Host: Sarah Austin Jenness
[overture music]
Sarah: [00:00:13] From PRX, this is The Moth Radio Hour. I'm Sarah Austin Jenness.
[students hollering]
This is the sound of students from the Bronx High School of Science, the Beacon School, Harvest Collegiate High School and young people from all over the five boroughs of New York waiting to tell stories with The Moth. Since the early days of The Moth, teams of Moth teaching artists have gone into high schools around the country and worked with young people to develop and craft stories from their lives. In 2012, The Moth’s Education Program was formalized, because we believe that young people’s stories need to be celebrated and shared on a wider scale. So, this episode is a celebration of The Moth’s Education Program.
In this hour, you’ll hear five students who were all part of a special showcase at The Bell House in Brooklyn, which was packed with hundreds of students, Moth workshop leaders and faculty advisors. Our host was social worker and longtime Moth teacher, Julian Goldhagen. As you’ll hear, Julian wasn’t always comfortable on stage, but he found his groove.
[cheers and applause]
Julian: [00:01:20] All right. So, today’s theme is Hidden Treasure. Ooh. All of our stories this evening are somehow going to relate to this idea. I am definitely someone that is full of hidden treasures, believe it or not. [audience laughter] It brought me back to when I was young, a little kid. I was very, very, very painfully shy, which a lot of people do not believe, because I just talk all the time now. But when I was growing up, that was not the case. I was voluntarily mute. I just did not speak. I never raised my hand in class. I did not have a lot of friends. It just was not who I was.
I was more or less okay with it, because I was also someone, as a young person, who had a tremendous amount of social anxiety. And so, just fading into the background and not taking up a lot of space was how I kept myself feeling safe and comfortable. So, I was cool with it. But the adults in my life were kind of less cool with it. I always heard these things from teachers and my parents being like, “Julian, we have to get you to open up. We have to get you to break out of your shell. You have to break out of your shell.” So, I would hear this thing about breaking out of my shell, and it stuck in my brain. I was like, “What does that mean? Why do I have to do that and how am I going to do that?” I really agonized over it.
So, about halfway through my third-grade year of elementary school, our music teacher left. She got married to this guy who was giving swamp tours in the Everglades, and so she moved there, [audience laughter] which, by the way, I am from Florida. So, that kind of thing is normal. We are like, “Oh, yeah, everybody’s.” So, we got a new music teacher, and her name was Ms. Popa. She was way more serious, and she thought we needed a more serious music program. So, she created this music club. It was an after-school music club. It was very elite. [audience laughter] Only third graders could do it.
And so, a letter went home in our backpacks to tell our parents about it. I brought it home. As soon as my mom saw it, she was like, “You are doing this. I think this would be a really good idea. It is going to help you break out of your shell.” And inside, I just felt this thing of this does not feel like a good idea. I knew that there were going to be a lot of kids there, because it was a very popular club for whatever reason. I am like, I do not love big crowds. The idea of getting in front of people and just being observed felt like my worst nightmare. So, I was like, “Why would I sign up for that?”
And most importantly, Ms. Popa was really scary. She was like 11 feet tall. [audience laughter] She had a really thick Eastern European accent, which my grandparents do too, but Ms. Popa’s freaked me out for some reason. [audience laughter] So, I was like, “I do not want to go.” But I also thought, maybe this is what it is to break out of your shell. Maybe that is that feeling. So, I said I would go.
And the next Wednesday, I am in music club. And my friends, it was worse than I could have possibly imagined. [audience laughter] It was so scary. Ms. Popa had a lot of rules. She literally said to us, first moment, she was like, “This is my classroom. It is my country. I am a dictator.” I was like, “All right, Ms. Popa. Just starting us off right away.” She made us stand up and do tongue twisters by ourselves, which made me feel really exposed and scared. And so, I just was like, “Let me fall into the background. Let me learn the animal songs and do my thing, and just not be noticed by Ms. Popa.” [audience laughter] So, that is what I did.
Eventually, it was the end of the year, and we were having a big recital. And the week before that recital, we had a very special rehearsal in the cafetorium, which, if you do not know what a cafetorium is, [audience laughter] you did not go to public school. [audience laughter] But basically, a cafetorium is like a cafeteria, but it has a stage, so it is also an auditorium. So, we were in there after school. It was our dress rehearsal. There were other kids in the audience, just eating their snack before their after-school groups. I was really freaking out. So, I am just trying to fade into the background.
We have three lines of kids, and I got myself to the back line, which was hard, because I was really short and they always want to push us up to the front. But I was in the back, wearing my little khaki shorts, my little white shirt we were all wearing and I was doing great. I was doing the songs, doing the hand dances, falling into the background, no problem. And then, all of a sudden, I start to feel this familiar pressure in the lower half of my body, in my bladder. I realized that I had to use the bathroom out of nowhere. I did not know what to do, because I could not interrupt the song, because Ms. Popa made it clear that, like, “You do not interrupt songs when they are happening.”
