Host: Chloe Salmon
Chloe: [00:00:03] Welcome to The Moth Podcast. I'm Chloe Salmon, a director at The Moth and your host for this episode.
One of the best things about a StorySLAM, is that no matter where you are in the world, the room has a similar atmosphere. The people are different, of course, and the vibes can shift a bit from show to show. But overall, it is a magical thing. Moth audiences, wherever they are, seem to be universally enthusiastic and supportive. And it's true, whether you're in New York or Ann Arbor, London or Melbourne. That's according to Melbourne StorySLAM producer, Selena Brennan.
In this episode, we're going to showcase two of those stories, as well as reflect on the legacy of Cal Wilson, long time Melbourne StorySLAM host, and an important part of The Moth family and Melbourne storytelling community.
In Melbourne, as with any Moth StorySLAM, there are stories of loss and hope, romance and tragedy, and especially in Melbourne, comedy. That's according to producer, Selena Brennan, who says there are a lot of funny stories with self-deprecatory slants that often reflect the laconic or lyrical personalities of the storytellers.
First up, we have Elizabeth Gray, who told this at a Melbourne StorySLAM, where theme of the night was Education. Here's Elizabeth, live at The Moth.
[cheers and applause]
Elizabeth: [00:01:22] I have two beautiful boys, and they were born 22 months apart and they're like chalk and cheese. But in their own separate ways, they're gorgeous, and funny, and kind, and smart and they're both on the autism spectrum.
When my husband and I started looking for schools, we were told that my eldest was too high functioning to be eligible for a special needs school. We're a little bit worried about sending him to a big local school, because we thought that he might get lost, or alternatively misunderstood and garnered the wrong type of attention. So, it was just by pure luck that we found an amazing school that had small class sizes, an amazing teaching philosophy and amazing teachers. We went through a few hoops and we managed to get him enrolled. And before we knew it, it was his first day of school.
So, normally, I'm a chronic snooze button presser. But on this particular day, when the alarm went off, I jumped up and I went to find my two boys. They were where I expected them to be, which was sitting up in bed with nana on either side of her two snuggly bookends. I was feeling really anxious, but I wanted to keep it light, so I went in there and I said, “Guess what day it is today?” My eldest, he didn't move, but he looked at me and he said, “It's my first day of school.” And I'm like, “Yeah.” And then, nana looked at me and she said wearily, “And guess what your son wants to be called today?”
Now, some kids on the autism spectrum can become obsessed with a particular subject. So, at the time, my son's obsession was space. Everything was about space. And on the holidays, every day, he'd wake up and he'd want to be called a particular planet. [audience laughter] I think some of you can see where this is going. [audience laughter]
He wouldn't answer to anything else. I'd be like sat and just stop bouncing on the couch. Jupiter, go tidy your room. And so, it was this particular morning on his first day of school that he looks at me proudly and he said, “Mum, today, I am Uranus.” [audience laughter] And the Earth just slowed in its rotation [audience laughter] and just ground to a halt. [audience laughter] All I could say in response to this was like, “What?” And he said, “Uranus. Today, I'm Uranus.”
So, I was in shock, and I backpedaled out of there and I went to the bedroom to get some reinforcements. I told my husband, and he just groaned and swung his legs out of bed and said, “Right, I've got a plan.” So, his plan consisted of basically explaining in acute detail what an anus did [audience laughter] and what came out of it. [audience laughter] There was a lot of poo jokes, and there was some tickling thrown in.
And so, at the end of it, he stood up and he looked triumphant and he said, “So, do you still want to be called Uranus?” My eldest son looked at him like he was crazy and said, “Yes, because that's what I am today.” So, threw up our hands in despair and continued on with the day. So, all of the breakfasting and getting dressed was done a lot quicker than usual, and then it was time to go. So, the plan was my youngest would stay with nana, and that my husband and I would take our eldest to the bus. He would take the bus out to school, and then we would meet him there for a morning meeting.
So, it was on the way to the bus. I just couldn't stand it. I just turned to him, I turned to Uranus sitting in the back seat, [audience laughter] looking very small, and I said, “Right, that's it. I've had enough. I don't want you to be called Uranus. I want you to be called by your real name today. And that's it. No argument.” He looked at me and his little lip wobbled a bit and he said, “Okay.”
It was one of the times in my parenting career where I felt absolutely relieved, but shite all at the same time. [audience laughter] So, it was time to put him on the bus, and I gave him a big hug and I grabbed him, I said, “Make sure you don't take your seat belt off under any circumstances.” And on he went onto the bus.
So, then, my husband and I drove out to the school. It was about a 40-minute drive. We get there, and the bus arrives and all the kids pile off. My son's not there. The bus driver gets up, gets off, still no son. So, we're starting to really freak out. It's like, “What if he got off at another stop and no one realized? What if he's got into another dimension and no one realized?”
So, we sprint onto the bus and there he is sitting there by himself. He looks at me and he's like, “What are you doing here?” And I'm like, “What are you doing here still on the bus?” He's like, “You told me not to take my seat belt off.” I didn't know whether to laugh or to cry.
