Host: Meg Bowles

[Uncanny Valley theme music by The Drift]

Meg: [00:00:12] From PRX, this is The Moth Radio Hour. I'm Meg Bowles. Right out of the gate, from the moment we're born, we start learning. But a lot of the actual understanding part tends to come a bit later. In this hour, we'll hear four stories of lessons learned.

Our first story is from Ashok Ramasubramanian. It involves one of those first social rules we're taught as children, but may sometimes find a little difficult to put into practice, even as adults. He told us at our monthly StorySLAM in Louisville, Kentucky, supported by local public radio station WFPL. Here's Ashok, live at The Moth.

[cheers and applause] 

Ashok: [00:00:51] Sometimes when I'm walking down the street, people stop me and ask me for change. Of course, it's not change they want. They want money. [audience laughter] But here's the deal. I always have change, I always give them money. It wasn't always this way. There was a time when I was quite stingy with my money. This is how it all changed, and it's due to my roommate. 

I was in the third year of my engineering school in India. One day a relation of mine who's been overseas came back with a KitKat, the candy bar, a full bar. He gave it to me and he said, "This is KitKat. They eat it in America. [audience laughter] And it's amazing." [audience laughter] 

[applause] 

So, when you're in India and when you have a roommate, tradition dictates that you share this thing with your roommate. I looked at it, and it was like nothing I've ever seen before. It was beautiful. [audience laughter] And I said, "I'm going to eat just a small piece.” I mean, I'll still share the bulk of the thing with the roommate. No harm done. I ate a small piece, and it was amazing. [audience laughter] And I said, "I'll eat a little piece more." [audience laughter] You know where this is going. [audience laughter] 

Pretty soon, I had only a very small piece of KitKat in my hand. And at this point, some twisted logic seized me. I mean, what's the point of sharing now? [audience laughter] I mean, the roommate's going to come home and I got to explain, "Dude, I had this full bar. [audience laughter] I ate most of it, and there's only a small piece to share with." No, the safe thing to do is to eat that also and hide the wrapper, [audience laughter] which is what I did. 

Now, in my 21 years in India, this KitKat has come into my life only two times. You already know the first time. Now, here is the second. About two hours later, my roommate comes home. [audience laughter] He's clearly delighted about something. Joy is a concept that's very hard to pin down, but you know it when you see it. [audience laughter] And I saw joy in the eyes of my roommate. [audience laughter] The dude's clearly excited about something. [audience laughter] Now, in his hand is a small paper napkin folded up. He opens it up, and inside is a small one-inch piece of KitKat. [audience laughter] 

Now, unlike me, who had wealthy relatives abroad, a friend of a friend had given him something, a small piece, and his eyes were filled with the joy of sharing. [audience aw] And he said, "This is KitKat. [audience laughter] They eat it in America. [audience laughter] And it's amazing." [audience laughter] His eyes were sparkling with joy. I've never seen anything like that since or before. Well, my own eyes were more confused than anything else. Like, what am I supposed to say? "Dude, I actually had a full bar, [audience laughter] you know, I ate it all, so you should eat this." [audience laughter] 

So, he proceeded to take a ruler. [audience laughter] This is engineering school, so there's rulers all over the place. [audience laughter] And the rulers that we use have one edge that's sharp, the better to draw lines with. So, he took the sharp edge of the ruler, and he cut his tiny bit of KitKat into two, and he offered one piece to me. I ate it. [audience laughter] I mean, what else are you supposed to do? [audience laughter] It's too complicated to do anything else. [audience laughter] But you know, two KitKats in a single day, within hours of each other, the universe, God, if you will, is trying to send me a signal saying, "Dude, you are on the wrong path. You need to change." And so, I did. Thank you.

[cheers and applause] 

[KitKat theme by KitKat]

Meg: [00:06:01] That was Ashok Ramasubramanian. He's an associate professor of mechanical engineering at Union College in Schenectady, New York. In an email, he said, “The KitKat encounter taught him to be a bit more optimistic and to have faith in people.” He said, “There are still good people who do good things.”