So, I was like, “I can’t ask her to go.” But I also can’t just go, because you are not allowed to go to the bathroom without asking to go to the bathroom. So, I am like, “Cost-benefit in my brain, what do I do?” And then, my body just decides for me. Yeah, thank you. [audience laughter] It decides for me. I feel some warmth in the lower half of my body. I look down, there is like a little dark spot and then it becomes like a bigger dark spot. [audience laughter] I hear somebody scream, “That boy peed!” [audience laughter] And my brain is just exploding. I do not know what to do, so I just run off the stage. I run out of the cafetorium.
Actually, run out of the school. [audience laughter] And somehow the school buses had not left for the day, so I run onto the school bus and I get myself home. I do not go to school the next day and I never go to music club again. I don’t actually do anything similar to this until I am a high school kid. So, it really wounded me this traumatic exposure moment.
Now I am an adult, and I always use the bathroom before I get on stage. [audience laughter] And I am like, “What does this mean?” Because on the one hand, I really appreciate the adults in my life who saw this hidden thing in me, this ability to be in front of people and talk, that I did not see in myself. But I also feel a lot of empathy for little shy Julian, who was just trying to take care of himself by staying in his shell. And shells are important. I was thinking like, turtles have shells, clams have shells. If they do not have shells, they literally die. [audience chuckle] So, there are useful things shells do in our lives.
And so, now, I work with high school students, and I try to respect that. I try to celebrate the clams in the back row the same way I celebrate the Julians in the front row. Because I think everyone is just doing the best we can. And literally whenever someone asks me, “Mister, can I use the bathroom?” I am always like, “Just go. [audience laughter] Go for it.” Thank you. Thank you very much.
[cheers and applause]
I appreciate it. So, we are about to bring our first storyteller up. But I asked all of our storytellers, “What are three things that you treasure most?” This first storyteller said, her grandmother’s wedding ring, a doll from her grandmother and her Australian passport. Yeah. Ladies and gentlemen, let us give a huge Beyoncé-sized round of applause for Isobel Connelly.
[cheers and applause]
Isobel: [00:08:03] So, when I was little, I loved playing with Model Magic. And if you do not know what Model Magic is, it is a quick-drying air clay. It comes in about four colors, so if you want any other ones, you have to mix them yourself. I come up with this really elaborate system. It involved making people, but the people turned to villages and then the villages needed homes. So, I started collecting all of our cardboard boxes, and cutting them up and making sure that everybody had a bed. The beds were made of tissue paper, but the mattresses were Model Magic. And I loved this. It was my world and my space and I could build, but I had just turned five at the time and I had to start going to school.
School is really different than home, because home had light and it was colorful, but school had crappy carpeting and bad murals on the wall. We had to do this thing called a reading circle. I did not really understand it at first, but all of these kids seemed to know, because they brought their chapter books. But I brought a picture book. As we went around in the circle, they would just read it off like it was nothing. When it got to me, I stumbled over the three words on my page, and I thought, maybe there is something off. So, I got sent to these special learning groups and these special reading groups, and they were on the weekends and they looked kind of like school but more sterile.
They had white walls and high-grade tables. I would sit there and I was often in these orange-- Ooh. Orange corduroy overalls. They would put blocks and letters and numbers in front of me. And eventually, words. Small ones like cot, mat, top hat, and they would say, “Isobel, can you read this?” A word has a shape, and I did not understand how the sound would correspond to that shape. When you put them together and they were meant to sound like this complete word, I would get this hot feeling in the back of my eyes and a lump in my throat, and I felt like I was about to cry, because I was this stupid girl.
And then, going back to school on Monday, things had really escalated. Social stigma was now attached to this. It was like, “Could you count to 100, or read a full chapter book?” I could not do either of them. And the point that it really hit me was when my teacher took me aside and said, “No one had asked to be your partner on our big field trip, so I will be with me.” I felt like the stupid girl. So, I made this conscious decision from a really young age that I would trick everybody, that I was smart and I could read and I could write and I could do math. I think for the most part, it worked. No one really knew. It took me until I was 12 to learn how to read. I did it in a few different ways.
When my mom would read to me, I would memorize the words that were on the page and I would remember the picture. So, when I did public reading, it looked like I knew exactly what I was saying. And in classes, I would focus on the way I said words and try to remember them too, because I realized I could remember most things, but I really could not write them. And so, I was doing this for years. When I got to high school, I was really determined to keep up this image of this girl I had created in my mind. I was on time for class, sometimes I was really early and I had homework assignments in on time and I would work so hard. But then, someone caught me, and it was my ninth-grade math teacher.