So, we drove home, and then began the longest six hours of my life. It was like maybe I started him too soon, maybe he should go to a special needs school, “What if he gets bullied? What if he doesn't make any friends?” All of these negative thoughts were just spinning around in my head.
Finally, it was time to pick him up. He got off the bus and I gave him a big hug. As I was strapping him into his car seat, I realized he had something in his hand. And I said, “What have you got there?” He looked a little sheepish and he showed it to me. It was a perfectly round cardboard cutout of the planet Uranus. [audience laughter] And I said, “Who gave that to you?” And he said, “The teacher gave it to me.”
I learned three valuable lessons that day. The first one is, worrying about your kids when they're in someone else's care is useless. It just gives you a sore tummy and nothing else. Secondly, my son will always find a way to let his unique light shine through. [audience laughter] And thirdly, there will always be people around who want to see him shine. Thank you.
[cheers and applause]
Chloe: [00:08:10] That was Elizabeth Gray. Elizabeth has been a short story writer, most of her life. However, since getting on stage at The Moth in October of 2016, she's fallen in love with storytelling. She lives in Melbourne with her husband, two sons and two cats.
Whether you're in Melbourne or anywhere The Moth has a SLAM, we'd love for you to join us. Just go to themoth.org/events for a list of upcoming shows and themes. It might seem scary to come and share a story. And if you just want to come and hear some tales from your community, that's amazing too. But there's something special when you actually get on stage. And trust us, it's not that scary.
In fact, one of the things that Melbourne StorySLAM producer, Selena Brennan, appreciates most about her city's SLAMs is how kind the audience is. “There's been more than one time that a storyteller has frozen, because they've forgotten the next part of the story. And the audience has waited patiently, or leaned in encouragingly or even audibly cheered them on, appreciating that it takes courage to be on stage, especially to share something personal.”
One of the people who has made the Melbourne stage so kind and welcoming was Cal Wilson. In addition to being an incredible comedian, writer and multi hyphenate, Cal was the longtime host of our Melbourne StorySLAMs. She passed away in 2023, but she left a legacy of kindness, humor and vulnerability.
We'd like to play one of her stories for you. She told this at the very first Moth StorySLAM in Melbourne in 2015, where theme of the night fittingly was First. Here's Cal Wilson.
[cheers and applause]
Cal: [00:09:49] By the time I had my first swimming lesson at the age of five, I was already terrified of the water. I don't really remember how it started. I think I was held under the water by an older kid. All I remember is always feeling the panic and the terror. Water being forced up my nose and I just hated the water. But I eventually learnt to swim at the age of 43. [audience laughter]
So, 38 years in between, it makes me sound like a slow learner, but I spent those years just avoiding the water, because I just hated it. I would make up any excuse, I didn't like the beach because the sand would get on my book. But really, I was just scared of the water. You know, we had school sports at high school, and everyone had to go in the swimming. Everyone else swam a length, but they made me and three other losers swim a width. [audience laughter]
I got two strokes in, and I stopped and I ran the rest of the way. [audience laughter] And I still got last. So, I've always been scared of the water. And then, when my son was born six years ago-- The thing by the time he was born, I was used to it being a part of my identity as an adult who can't swim. It became like a mildly interesting fact to start a conversation with at parties, like, “As an adult, if you go, I can't swim.” Everyone's immediately like, “Really? How come? Why not?” They start interrogating you as if you've made it up. [audience laughter]
But the thing is, if I was going to invent something about myself, I would make it more interesting than not being able to swim. [audience laughter] I would have said something like, “I'm really good at archery. I'm a magnificent archer.” Or, I would have said, “Oh, my father was partially eaten by a bear.” I would have said something better than I just can't swim.
And so, when my son was born, I didn't want him to have the same fate as me. And so, I made sure that we started swimming lessons with him when he was tiny. He was seven months old. When they're that age, you have to go in the water with them. But it was okay, because it was only waist deep, I didn't have to put my face in. At that stage, when you are swimming with a baby, all you're basically doing is you're just swishing them around. It's like you're washing a marrow. [audience laughter] Nothing very much happens in the swimming lesson.
And then, they get a bit older, and they start to do more stuff like crawl off a mat into the water and you catch them and I dropped mine. [audience laughter] I caught him again. I got him out of the water. I was panicking and I fished him out of the water. He came up with a smile on his face like it was Esther Williams at a water ballet. [audience laughter] I was like, “We are not the same person.” He's loved swimming ever since.
Last year, when he turned five, I had this revelation that he loves swimming so much, he loves the water so much that I am going to be spending a lot of my time with him in the water. I was like, “As his parent, I should be able to enjoy that and I should also be able to rescue him if something goes wrong, and I should be able to swim.” Also, the secondary reason was I can't let my five-year-old beat me. [audience laughter]
So, I started having swimming lessons last year at the same swimming school as my son, which was a very levelling experience. We weren't in the same class, obviously, because that would be weird, but we were in the next line to each other. It's a weird thing. [audience laughter] It is a weird thing to look around a pool that is full of swimming lessons and realize that there are 50 people in that pool, and you are the only person who is older than five. [audience laughter] And you also think, don't think about what's gone in the water. [audience laughter]
So, the first swimming lesson I had, I was terrified. It sounds so stupid, but I was terrified. The teacher went, “It's okay. All I want you to do is put your face in the water and breathe out.” And I was like, “That is the worst thing you could ask me to do.” And so, I put my face in the water, and I freaked out, and I stood up again and she went, “I know what your problem is. You've got to breathe air out your nose.” And I went, “What are you talking about?”