[KitKat theme by KitKat]

Our next story comes from Jane Green. She told it at the Great Hall of the Cooper Union in New York City. The theme of the night was State of Affairs.

[applause] 

Jane: [00:06:38] So, I am not really a girls' night out kind of a girl. But when some friends invited me for drinks and dinner in the city, I said “Yes.” I needed a break from the monotony, and I needed honestly to dress up and feel pretty. So, I took the Metro-North in from my home in the suburbs, and I got out at 48th and Park in the middle of rush hour.

And as I was walking along Park Avenue, I realized there was a sea of men in suits walking towards me. I'm feeling pretty good, and I'm walking along, and I suddenly realized that not a single man even glanced at me. It struck me that at 44, and I was 44 at the time, I had become completely invisible.

I was happily married. I was immersed in being a wife, a mother, and occasionally a writer. Despite the monotony of deepest, darkest suburbia and running around after five children, two dogs, five cats, and 17 chickens, [audience chuckles] life was good. [audience chuckles] Life was settled, and safe, and warm. Life was what my husband always called pots and pans. I knew everything about him, and he knew everything about me, but scratched the surface.

And in fact, we were going through something of a rough patch. We had no energy and we'd forgotten to nurture our relationship. In fact, we'd forgotten to pay attention to each other. We were exhausted. I used to say that a good night was being in bed by 09:00, but a great night was being in bed by 08:00. [audience chuckles] And the highlight of our month was Chinese takeout, and I wasn't really happy.

A little while after the girls' night out, I was invited to take part on a book panel in California. And before the event, I was sitting in the hotel bar. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a young dark-haired man come and sit next to me at the bar. I suddenly realized that he was one of the other authors doing this event, so I turned and introduced myself to him. I was instantly struck by how handsome he was. He had an amused twinkle in his eye that was instantly disconcerting. We started talking. We talked about books, and writing, and publishing, and then we skipped the small talk and we went straight to the real stuff, to relationships and feelings and life. He was sweet, and winsome, and brilliant.

It was the kind of conversation that you can only really have in a hotel bar with a stranger when you don't know each other and you can reveal things that you wouldn't ordinarily reveal. I remember looking at his face, at his skin, and thinking, God, you are so young, and God, you are so handsome. At a certain point in our conversation, I thought, am I going crazy or is he flirting with me? Is this chemistry between us? And then, I thought, Jane, don't be ridiculous. You are almost old enough to be his mother. And I decided we're just having a lovely chat.

We went inside for the event. We all sat behind this long table on a stage. He was the first one up behind the podium, and he stood up and he said, "I was just sitting in the hotel bar with a very lovely woman. And when I told her that I didn't know what to talk about, she said, 'Oh, just tell funny stories and talk about celebrities.'" And I died. [audience laughter] I sank my head into my hands. I turned bright red, and my ears were buzzing with mortification because it was true, I had said that, but only halfway joking. But all I could think about was he said, "Very lovely woman." [audience chuckles] He said, "Very lovely woman."

It was my turn next. And I stood up. And just as I was about to start talking, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned, and there was the author standing on stage with his arms outstretched for a hug of apology. And so, I stepped into the hug. And there I was on stage in front of hundreds of people, hugging a man I didn't know, thinking, what on earth is going on here? He asked what I was doing after the event, and I had a meeting and then I was leaving. So, he gave me his book. I took that book home and I kept thinking, what was that? Was that flirting? Am I so entrenched in middle age that I have completely forgotten what it's like?