She asked me to stay after school, and she sat down with me and she said, “Isobel, I have taught for 13 years in all these different places, but I have never met anybody as far behind in math as you.” Again, I got that hot feeling in the back of my eyes and that lump in my throat, and I tried to swallow through it. I zoned out. I looked at the window and I kept thinking about how I was that girl again. I was that stupid girl. But then, I went every day after school, and I learned my times tables, and I learned my fractions and I eventually passed the class. I kept pushing.
I mean, there were moments when I knew that this was wrong, because I was scribbling out answers or questions on tests and putting in animations there instead. Sometimes I would stay up really, really late drawing, and then those drawings turned into paintings, which turned into little worlds again, and then it would be 04:00 or 05:00 and I would realize I was going to be really tired at school. But it did not really seem to matter, because at least I was really happy in those moments.
Senior year came and it was time to apply to college. It would be proof if I went to some really academically rigorous school that I had never been the stupid girl. I was just smart. So, I started taking really hard classes. One was this Constitutional Law history class. We had this one big paper for the end of our term and we had to do this big reading attached to it. So, when I sat down to do this reading, I pulled it out and I went over the first line and I did not understand what it had said. So, I went back again. I took a breath and I said, “I can do this.” I went over the same line again and I still could not read it.
This thing started happening where that lump in my throat was back and the hot feeling was behind my eyes. I was going over and over these lines, and I could not read any of it. I was so frustrated, because I am 18 and I know how to read now. I am not 12. I am not that girl. I am crying, and I am embarrassed and there is no one there to even see. As I am crying, the crying turns to laughing, because I hated it. I hated Constitutional Law. [audience laughter] I could not do it anymore. But the thing I realized was that there were things that I loved. What I loved was Model Magic. I mean, it was not that anymore. It was something else. But it was something I could feel.
I wanted to go back to that girl who was 5 and that girl who was 12. And now, I want to go back to that 18 -year-old girl and I want to tell her, “You are not stupid. You are a really hard worker, and you are creative and you will stop at nothing. You were never the stupid girl, Isobel. You were always the smart girl. You were just chasing the wrong things.” Thank you.
[cheers and applause]
Sarah: [00:15:40] Isobel Connelly has told stories with The Moth since she was a junior in high school. She came back from college, The Rhode Island School of Design, to tell this story at the Education Showcase. Isobel majors in graphic design, and she says her newest project is making crayon letters from a typeface she designed called Recog, for dyslexic people of all ages. To see her recent visual work, visit themoth.org.
Up next, more from this night featuring students from The Moth's Education Program, when our show continues.
[softhearted music]
Jay: [00:16:46] The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. And presented by PRX.
[softhearted music]
Sarah: [00:17:57] You are listening to The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I am Sarah Austin Jenness. And in this episode, we are live from The Moth’s Education Showcase at The Bell House in Brooklyn.
It is not an exaggeration to tell you that this mission to elevate stories of young people has fundamentally changed our whole organization. Here is Hannah Campbell, the Senior Manager of The Moth’s Education Program, with more on the mission.
Hannah: [00:18:20] Our mission is to give educators and young people a platform to share their stories and their experiences with each other, and then also with the world, where we have educators come in, work on their own stories and then think about how they can bring this practice that they have experienced into their own classrooms.
In terms of impact, we hear very often from young people that they have had a chance to grow in their self-confidence. They feel confident being listened to. It is so rare in all lives, but also particularly in the life of a young person to be listened to uninterrupted for five minutes. So, I think our students get to know their peers and their classmates in ways that they had not really imagined before they entered the workshop space.
Sarah: [00:19:05] That was The Moth’s Hannah Campbell. Let us get back to our live Education Showcase with the theme, Hidden Treasure. Here is the host, Julian Goldhagen.
[cheers and applause]
Julian: [00:19:15] Thank you so, so much. So, when I asked this storyteller, “What are three things that she treasures most?” She told me she treasures her journal, she treasures music, and she treasures a necklace that her grandmother gave her. Ladies and gentlemen, and people who are not ladies or gentlemen, let us give a huge round of applause for Saya Shamdasani.
[cheers and applause]
[Julian hollering]
Saya: [00:19:46] I have lived in New York for my entire life. When I was younger, I used to watch a lot of television. I would watch these programs with these girls, and I became fascinated by one thing, and it was this girl who was eating these bags of chips. I later learned that these chips were Pirate’s Booty. [audience laughter] About a week later, I went to my friend’s house and her mom gave us the same bag of chips for snack. I was just so enamored by that, that I went home to my mom and I told her, “Mom, I want these chips for snack every single day when I come home from school.” She wrinkled her nose and she was like, “What about the Indian snacks I make for you every day?” And I am like, “No, can you please get me these?” She did it, because that is what moms do. And every single day, I had a bag of chips waiting for me when I came home from school.