It was a revelation to me. I had no idea. I had no idea you were supposed to blow air out your nose when you swam. I just thought you, guys, were better at dealing with the horrible torment of having water forced up your nose. I thought everyone just dealt with it. I was like, “Ah, it feels like shit, but I'm fine, I'm fine.” [audience laughter]
And so, she cured me. She cured my breathing. It was amazing. The first lesson, I did like five meters with a kickboard, breathing. I felt like Ian Thorpe. [audience [laughter] I was like, “Obviously, an Ian Thorpe with lowered expectations, but an Ian Thorpe.” I was like, “That's it. I'm cured. I can swim. I can totally do it.” I went back to the next lesson thinking that I was not afraid of water anymore. But this thing happens. When you've been afraid of something for so long, even though intellectually you know you don't have to be frightened of it anymore, your hind brain doesn't believe you.
And so, I went back to the second lesson. I put my face in the water going, “It's okay. I breathe out air through my nose. It's okay.” But my hind brain was going, “No, the wetness kills us. Game over, ma’am. Game over.” It took me weeks to get over the fear of putting my face in the water. But gradually, I got better and better, and I learned how to swim and I stopped using a kickboard.
And then, finally, finally, at the end of the term, six months after I started, because I didn't want to rush it, because it had been 38 years, so don't pick it up quickly. [audience [laughter] At the end of six months, I swam my first 25-meter length. I got to the end of the pool and I was so euphoric. My little boy was at the end of the pool and I went, “Mummy just swam. My first length.” And my son went, “Good job, mummy. Go and do another one.” [audience [laughter]
I had this revelation that, like I've done a whole lot of things for the first time I swung my first length, I've gone to a pool on purpose for pleasure with my husband, and I've sworn I swam so much, I got sick from the lactic acid and I was sick in the car park. And it was amazing. [audience [laughter] The only side effect is that now that I can swim. I've got to tell everyone about it really quickly, because at the moment, I'm still a 44-year-old woman who's just learned to swim. But in six months’ time, I will just be a 44-year-old woman who can swim. And that's every 44-year-old woman. [audience [laughter]
And so, I'm going to have to come up with a new story at parties that makes me mildly interesting. So, I'm going to go with being a magnificent archer. [audience laughter] Thank you.
[cheers and applause]
Chloe: [00:15:39] That was Cal Wilson. Originally from New Zealand, Cal was a much-loved comedian, storyteller, writer and actor, whose talent, generosity and friendship has been at the heart of the Australian comedy scene for the past two decades. She became one of Australia and New Zealand's best-known comedians and regularly appeared on TV in shows such as Would I Lie to You, QI, I'm a Celebrity... Get Me Out of Here!, her own Netflix standup special and most recently as co-host of the Great Australian Bake Off. She died after a short illness in 2023, and is widely missed by all those who knew and worked with her around the world.
In Selena Brennan's words, Cal made it safe for all of our storytellers to be vulnerable, because she led by example. She was our OG host and has left a big hole in our Melbourne Moth community, but an impressive legacy for us to continue.
I myself met Cal a few years ago when I flew to Melbourne to help put on their very first GrandSLAM. Watching her host was like being given the warmest hug. Her love for the SLAMs and the storytellers was contagious. I'd like to leave you with something Cal wrote for the Sydney Herald in 2018. After she passed, so many of us at The Moth office reread it. And at least, for me, it really reaffirmed what we aim to do here. Here's a section.
“Stories connect us. They show us we're not alone. Telling a story can take the power out of a secret, lift a weight off your shoulders or give you courage. There's nothing like seeing someone discover how funny they are, or share something real and painful and have a whole audience shout love back at them.” We'll have a link to Cal's full article in the show description along with information on how you too can share your own story and hear the stories shared by others.
That's it for this episode. From all of us here at The Moth, we hope a whole audience shouts love back at you soon.
Marc: [00:17:32] Chloe Salmon is a director at The Moth. Her favorite Moth moments come on show days when the cardio is done, the house lights go down and the magic settles in.
This episode of The Moth Podcast was produced by Sarah Austin Jenness, Sarah Jane Johnson and me, Marc Sollinger. The rest of The Moth's leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Jenifer Hixson, Meg Bowles, Kate Tellers, Marina Klutse, Suzanne Rest, Brandon Grant-Walker, Lee Ann Gullie and Aldi Kaza.
The Moth would like to thank its supporters and listeners. Stories like these are made possible by community giving. If you're not already a member, please consider becoming one or making a one-time donation today at themoth.org/giveback. All Moth stories are true, as remembered by the storytellers.
For more about our podcast, information on pitching your own story and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org. The Moth Podcast is presented by PRX, The Public Radio Exchange, helping make public radio more public at prx.org.