Three days later, I left for London for a book tour, and I brought his book with me on the plane. By the time I landed in London, I had read his book, and I sent him an email. I said I thought it was a terrifying story, brilliantly told. And he wrote back immediately and said, "If you don't mail me your book, I'm going to come to your house and stand outside your window like John Cusack in Say Anything." [audience laughter] I hadn't seen that movie, but you can bet that within the hour I had. [audience laughter] [audience applause] 

And that scene, which is one of the great romantic scenes in movie history. John Cusack is standing outside this girl's window with a boombox, has a soundtrack which is Peter Gabriel's In Your Eyes. I listened to that song over and over and over, [audience laughter] trying to decipher it, trying to determine whether there was a hidden meaning in the lyrics. [audience chuckles] That one email made me feel alive for the first time in years. I sashayed through the streets of London feeling vibrant, and sexy, and gorgeous. I felt like a completely different woman.

We emailed back and forth throughout that trip, and every time I saw his name in my inbox, I felt a small thrill, the tiniest of flutters. It felt safe. He lived on the other side of the country. His emails made me feel beautiful. They made me feel desirable. All he'd have to do was send me three lines and start it with "My sweet lady, Jane," and I would be putty for the rest of the day. Is this how affairs start? I thought. Not for me. I would never have an affair. Much to my dismay, his emails quickly dropped off. He still wrote occasionally. When I'd see his name in my inbox, I still felt the tiniest of flutters. But the truth is, life got busy and better, but I missed the excitement.

A little while later, my publishers phoned me up and said, "We have an event for you in LA, so we're going to send you out to LA." And I thought, [gasps] LA? Young, handsome author is in LA. So, I got in touch and said, "Hey, I'm coming to town." He said, "Great, let's get together." So, we made a plan. I went and found my husband and I said, "Darling, I have to go to LA on September 4th." He said, "September 4th?" I said, "Yes." He said, "I don't think so." I said, "Excuse me." I was affronted. He said, "Jane, you're not going to LA on September 4th." 

And I was outraged. I think I actually said, "This is my career. I'm going to LA. My publishers want to send me, and I'm going." And he said, "Jane, September 4th, it's my birthday." And I felt horrible. I felt terrible. Not only had I forgotten my husband's birthday, I was planning on spending that day flirting my ass off with somebody else. [audience laughter] "I could come with you," said my husband. [audience laughter] We'll make a weekend out of it." I stared at my husband like a deer caught in the headlights. 

So, my husband comes to LA. [audience laughter] And on the morning of our date, because my husband is now coming on my date, I spend an awful lot of time deciding what to wear. And by the way, my husband knows about this author, because shortly after I met him at that book conference, we did meet for a quick drink in New York. When I got home at the end of the night, buzzed from martinis and flirting, my husband took one look at me and said, "Oh-oh, my wife has a crush," which I furiously denied. [audience chuckles] 

So, we go to the restaurant. As we walk up, I see the author sitting outside on the bench. He's still impossibly handsome and cool, and he's got his sleeves rolled up, and he's wearing aviators. We say hello, [audience chuckles] and we go into the restaurant, and we sit down, and I say nothing. Because my husband and the author are getting on like a house on fire. [audience laughter] And at one point, the author excuses himself to go to the bathroom. My husband looks at me and says, "Wow, he's the best-looking man I've ever seen." [audience laughter] 

So, he comes back and suggests we all go for a walk along the canals in Venice. And before we go, we stop at his house for him to get changed. I get to see the greener grass, and I get to see his house, and it's beautiful, it's very modern and sparse and serene. I think of my own house with cats, and dogs, and children, and a chicken on every surface, [audience chuckles] and piles of papers everywhere and noise and mess and chaos.

So, we set off for our walk. It's a blisteringly hot day. And within 10 minutes, there are beads of sweat on my forehead. My hair has frizzed up into what is effectively a cloud of cotton candy, [audience chuckles] and the jeans, which were already two sizes too small, now feel four sizes too small. And the sandals, the sandals that I had bought specifically for the brunch, because they said, "Hey, I'm casual, I haven't made too much of an effort, but I'm sexy," [audience laughter] it turns out those sandals were built for brunching, not for walking. 