So, like I said, I grew up in New York City and I was always surrounded by a lot of white people. It obviously influenced how I did things. When my white friends came over, I would tell my mom and my dad, “Never speak in Hindi.” That was the one rule. I would always have these board games stacked up in a pile, and I would have the food that my friends were going to eat lined up and ready to go. Everyone had to act a certain way and smile. But when my Indian friends came over, it was more rough and messy. It was not perfect, but I did not want that. I wanted to be like the girls in school with their chips. I wanted to be like the girl in the TV show. I did not want rough-edged and messy.
One day, my mom came home and she told us we were going to India for two weeks. I had been to India before, but it had been a couple of years since I had been in. My first thought when she told me was, “Ugh, I do not want to go to India. I do not want to be in the heat. I want to be here and I want to spend the time with my friends when I do not have school.” But I still packed my bags and I went.
It is a long flight, and it is so chaotic. People are yelling from the back row about some food that their relative has in the front row, and then they have to squeeze through the aisles and pass it to them. It is all these hugs and greetings. When you land in the airport, everyone is speaking in Hindi. There are immigration fliers and there is baggage claim, and it is just this type of freeness that I never experienced anywhere else.
My grandmother was waiting outside in the car, and she came and she enveloped my brother and me in a tight hug. She said goodbye to my brother, my mom and my dad, because I was going to be spending some time in her apartment and living with her. I remember pulling up to her apartment, and it was this yellow brick apartment, had seven little flats. Each flat had a balcony and it was really beautiful and small.
And as I lived there with her, the neighbors were a big part of her daily life. It felt so different from my life in New York. The only time we spoke to our neighbors was when my brother threw the basketball in their area, and then they came over and handed it back. [audience laughter] The only time we ever spoke. [audience laughter] So, I was living in the apartment. I was surrounded by my mom’s violet walls from when she was growing up. I was showering in her shower. She did not have a shower head, so I had this bucket and I would pour it over myself.
I was eating food. My days consisted of walking in the markets and watching my mother bargain for an item. She would spend 20 minutes bargaining, bargaining over probably one dollar. It did not even become about whether or not the dollar was worth it or the item was worth it. It was just about who won the fight, who was the better bargainer. [audience laughter] Every time we went to a new store, I was just hoping she would fight a little harder and win that fight. [audience laughter] We would ride in rickshaws, and my hand would stick out the car window and I would feel the dust in between my fingers.
I remember one time, my brother, my grandmother and I were leaving the apartment complex, and I was sitting in the front. That was so cool, because I never got to do that in New York. A bunch of boys were picking some mangoes at a tree nearby. They walked over to us, and one of the boys, my grandmother asked, “How much for a bundle of mangoes?” And the boy said some absurd number and my grandmother was like, “What are you going to do with all that money?” I think he said something really sketchy, because all of a sudden, my grandma takes her hand and slaps the boy across the face. [audience laughter] And that boy is rolling his eyes, and I am like, “Why is he not freaking out?”
I had seen the boy around our complex before, helping my grandma carry up groceries up the stairs, because they did not have an elevator. She had given him food before when she had leftovers. She did not have to look out for him, because she was his mother. She was there, because she wanted to be there, because there was a sense of community, this sense of togetherness, something I never experienced in America.
So, he just rolled his eyes and said, “Auntie, you know, this is what teenagers do.” She laughed it off, like, “We are going to talk about this later.” [audience laughter] We flash forward, and I am back in New York and hanging out with my Indian friends a little bit more. One day, we all go to a restaurant with our moms. We are loud, and we are happy and we are boisterous. We are sitting down and about to order our food, when all of a sudden, this man stands up and he bangs his fists on the table and says, “If you want to act uncivilized and loud like that, go back to your own country.”
I remember the entire restaurant being completely silent. This fork I had was digging into the palm of my hand, and I was sweating and my heart was slowing down. I watch as my mom stands up, and she walks over to that man and says, “Sir, we have as much of a right to be in this country as you. This country is as much our home as it is yours.” I never felt more proud to be Indian in that moment than I have in my entire life. I looked around me and saw my friends and their mothers nodding their heads, cheering her on. And in my head, I was like, “Yeah, Mom, you tell him.” [audience chuckle]
It was this sense of, again, togetherness and community, something I had never experienced before. I knew people were there for me and they had my back in a way that I never had before. So, it is not like I went back to school and I was all of a sudden, this Indian girl who ate Indian food at lunch and listened to Indian music and wore Indian clothes and spoke in Hindi. But I began to realize that I did not have to pretend to be someone I was not. I began picking up pieces of myself that I had let fall.
[cheers and applause]
Sarah: [00:26:44] That was Saya Shamdasani, who at the time of the show was a student at Trinity School in New York City. She says she is still very much in touch with her Indian community, both in New York City and India. Saya’s grandmother passed away just after she told this, and Saya is happy that so many will get to meet her grandmother through this story. To see photos of Saya, her grandmother and the mangoes from this trip to India, go to themoth.org.
