face flushing red. Her head in her hands begging me to stop. A big win. At least, sweetie, I didn’t mention how you wake up at night talking sweet to movie star Tom Holland and kissing your pillow with his picture on it. I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/26035011

"Keepin' It Real" Interview with KXCR's Larry Bloomfield 02/23/2023

The Arc of Beads 02/17/2023

The Arc of Beads The value of Mardi Gras beads peak when they're under no ownership. It's part of the silliness of my favorite time of year. --------- If you’re not listening in the deep south, you may not know that it’s Mardi Gras time for us derelicts and mystics living here on the top lip of the Gulf Coast. Ships from all over the world back in the day delivered a menagerie of people here where they threw their customs and traditions into one big gurgling pot and one of the results is Mardi Gras. The story I tell is that Mardi Gras was a time for people to dispose of food that would spoil during the fasting associated with Lent, which begins with Ash Wednesday next week, so they threw big parties to consume all the food. Is it the truth? I don’t know. It’s the story I’ve heard the most, so it’s the story I tell. Folks from other places who now live here are fond of saying “I just don’t get Mardi Gras. It makes no sense.” And they’re right. It doesn’t. Don’t try to make sense of it. Just enjoy it. If you can’t enjoy it because it doesn’t make sense, stay away. L et us have our fun. Take Mardi Gras beads as one of many examples. The value of a typical strand of Mardi Gras beads can range from a few cents per strand to a few dollars. So, for argument’s sake, let’s assume one of the strands I bought at the bead store last weekend for my parade cost one dollar. It was likely made for a few cents by some poor underpaid child somewhere operating massive machine and wondering what in the world these beads things are used for and why they need so many. Nevertheless, the bead store paid maybe forty cents for it. Its value shot to a dollar when I paid for it at the register. However, the highest value of those beads cannot be assigned a number and was not when it was owned by the manufacturer, the retailer, or me. The highest value of the beads was when those beads were ownerless after I had tossed it from my hand, and it curved in gentle arc through the air and began its descent. In those moments the beads were in the air, grown men and women, aggressive children, and people who are normally friendly neighbors saw the beads and used NBA style block-outs, tremendous jumps, karate chops and tae kwon do style elbows to friend’s ribcages to catch ‘em. Once caught, the beads went around a neck for a short time. Or they disappeared into a bag already full of them. Or were tossed on top of a pile of other beads just like it. Or, they could very likely been given away to a complete stranger. Once secured and under new ownership, the bead’s value vanished instantly. In a week they’ll be in the trash. It makes no sense to spend so much money buying beads, then give them away, only for them to ultimately be thrown away. No sense at all. But that’s Mardi Gras. If you try to apply logic to it, you’ll scream. And, frankly, I can’t get enough of it. I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/25962393

Anti-Fragile 01/27/2023

Anti-Fragile Thre are three types of people, he said, and my mind has been racing ever since. ------- In a Zoom call this week I chatted with another speaker for an upcoming conference. He and I want our messages complement each other and he offered some of his presentation highlights and one thing he said has rattled around in my head since our call. He said there are three types of people - and when he said this he was quoting someone else but I don’t remember who – he said there are fragile people who when pushed or dropped or damaged, they break. Once broken, they don’t heal. We all kinda know people like this. The second type of person is resilient. When dropped, they get back up. They don’t break. And though it sounds laudable, they don’t change. Each time they’re pushed or dropped or damaged, they simply get back up and resume. And there’s the third type which he very inelegantly referred to as anti-fragile. When pushed or dropped or damaged, they get back up, learn from what’s happened, and change so that it won’t happen again. These people prove remarkably successful over time, he said, in both business and in life. And he went further and applied this concept to organizations. In this post-pandemic business climate, he said, we’re seeing organizations who were fragile and broke due to the pandemic, the organizations who were resilient but simply resumed what they’ve always been doing, and the ones that are anti-fragile and are using pandemic-learned lessons to become stronger. Well, I can’t hear stuff like this and not start thinking about the people around me. My wife is anti-fragile. She learns from her mistakes, and they’re seldom made twice. My business manager is definitely anti-fragile. She negotiates for me and though we may have been taken advantage of in the past, it’s never happened the same way twice. She learns. She changes. Which is good. And, of course, I think about my kids. They’re a mix and it’s situational. I have children who have their athletic weaknesses revealed and they change to fix the weakness. However, they may make mistakes with friendships and get right back up to only to have those same mistakes happen again and again – a resilient behavior. They’ll learn what’s necessary to perform well in class but repeat the same mistakes regarding rules my wife and I have about our home – again, a resilient behavior. None of them are fragile, they’re either resilient or anti-fragile depending on the situation. And the questions continue: how do we raise our kids or groom our colleagues or employees to become anti-fragile. Are we born one way or another or is this a learned behavior? And is today’s coddling society today raising our kids to be fragile and can we fix it? Or them? And what am I? I don’t think I’m fragile but am I resilient or anti-fragile? I don’t know. I do know this though - this other speaker needs to bring the goods next month. He’s started my head spinning and I didn’t allot enough time in our Zoom call to ask these questions and we had to cut it short – a simple mistake I’ve made too many times. And, well, I guess that answers it. I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/25728804