So, I'm walking along 15-feet behind my husband and the author. [audience chuckles] They are heads together, and there is the major man love going on. [audience chuckles] And 15 feet behind them I'm limping along miserably [audience chuckles] with blisters forming, and I'm hot, and I'm sticky, and I'm sweaty, and I'm sore. And all I can think is it bloody well serves me right. [audience aw] And that night, I looked at my husband, at his salty sea dog gray beard and his big comforting hands, and the way he has brought so much kindness and stability and love into my life, and I felt ashamed.

A friend of mine once told me that the grass is greener where you water it. And I had forgotten to water the grass. The next day, the author sent me an email and he said, "Your husband's great. He's smart, and handsome, and lovely." And I thought, yes, he is absolutely right. Thank you.

[cheers and applause] 

Meg: [00:20:41] Jane Green is the author of 17 novels, 16 of which were New York Times best sellers. She and her husband continue to be very happily married. And she's not forgotten her husband's birthday since, though they did both forget their anniversary last year. You can find out more about Jane and see a picture of her, her husband, and her chickens on our website, that's at themoth.org.

Coming up, a young boy memorizes an entire religious text and only later comes to understand its deeper meaning, when The Moth Radio Hour continues.

[Rez-Alep by Rudresh Mahanthappa]

Jay: [00:21:31] The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. And presented by PRX.

Meg: [00:21:39] This is The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Meg Bowles. Our next story comes from Shaykh Umar Al-Qadri, who is an Islamic scholar and the founder and imam of the Al-Mustafa Islamic Cultural Center, Ireland. 

[cheers and applause] 

He told this story at a Moth Mainstage we produced in Dublin. Here's Shaykh Umar, live at The Moth.

Shaykh: [00:22:00] A long time ago, before I started living in Ireland, I used to live in the Netherlands. In fact, I was brought up in Holland from the age of two. My parents were Pakistani immigrants. My father was one of the earliest imams to the growing Dutch Muslim community.

Growing up in the Netherlands, I remember only interacting with Muslim families. All the children I played with were Muslims, except at school. I once asked my mother if I could go and visit the home, the house of one of my Dutch school friends. But I was denied. When I asked her the reason, she told me, “It's because we are different, they are different. We eat halal food and they don't. It's not appropriate, because if you visit their home, you might come in contact with that food that we are not supposed to consume.”

I also remember that I had a relative who had non-Muslim guests in her home, and she served them a meal in plastic cups and plates. When I asked her what the reason was, being the curious person and boy I always was, she told me, “Because we are Muslims. And it's not appropriate for Muslims to use the plates and the cups that non-Muslims have used.”

I grew up in a society, an isolated atmosphere that engraved in my mind that I was different, we're different. And my parents were very worried that their children would assimilate with the local non-Muslim community and would forget their own identity. So, I was brought up in a religious solitary confinement, you may call it like that.

When I was nine, my father had a desire and wish. He wanted his son to become a Hafiz of the Quran. Now, you might wonder what a Hafiz is. A Hafiz is a person who has preserved the Quran in his heart, who knows the complete book, the Quran by his heart. I started my journey of becoming Hafiz from the age of nine, and the next two years in the day I used to go to school, in the evenings I used to stay at home, memorize the Quran. And at the age of 11, I successfully became a Hafiz.

My parents were very proud. I remember they organized a celebration in which I had to recite parts of the Quran in front of a large audience. A London-based Pakistani newspaper printed my picture and stated, “This is the youngest Hafiz in Europe.” I was only 11 by that time.

I remember my father was extremely proud. I remember the happiness on the face of my parents when someone would congratulate them that their son is a Hafiz. From the age of 12, as a Muslim, you're obliged to pray five times a day. Now, I would be at school. I, at the age of 12, went to the secondary school. I remember on the first day of school, I tried to find a quiet space where I could perform my prayer, a secluded place. I found a place and I started praying. When a Muslim prays, he kneels down and he prostrates on the ground, which looks a bit awkward. [chuckles] I hoped nobody would see me, but someone saw me.