Coming up next, our final stories from this high school showcase, when The Moth Radio Hour continues.
[whimsical music]
Jay: [00:27:35] The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. And presented by the Public Radio Exchange, prx.org.
[whimsical music]
Sarah: [00:28:48] This is The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Sarah Austin Jenness.
To date, thousands of students and educators have crafted and shared stories with The Moth. In this episode, we're bringing you a live student showcase from early 2020 at The Bell House in Brooklyn. Here's our host, Julian Goldhagen.
[cheers and applause]
Julian: [00:29:07] All right. So, very excited to bring this storyteller onto the stage. So, when we asked him, “What are three things that he treasures most?” He told us, playing covers on his guitar, keeping his sense of humor no matter what, and ramen, [audience laughter] all right? So, let's have a huge round of applause for David Lepelstat.
[cheers and applause]
David: [00:29:36] So, throughout my middle school career, I had many different crushes. It was about the time when I started to develop real feelings for my peers, but no one was allowed to hear about any of them. [audience chuckle] And that was because of two reasons. The first reason, rejection. I was scared that I would admit that I liked someone and it would get to them and then they would not like me back. That just seemed like a scary position for me to be in. [audience chuckle]
The second reason was acceptance. [audience laughter] I was scared that I was going to admit I liked someone, that person finds out about it and they may like me back, and then where do we go from there? [audience laughter] I was like, “Oh, maybe then we will have to date.” And then, “Oh, what is this? We are broken up.” And then, all of my friends do not like hers and all of her friends do not like mine. It just seemed like a lot of drama at the time. [audience laughter]
But then, eighth grade came, and along with eighth grade came my biggest crush of all. It was on this girl named Rachel, who sat next to me in geography class. It just seemed like there was this time in my life where I was only going to school just for that class, and just to sit next to her and race her on the geography video game and see who could name more countries. She was just amazing. Like, we had all these inside jokes with each other, and I just had this feeling that I could not hold onto this crush any longer. And lucky for me, our middle school prom was right around the corner. That’s right, I went to a small, progressive middle school, [audience laughter] and we had a prom for the eighth graders.
So I was like, “That is a great entrance into this romantic scene in my middle school. I will ask Rachel out to prom.” So, I went home and I looked up on Google, how to ask someone out to prom. [audience laughter] I come across these things called promposals, which are these proposals for marriage, but this time for the prom. [audience laughter] A lot of them had this musical element, like someone sings a song or does a dance. So, I am thinking, hey, I am kind of musical. I can do that.
Next thing I know, I am waiting for Rachel outside of class, ukulele in hand, [audience laughter] and I sing her a song, asking her to prom. It is a little bit overkill. People are like, “You could have just got flowers.” But she is laughing, and she seems to really like it and perhaps think it was cute and she says yes. And I am like, “Wow, this is so cool.” So, next thing you know, we are at prom, and it is this Under the Sea theme. There are inflatable lobsters on the floor. Every table has a seaweed centerpiece. [audience laughter]
Rachel and I have this wonderful night. We are just talking the whole night, and we never leave each other’s side. We even have our caricature drawn together by the caricature artist, [audience laughter] which feels like a really big move for me. [audience laughter] It is just this magical nautical night. [audience laughter] At the end of it, we hug and we say goodnight, and I walk away and I am like, “Well, that was not so bad. That was not so scary. This is really cool.”
The next day, a bunch of us middle school prom couples are hanging out at Emma’s house. [audience laughter] Emma was like the ringleader of my middle school friend group. We are all hanging out watching the movie, Frozen, [audience laughter] as you do. [audience laughter] There is one point where Rachel gets up and excuses herself to use the bathroom. And at that moment, all the attention in the room turns to me. Emma stands up and she says, “David, have you had your first kiss yet?” And I say, “No.” And she says, “Oh, well, Rachel has not had her first kiss yet. She leaves for camp tomorrow for the rest of the summer. And she said that she would like her first kiss to be with you.” Wow. [audience laughter] I mean, I am not even thinking about a kiss. This is crazy to me.
And then, Rachel just comes back in the room, and everyone goes back to normal. I am just really in my head, like, “This is--" I am thinking, wait, I do want to have my first kiss with Rachel, but this is soon, and an ultimatum on top of it? [audience laughter] But then, as we are watching the movie, people are motioning like, “David, maybe you should put your arm around her, make a first move on the way to your kiss later today.” [audience laughter] I am still and stagnant. But then, the song, Let It Go, comes on. [audience laughter] And you know what I do? I let that arm go [audience laughter] and I put it around Rachel. She smiles and snuggles up next to me, and it seems like a good move. And I am like, “Okay, maybe I can do this kiss.”