Radio Boy 01/20/2023

Radio Boy There's a tale radio people tell about why they got into radio. Does it apply to me? Well... -------- A story I’ve heard about people in radio is that many of them share a similar childhood experience: They tried to get their parent’s attention but their parents shushed them – told them to be quiet – they’re trying to listen to the man on the radio. The children begin to think that whatever is coming through the radio speaker is more important than what they want to say and later, those children begin a career in radio to get their parents to listen to them. Is it true? I don’t know. Regardless, when I heard the story, I had to assess if that’s the reason I’ve begun these commentaries and the business talk show I have on other stations across Alabama. My earliest memories of the radio are as a young boy of about ten. My father would wake me early in the morning on Saturdays in the winter and we’d drive north out of Mobile for a hunting club in the small dirt-road town of Suggsville, Alabama deep in Clarke County. We left well before daylight and I lie across the bench seat in the old yellow Jeep Cherokee in my hunting clothes with my head on my father’s leg trying to get back to sleep while he drove. This was long before using seatbelts was a thing. The radio dial was the only light in the car, and it shined in my eyes while the radio played country music. I remember hearing the piano in Crystal Gayle’s song “Don’t It May My Brown Eyes Blue” and thinking, “Wow. I really like that” and I still really like it to this day. After that the memories jumble. I remember the Top 40 radio stations of the late seventies and eighties and one time as a pre-teen calling a station over and over again to request a song. When the DJ finally answered and I told him I wanted to hear - “Emotions” by the Bee Gees and I’m shocked that I can remember that – and he said “Well…It’s playing right now.” I had become so focused on dialing and redialing I stopped noticing what was playing. Alone in my bedroom, my face burned bright red in embarrassment and hoped that DJ couldn’t ever figure out who I was. And I remember hearing Paul Harvey. There are over 3000 episodes of his The Rest of the Story. 3000! He did six per week, all about four minutes long. You can find his catalog online. Today when I listen, I hear that remarkable voice, that remarkable control in his delivery. His word choice, his inflections, his tone, his variations in speed to perfectly sculpt the story he was telling. Today I recognize those as the tools of his craft. Back then though, I just listened. Probably impatiently. Sitting in the car with my father or my mother in a parking lot somewhere in the middle of running an errand. “Mom” or “Dad”, I very likely said. “Can we get out now? Can we go?” “No,” they said. “Not until this is over.” And, here I am. I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real. Oh, and welcome to my new listeners with public radio station KXCR in Florence, Oregon. I’m happy you’re along for the ride. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/25649463

Time Either Promotes You Or Exposes You 01/13/2023

Time Either Promotes You Or Exposes You A friend's fortunes have turned... ----- I met with a friend yesterday. I haven’t seen or spoken to him much for the past six months. His business has exploded over the past three or four years. He’s a good guy, an honest guy. He’s created a niche product, the market found him and he’s grown it masterfully. Until he and his business partner got sideways with each other, and the last six months have been tough. Accusations. Finger pointing. He finally told his partner, “We have to split up or it may get violent.” They both lawyered up, money changed hands with both teams of lawyers scooping up piles of it and it’s now finally over. Diminished, depleted, and emotionally exhausted, my friend is now free of that turmoil and can focus on growing what’s left of his business and moving forward. Word got out and his phone began ringing. Old influential customers that had fallen off the radar were calling. “Hey,” they were saying, “now that he’s gone, let’s work together again.” Turns out a lot of his former customers didn’t like his business partner – didn’t trust him - and quietly went away. Now that the partner is gone, those customers are coming back. My friend was also able to secure the distribution rights to a new product that, he predicts, will change his marketplace. Word is out and people are asking to partner with him, offering him big sums for a piece of the action. My friend, despondent and over his head in turmoil six months ago, is now worried about controlling the growth of his business. His reputation and his integrity are stellar, his customers and colleagues know this and are rushing to transact with him, and I’m thrilled for him. Years ago, I was given an adage that I’ve never forgotten: time either promotes you or exposes you. Time reveals who you are. Time will deliver situations where your integrity, humility, your character, your soul, maybe, is revealed. Many can mask their true character for short amounts of time, and they do. Some mask it for years. In the end, time eventually reveals the truth. Time either promotes you or exposes you. And time is now promoting my friend. He could have given up his battle with his partner when it got nasty, when the terms of the buyout got ridiculous, but he stayed the course to serve the customers he’d begun relationships with, and he wanted to continue serving new customers because they need the new product he brought to market. There were many times when he could have made small decisions that would have made things easier or resolved the issues more quickly but not comprehensively, but he stayed the course. And it wasn’t just the decisions he made during the acrimonious buyout, it was years and years before that, in how he treated bankers who were now eager to help him, the lawyers who were eager to represent him, and so many others along the way. Time either promotes you or exposes you. I’ve seen it over and over. Time always pulls back the curtain and reveals the truth. I’m so happy for my friend. Time has revealed him to be a well-deserved champion. I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real. /episode/index/show/keepingitrealwithcammarston/id/25602048

Keepin' It Real with Cam Marston

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