One of the boys of my class saw me praying. As soon as I went to the classroom after the break, that same person who saw me praying imitated the way I was praying and started shouting "Allahu Akbar." Everyone started laughing. I felt embarrassed, I felt upset, I felt that, “Did I do really something wrong?” Everyone was laughing, and they continued laughing the whole day. In fact, from that day for the next two years, I was bullied at school every single day. It would start from the moment I would step into the school bus, and it would end until I would leave the school bus at the end of the day. 

I became a shy person. I lost my self-confidence. I did very bad at school. I used to sit at the back of the class and when the teacher would ask a question, even if I knew the answer, I wouldn't raise my hand, because I was afraid people might laugh again. I stopped praying. 

One day while I was walking towards the bus stop, I noticed that one boy who was very proactive in bullying me was standing with his friends. With heavy feet, I walked towards the bus stop hoping he wouldn't notice me, but he did notice me. Once he noticed me, he started mocking me and he started calling me names. He started insulting me. But on that day, he did not only insult me, he insulted also my Prophet, The Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him. I, as a Muslim, was brought up to adore the Prophet, to honor the Prophet, to love the Prophet. And I love the Prophet more than anyone else.

So, when the Prophet was insulted, I couldn't remain silent. I was so angry that I pushed the boy and he fell at the ground. When he fell at the ground, it was like all the anger for the past two years came out in the form of kicks and punches. I hurt him badly. Later on, I felt very bad about it. But that very moment, it really felt good. [audience chuckles] I was shaken. I went home. And the next day when I went to school, I was expecting to be in trouble. But I was surprised. As soon as I entered the school building, all the students surrounded me. Everyone liked it, and they praised me and they said, "Wow, you did a good job. Great, wonderful." Suddenly, everybody wanted to be my friend.

All those that never wanted to sit with me, now suddenly they wanted to be with me. They wanted to be my friends. I was very happy to be accepted. Now, I started assimilating, because I was so happy to be accepted that I wanted it to be like this. I stopped praying already. I could have prayed now, but I didn't because I wanted to be part of it. I started smoking, which is not allowed in my religion. My parents found out through one relative who called my mother once and mentioned that she saw me smoking in the city center, and hanging out with my non-Muslim friends. When I came home, my mom had a good word with me, and she reminded me that I'm a Muslim. I'm a Hafiz of the Quran. I could not be like the non-Muslims. 

I felt ashamed, but secretly continued smoking. [audience chuckles] My parents decided after a few months that that was enough. They decided that they were sending their son to Pakistan to learn about his religion, learn about his values. So, I was sent to Pakistan. Honestly, I was very excited initially because of two things. Number one, I memorized the whole Quran by heart, but I never knew what it meant. Now, I was also happy, because I was going to go back to the country I belonged, the country that was my country. I always imagined that I don't belong in Holland, I belong in Pakistan. This is where I'm from.

But something shocked me when I arrived on the first day in my hostel. And the hostel warden introduced me to all the students. As soon as he left, the students started talking to me about life back home. I couldn't answer them, because I couldn't communicate very well in Urdu. I spoke broken Urdu. They understood that I was a foreigner. They understood. And you know what they called me? They called me stranger. They called me a foreigner. I was shocked. Because when I was in Holland, I always thought I was a stranger there and I belonged to Pakistan. Now, I'm in Pakistan and it seems I don't even belong here. I'm even a stranger here.

I continued my studies. During one particular moment, I was in an Islamic jurisprudence class, I was struck at the text I read. The text said that “You, as a Muslim, are allowed to eat from the same plate with the non-Muslims.” I was struck. I was like “What? This is not something I was brought up with. This is something I'd never seen.” During a class of the biography of the Prophet Muhammad, I was astonished to read that the Prophet of Islam used to interact with non-Muslims, he used to engage with the non-Muslims, he used to have meals with Christians and Jews. I was astonished and shocked that this is not what I experienced when I was growing up in Holland.