But then, the movie ends, and Rachel abruptly is like, “Okay, I have to go home.” And I am like, “Oh my gosh, I am going to miss my opportunity.” But then, I am like, “Okay, I will walk you to the train.” I go and follow her to the door, and everyone is just like, “Yes, go!” So, Rachel and I are walking to the train. This is me agreeing to kiss her, I feel, in my head. [audience laughter] Everyone at the hangout agrees as well, because my phone is ringing off the-- It's going crazy. People are texting me, “Make sure you put your hands on your hips when you kiss her.” “Make sure you lean down because you are much taller than her.” “And make sure you pick a side. Pick a side to lean on.” [audience laughter] So, I am just like, “Okay, bend down, you are taller, hands on hips, pick a side, pick a side.” [audience laughter]
And just like that, all of the lovely banter that Rachel and I had before is gone. She is just walking and I am just in my head and not really saying a word. We get to the train station, we walk down to the subway platform. I am just too nervous. She is waiting there for me to do something, and I can’t. And I just say, “Bye.” And she says, “Bye.” She swipes her MetroCard, and the turnstile divides us. [audience laughter] I am thinking like, why did you let all those texts get in your head? This is actually something you want to do. And then, I look and I see the train times and I see I still have one more minute [audience laughter] and something gets ahold of me.
So, I take out my MetroCard [audience laughter] and I go for a swipe, because love is worth wasting a MetroCard swipe. [audience laughter] I go and I meet her on the platform, and she just starts laughing hysterically. And I ask her, “Why are you laughing?” And she just says, “Oh, I laugh a lot when I get nervous.” And that makes me feel so much better, because I am really nervous as well. I ask her if she wants to have her first kiss with me, and she says yes. And so, I put my hands on her hips. [audience laughter] I lean down, because I am a lot taller than her. I pick a side. I pick the right side. [audience laughter] As the train is coming, we place a little peck on the side of our lips, and the wind from the train hits us.
[00:36:16] It is magical. [audience laughter] I am really celebrating this moment. But I do not celebrate it with her. After it happens, I run away, [audience laughter] because there is no, like, staring off longingly into our eyes. None of that. No. I just leave the train station and I am just thinking about all the moments I can have in my life that are so exciting if I just put myself out there. I went from someone who could not even admit he had a crush on someone to asking a girl out to prom with my ukulele, having my first kiss. And more important than that, establishing a really special connection with someone I like. There were so many thoughts running through my head, but one of them just kept sticking with me. I just kept thinking, I did it. Thank you.
[cheers and applause]
Sarah: [00:37:02] David Lepelstat was a member of The Moth’s All City, a high school storytelling team that meets at The Moth office on weekends to craft stories. David was also a teaching intern with us, and he says, The Moth’s Education Program was a home away from home while he was in high school. He also told us that he and Rachel are still friends and still see each other at school reunions. He says, now that he is no longer in high school, he does not have a public school MetroCard, so he is much more frugal with his subway swipes. To see a photo of this epic Under the Sea prom, go to themoth.org.
Our next storyteller is Luna Azcurrain. Her three treasures are adventure, culture and food. Here is Luna, live at The Moth.
[cheers and applause]
Luna: [00:37:50] Thanksgiving at my house is not your typical Thanksgiving. Half of my family is from Spain, so we always add our little Spanish twist to it. We have tortilla de patata and gambas al ajillo, instead of, what do you guys have, your green bean casserole?] I do not know. [audience laughter] My favorite part of Thanksgiving was actually this apple cake. Typically, Thanksgiving was held at my aunt’s house, so I just assumed that she was the mastermind behind it. But I actually found out that it was my grandfather, which completely surprised me, because he is never in the kitchen. He is either reading a French newspaper or watching the Spanish news channel. So, when I found out it was him, I was like, “One, this is the perfect opportunity to get the recipe. And two, I can actually have a time and place to connect with him,” which I did not really have before that.
So, ever since then, I would go early on Thanksgiving morning and we would pull out this old recipe book that had all these food stains on it. I would mix together the wet and the dry ingredients, and he would double-check my measurements, and then I would sit there, mesmerized by the fact that he could peel an apple in one entire rind. We would combine everything, and then go over and consult with my uncle about the placement of the cake in the oven, because no one wanted to disrupt the turkey’s cooking time, even though [chuckles] no one wanted to eat it anyway. [audience chuckle] And then, it almost felt like instantly, the house would just smell like cinnamon and apples.
And at the end of the night, when everyone got that thick slice, we would just get this big round of applause, and everyone would be like, “Oh my God, it’s so amazing. It tastes so good.” Me and my grandfather and I would just look at each other from across the room and be like, “Yeah, we did that.” [chuckles] It just became a tradition that I enjoyed and always looked forward to. But as I got older, so did he. And one Thanksgiving morning, he was sitting at the kitchen table, and I assumed that he was waiting to make the apple cake. I was unpacking the groceries and putting the apples on the table. He looks at me and goes, “Luna, what are you doing?” And I’m shocked.
I knew that he was beginning to forget things, but I didn’t think that he would forget this. It was our tradition. It was our time of bonding. It was our time to connect. And he had forgotten. And I told him, I'm like, “We’re making the apple cake, you know, the one that we always make.” And he goes, “Apple cake? Can you teach me?” And now, I’m terrified, because he was my teacher, and now I have to be his teacher, because I don’t want this tradition to die. And so, I tell him, “I’ll teach you.”
As I’m telling him that I’m putting the sugar and the eggs in a blender, and I’m putting the flour and the cinnamon in another bowl, and then we’re going to combine. I hand him the apple, and he still peels it in one rind and I’m like, “Okay, maybe he remembers a little bit.” We put it in the oven. It comes out perfectly. But the entire time, it just doesn’t feel the same, because even though he’s there with me, he’s not completely capable of being there like he used to be.
And so, fast forward to this year, it’s about three years later, and I’m on my way to work and I remember that it’s going to be Thanksgiving. So, I call my mom and tell her that I need her to pick up the five freshest Granny Smith apples. And then, a few hours later, she calls me again and she goes, “Luna, your grandfather was just admitted to the hospital. He needs to get a small, minimal surgery. He’s going to be fine, but we’re going to have Thanksgiving in the hospital this year.”
My first reaction was, “Oh my God, is he going to be okay?” But then, my second reaction was, “What about the apple cake?” [chuckles] And so, I knew that everyone was really worried about him, and so I figured I would just make the apple cake by myself this year, so that that way I could bring a little bit of comfort to the family. I get home, and I’m looking at the apples and I just completely forget everything. I don’t remember if he does slivers for the apples or chunks, if they’re big or if they’re small. I’m testing one with one apple and I definitely can’t peel it in one rind. And the entire time, as I’m mixing everything together, I’m just doubting myself, I’m like, “This is going to taste horrible. It’s not going to look the same.”
As I’m putting it in the oven, I’m just like, “This doesn’t have his touch. He’s not by my side. This cake will not be the same.” Because what made it so special was him being there, was us being able to make it together and he couldn’t do that this time. And so, as soon as it comes out of the oven, I’m like, “We’re not bringing it. This is not the cake. We’re not bringing it.” But of course, my mother insists. And so, we pack it in the bag and we’re on our way to the hospital. As we enter, it’s cold and it smells like medicine. But as we get to my grandfather’s room, everyone’s surrounding him and creating some warmth.
I try to discreetly [chuckles] hide the bag behind my back, but my grandmother sees and she goes, “What do you have there, Luna?” I hand her the bag and she pulls out the apple cake and then she tells my grandfather, “Look, Luna made apple cake.” He looks down at the cake and then he looks back up at me and he smiles. I just feel this rush of memories flowing back to him of every time we have made it together. And in that moment, even though he was in the hospital, it felt like we had made it together. We had done it once again. Thank you.
[cheers and applause]
Sarah: [00:43:30] Luna Azcurrain was born and raised on the Lower East Side in Manhattan. And like a true New Yorker, she loves people-watching on the subway. Luna says she has not seen her grandparents for a while. They are all social distancing, but she says their FaceTime calls are the best. Her apple cake recipe remains a closely guarded secret, but you can see a photo of Luna and her grandfather baking in the kitchen at themoth.org.
And here is your host, Julian Goldhagen, to introduce our final storyteller.
Julian: [00:44:01] When I asked this storyteller, “What are three things that she treasures most?” She says, finding things that she thought she lost, having a really good conversation and a great book. Let’s have a big warm welcome for our final storyteller, Beth Gebresilasie.
[cheers and applause]
Beth: [00:44:26] When people ask me where I am from, I usually just say, “It’s a long story.” And it is. I was born in this really small country in Eastern Africa called Eritrea. I loved it there. The weather was always perfect. It was warm and sunny with a breeze always there to curb the sun rays. I had my select group of friends who I loved and adored, and I spent almost every single day with.
When I was in third grade, I was nine years old, and my mother took me aside from the rest of our family. We were standing in front of the doorway when she told me that her job at the UN was relocating her and we were moving to Sudan. I was actually, incredibly excited. I loved seeing new things. That’s what I saw in Sudan, a new place to see and new friends to make.
My parents are separated, so my father had to stay in Eritrea. In the airport, he was just trying to hold on to me to get the last few pieces of me, but I was so hyper and excited that I barely said goodbye. In Sudan, on the first day of fourth grade, I got on the school bus. I was nervous and really antsy to see how things would go. I sat next to this girl named Yasmin, and she turned to me and said, “Hi.” And I said, “Hi” and we were friends.
[audience laughter]
Sudan turned out pretty great. I learned Arabic, I memorized the national anthem and I had a new group of friends. From my friends, I was closest to Rayan. Rayan understood me so well, and she could make me laugh so easily. We played this game where she would speak in Arabic really, really fast and I would try to translate it as perfectly as possible. I did miss my old friends, but I had found a new sense of comfort.