So, it started making sense to me that people that are Muslims, some of them, they don't have the knowledge of Islam. They are ignorant about their own faith. So, I continued my studies. And during holidays I went to Holland. When I was back home, I had a wonderful time with my mom. Every evening, I used to, after dinner, sit down with her and I used to discuss what I had learned. One day, I discussed with her and mentioned, "You know mom, that relative, that serves non-Muslims in plastic cups and plates meals, she's doing wrong." My mom said, "What do you mean?" I told her about what I had learned. 

My mom was surprised. She accepted what I had learned. And she said, "My son, you know better than me because you were studying the religion." And that day, my mom gave me a piece of advice and she expressed her desire. And that was, "My son, I want you to become a man of peace. I want you to be the person that promotes the true teachings of Islam." Islam, by the way, means peace.

I travel back to Pakistan to continue my studies. And one day while I am immersed in my studies, I receive a phone call. It is my uncle. He tells me that, “You must pray for your mom. Your mom had an accident.” My heart sinks. I can't believe what I just heard. And I start crying. I picked up the phone and tried to call my dad, but nobody picked up the phone. So, I realized something serious must have happened.

The whole day I spent crying, I didn't eat anything, I didn't drink anything. I was continuously thinking about my mom, and hoping and wishing and praying that she would be all right. Every time the phone rang, I used to run towards it hoping that it would be my father. It did ring the next morning 08:30 AM. I didn't sleep that night. It was my dad. He couldn't speak on me, which was strange. He gave the phone to my uncle, and my uncle told me, "Umar, your mom has died, has passed away." I couldn't believe what I just heard. I couldn't believe that I always heard about people losing their beloved one that I would be the one that would experience the same thing. But my mom had passed away.

After the passing away of my mom, I decided I will continue my studies and complete my religious studies. I stayed in Pakistan. One day while I was studying, I was invited to an event in the mosque. This is Lahore. This is Pakistan. One of my teachers, Shaykhul Islam, Tahirul Qadri, organized a multi-faith peace prayer in the mosque. As soon as I entered the mosque, I was astonished. I was shocked, because I saw Christians and Muslims together in the mosque praying for peace. What I saw inspired me. It was amazing. It was something I could never imagine was possible.

Back home, there was prejudice, there was isolation, there was enmity. And now, here I am witnessing in Lahore, Pakistan, in a mosque, people from two different traditions coming together for one common thing and that is peace. A verse of the Quran was recited which deeply inspired me up to this day, which is, "O mankind, you are different, but come together on that what is common among you." Another verse was recited which is very inspirational for me that, “You may have your faith and let others keep your faith, but come together on that what is common among you, and that is humanity, and that is what you prolong for altogether peace.”

That day, I knew what I had to do. I knew that this is what I want to do. After my studies, I decided to move to Ireland with my wife. And here in Ireland, 11 years ago, I established the Al-Mustafa Islamic Centre of Ireland. Through this Islamic Centre, the vision is to bring communities together. The vision is to promote the true teachings of Islam, and ultimately to become the man of peace that my mom wanted me to be. Thank you.

[applause]

Meg: [00:35:53] Shaykh Umar Al-Qadri is the founding chair of the Irish Muslim Peace and Integration Council. He's a firm believer in interfaith relations. As a Sunni Muslim scholar, he's organized and been part of events with leaders from the Shia Muslim community.

When Shaykh Umar participated in our Mainstage in Dublin, he shared the stage with a gentleman named Tomi Reichental, who told his story of being held in the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp as a child. After the show, Shaykh Umar invited Tomi to his mosque. He wrote me later and told me it was a historic moment, because it was the first time a Jewish Holocaust survivor had been invited to speak in the mosque.

[Ganesha by Rudresh Mahanthappa]

Coming up, a mother of three faces a unique challenge, when The Moth Radio Hour continues.

[Ganesha by Rudresh Mahanthappa]

Jay: [00:36:58] The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. And presented by PRX.

Meg: [00:37:07] This is The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Meg Bowles. And our final story comes from Cybele Abbett.

[cheers and applause]

She told it at a Mainstage event in Los Angeles, which is supported by local public radio station KCRW. Here's Cybele Abbett, live at The Moth.

Cybele: [00:37:23] About five years ago, my youngest child came to me in the kitchen one night. It was right after her freshman year of high school. And she said, "Mom, I really need to talk to you in private." And this was my third teenager, so I was worried. [chuckles] I know what a private talk usually means. And it usually means I would have to take care of some problem, or something might be slightly illegal, or something that they've done. So, I was a little concerned, but I said, "Okay." 

We went in my bedroom. My daughter sat down on a little green brocade chair I have, and I sat down on the end of my bed, and she turned to me and she said, "You know, Mom, I think I'm gay." I was so relieved. I thought, oh, this is great, you know? Wonderful." [audience chuckles] Because I had wondered what direction this youngest child of mine would take in their life. I was really happy that she'd found out something about herself. I tried not to be too excited, because I didn't want to scare her that I'd known something that maybe she wasn't too sure of. So, we talked for a while, and then went on our way.

Sometimes I can be quite the helicopter mom. So, for the next week, I called some gay friends to ask them what it was like for them when they came out, and how I could best support my daughter through this process. So, about a week later, I was sitting out on the porch, a very hot summer evening, drinking a glass of wine, and my daughter came and sat down on the bench next to me. I turned to her and said, "Hey, you know, I've talked to my friends, and we have a counselor we've worked with for many years. You know, maybe you want to talk to somebody about this. Maybe you have questions that I won't be able to help you with." She turned to me and she said, "You know, Mom, it's not a gay issue, but a transgender issue."

And in that moment, I actually thought that she was probably confused. I was confused, and not quite sure how to respond to that or what to do in that moment. So, I let it just go for a week or two, because I thought, maybe let's just see how this shakes out. But it was very apparent that this was what was happening. So, I started doing a little bit more research. Because what I really realized at that point in my life, as liberal as I was, I really didn't have a really clear understanding of the differences within the LGBTQ community, and the differences that happen between in that community and the people in that community. 

As I did my research, I became pretty scared and pretty worried for my child. I really realized that there was a big difference between being gay and being transgender, and that one was about who my child would love and build their life with, and the other was about who my child was in this world. It was really scary. I'd been through a lot with this youngest child of mine, and I wasn't sure if I could do this. But we moved forward slowly. All of a sudden, there were doctors and psychiatrists who were in our life. They were these adults who were telling me what I needed to do to make my child whole. 

And that was really hard, because I had been the parent who knew my child, I knew my children. I was the one in charge, I had been the one who directed and helped them with their lives. All of a sudden, these other people were telling me what I needed to do, and I felt lost. For a long time, at that time, 15 years, when people said, "Oh, how many children do you have?" I'd say, "Well, I am the mother of two daughters and a son." And that was a big part of my identity as a mother. 

I started reaching out to friends, and family, and even just some acquaintances and telling them what I was going through. They would always say, "Wow, that's really big." And I would say, "Yeah, it is really big." They would say, "How do you feel about that?" And I would say, "I feel like I'm losing my daughter." And it often felt that way. My child was changing before my eyes, and I didn't always know how to deal with that.

One day, I was leaving the why. A girlfriend of mine came in. We'd known each other for about 12 years. I hadn't seen her for a couple months. But we had met when our two youngest daughters were in preschool together, and they had become friends, and my girlfriend and I had become friends. And in a really tragic accident, her daughter was killed about a year after we met. And this really lovely, beautiful woman had managed to move forward with her life.