Towards the end of sixth grade, my mother and I were watching TV. She told me that we would be moving again, this time to Virginia. I did not want to go to a new place. This time, I did not want to make new friends. I spent the last week just crying with my friends. On my last day, we went to the mall. We did what we usually did. We ate, we drank, we looked at clothes and walked around. In the end, we all just crowded onto a bench and cried together. Virginia offered nothing appeasing to my sense of displacement.
At that point, all those years of torn friendships had taken a toll on me and I could not take it anymore. I did not want to make new friends, only to leave them again. So, when school started, I did not talk to anyone in high school. I moved to New York City. I despised it. [audience laughter] But in many ways, it made me feel better about my choice to be alone, because this time, I was not leaving anyone behind. I would not speak in class and I would eat lunch alone. I did not want to make friends, only to leave them all over again.
In 10th grade, my mom urged me to apply to an internship at the Museum of Jewish Heritage. She noticed how alone I was, how hurt I was and how desperate I looked. I was against it. I did not want to have to talk to people. But after much persuasion, I applied and shockingly, I got in. After the first meeting in my internship, I did not even want to consider talking to anybody. But over time, it grew harder to be quiet and isolate myself. In the internship, all 15 of us had to discuss social justice and our own heritage. Its very nature required vulnerability.
In one of our first meetings, we had to bring artifacts from our culture and talk about them. I brought a picture of a traditional coffee set, because it was too big to bring in there. We all offered something different and we all opened up. And in opening up, we just all automatically connected. Through the internship, I realized how much I was missing out. I made these amazing connections that I had cut myself off from and I thought about everyone else I had not talked to that I was just protecting myself from losing.
The internship ended, and those connections and those people did fade. But the way they have changed me always remained within me, imprinting my soul. I learned to find permanence in impermanence. Thank you.
[cheers and applause]
Sarah: [00:49:23] That was Beth Gebresilasie. Beth has moved again, and she is currently a college student at SUNY New Paltz, where she has found new friends. She misses New York City, but she says, “I feel like it’s a constant push and pull between wanting permanence and also wanting to move, move, move.” Here for one last thought is The Moth’s Senior Manager of Education, Hannah Campbell.
Hannah: [00:49:47] I would love for us to take this program to other cities. I would love to make it more accessible and to maybe have teacher institutes in different cities as time goes on, so that more teachers can get this opportunity.
Sarah: [00:50:01] What happens to adults when they stop and listen to young people?
Hannah: [00:50:07] I mean, the world is always changing. And so, it’s different now than when many of us were younger, were young people. And so, just to hear what young people are dealing with, and what their joys and delights are and what their stressors are, I think it is so important. It really gives us empathy for them and for what they’re dealing with, and prepares us to be able to support them.
I also think it gives us empathy for ourselves, and an opportunity to remember what it’s like to be young, and to remember the stories of our crushes or our proms or our dances or the tests or the things that felt really high stakes, because they were. And a chance to listen to that story also gives you a chance to go internal and remember your own, and I think that’s such a delicious opportunity.
Sarah: [00:50:59] That was Hannah Campbell. For more information about The Moth Education Program, student stories and our free online curriculum, and to find out how you can get involved as a teacher or as a student, visit our website, themoth.org/education.
That’s it for this episode of The Moth Radio Hour. We hope you’ll join us next time.
[overture music]
Jay: [00:51:30] Your hosts this hour were Julian Goldhagen and Sarah Austin Jenness. Sarah also directed the stories in the show along with Michelle Jalowski, Jodi Powell and Chloe Salmon.
The rest of The Moth directorial staff includes Catherine Burns, Sarah Haberman, Jenifer Hixson and Meg Bowles. Production support from Emily Couch.
The Moth’s Education Program is helmed by Jennifer Birmingham, Delia Bloom, Melissa Brown, Hannah Campbell and Julio Chavez. We’d also like to thank George Dawes Green and all of The Moth’s teaching artists and partner schools. Be sure to tune in to The Moth Podcast for Fridays with The Moth starting May 15th, with stories you can share with friends and family of all ages. The Moth Education Program is made possible by generous support from the Kresge Foundation, the Hollywood Foreign Press Association Charitable Trust, the Kate Spade New York Foundation and Alice Gottesman.
Additional support is provided by Bloomberg Philanthropies, the New York State Council on the Arts, Con Edison and the New York Department of Cultural Affairs. Moth stories are true, as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers.
Our theme music is by The Drift. Other music in this hour from Blue Dot Sessions, Khruangbin, Iván Reséndez and Percussions. You can find links to all the music we use at our website. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by me, Jay Allison, with Viki Merrick at Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. This hour was produced with funds from the National Endowment for the Arts.
The Moth Radio Hour is presented by PRX. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching us your own story and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org.