And so, 12 years later, we're in the lobby of the YMCA, and catching up on our families and our jobs. We had similar jobs with nonprofits. I told her and shared with her what was happening with our family. She's just this kind, gentle person, and big, big eyes, and she said, "Wow, Cybele, that's huge. How do you feel about that?" And I looked in my friend's eyes and I realized how selfish I'd been, because my child had been able to come to me and say, "Mom, I think I'm gay," and a week later come to me and say, "No, really, I'm transgender." We're going through this really amazing process of transition, and I got to be a part of it. 

I looked in my friend's eyes who had lost her daughter, and I realized that I really hadn't lost my daughter. I'd lost a gender, a title, and it was that easy. I say it's easy, and it wasn't always easy. Being the parent of a minor child who is going through transition means that you really are part of every single step of the process, and you're signing papers, and giving permission for your child to change their name and to change their legal gender and to start medical procedures and things like that. And those processes, I would step forward with my son. But I always had this step back with each one, an emotional step back, and then I would have to reevaluate how I was feeling, and then I would move forward again.

About three years into my son's transition, he came to me and said, "You know, Mom, the next step is top surgery." I really took a huge leap backwards with that one, because I loved my son's body, [chuckles] and I couldn't conceive of somebody changing it. I sat in the psychiatrist's office at an appointment, and I tried to convince the psychiatrist that my son's generation is really sexually fluid, and he would find a woman who loved him for the man that he is with the body that he had.

And the psychiatrist gently reminded me that it wasn't about sex, but about gender and identity, and told me that my son thought of his breasts as warts on his body that just really needed to be removed as quickly as possible. That was such a hard concept for me, because I really loved his body. I had made his body. I felt like it was my body. I mean, it wasn't mine, but I felt like it was mine. I was his mother.

We drove home from that appointment, and my son was asleep in the car because he's a teenager. I thought about how I felt about my body as a woman, how much I love my breasts as a woman, as a mother, as a lover, and I leapt forward with my son.

When I walked into the recovery room after his surgery, he looked at me with this huge smile on his face. And then, he looked down at his chest, bound for the last time, and looked at me again with just this incredible smile. He was so happy. And at that moment, his breasts became warts to me, so insignificant and unimportant. And 10 days later, we got home, and we're unpacking the car. My son took his suitcase into his room. A few minutes later, he walked out of his room without his shirt on, and he walked through the house like a man does. For the first time, he was able to do that. It was very calm, and very quiet, and really beautiful, and incredibly natural.

The hard part about telling this story for me is using the words my daughter, or she, or her, because the real truth is that for the last 20 years, I have been the mother of one beautiful daughter and two amazing sons. Thank you.

[cheers and applause]

Meg: [00:48:31] Cybele Abbett is a mother, grandmother, artist, and humanist. I first heard her story on The Moth pitch line, and I was struck by her honesty and her willingness to share something that other parents might find difficult to talk about.

These stories remind me of something that one of our hosts, Dan Kennedy, said at the end of a Mainstage we produced in London last fall. He said, "If we get one thing out of all these stories, I hope it's that we learn we should all just be a little kinder to each other." It's like that verse in the Quran that Shaykh Umar quoted, "Come together on what is common among you." The one thing we all have in common, we all have stories. We just need to have the courage to share them and the willingness to listen. Thank you for listening and I hope you'll join us again next time for The Moth Radio Hour.

[Uncanny Valley theme music by The Drift]

Jay: [00:49:38] Your host this hour was Meg Bowles. Meg also directed the stories in the show. The rest of The Moth's directorial staff includes Catherine Burns, Sarah Haberman, Sarah Austin Jenness, and Jenifer Hixson. Production support from Mooj Zadie. 

Moth stories are true, as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Most Moth events are recorded by Argo Studios in New York City, supervised by Paul Ruest. Our theme music is by the Drift. Other music in this hour from [unintelligible 00:50:06] and Rudresh Mahanthappa. 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 Corporation for Public Broadcasting, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation, committed to building a more just, verdant, and peaceful world. 

The Moth Radio Hour is presented by the Public Radio Exchange, prx.org. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching us your own story, and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org.