Host: Jenifer Hixson
[Uncanny Valley theme music by The Drift playing]
Jenifer: [00:00:09] From PRX, this is The Moth Radio Hour. I'm Jenifer Hixson from The Moth, and I will be your host this time. At The Moth, people of all kinds bring their stories to stages around the country and tell them in front of a live audience.
This hour we have four stories. You will hear how 9/11 affected an Islamic NYU student, how a chain restaurant in Canada helped a depressed waiter, how a first grader attempted to salvage his academic status, and this first story from Carly Johnstone.
[murmuring]
The theme of the show was stories from the front. Carly first contacted us via The Moth pitchline. We liked what we heard, worked with her to develop the story, and then put her on stage in New York City. We will tell you more about the pitchline later and how to pitch your own story, but for now, here is Carly Johnstone live at The Moth.
[cheers and applause]
Carly: [00:01:02] Okay. So, in August of 1998, I was trying to give birth. And it was well tended. I had a nurse and two midwives, my boyfriend at the time who was not the father, my foster brother, and two women who were also awaiting the birth of their first child, who also happened to be my child. Seven months prior to this, after many visits to the bathroom, glasses of water and sticks peed upon, I had come to accept the fact that I was pregnant. And this was not the best of news for a bunch of reasons. One of them was that I was 16. More so than that, my life had been a lesson in negatives. It had been a lesson in what not to do. My mantra had been how not to be my mother.
My mother was a prostitute, and I had grown up with her and many other prostitutes and the men that handle them. And when she died in the '80s, like so many from AIDS, I went into foster care. I did a year and a half there before my mother's parents, my grandparents, took me under duress. And as you might note, people who don't want children probably shouldn't have them. And I went from being touched much too much in really painful and monstrous ways to never being touched at all. They lasted about five years with me before they threw in the towel, retired to Florida, and put me in a Southern Baptist children's home. And I lasted about a year and a half there before I thought I could do better than this. I could raise myself. I mean, the bar was pretty low.
And I studied a lot and I took a lot of tests and I graduated high school two and a half years early. And then I got in Greyhound and went back to New Jersey because that is where I grew up and that is where I felt safe. And I started college at a local community college. I got my first full-time job with full health benefits and I got my first place. I was 16. And by the end of my 16th year, we get to the point with the bathroom and the pee-sticks and a wrench was thrown in the works. I knew a few things right off the bat. I wasn't going to abort. A lot of people asked me why I wasn't going to abort. A surprising amount of people were willing to ask, why don't you abort?
And it wasn't because of some misbegotten belief in God or because I am pro-life, because I am not. It was because I really, really wanted this baby. I desperately wanted this baby to be. It was a pain. I always wanted a baby. I always wanted to be a mother. I always wanted a family. I always wanted something that was mine and pure and good and whole. And I wanted it, but I couldn't keep the promises I made to myself about having a family, that whole mantra about not being my mom. I couldn't give this kid a home. I couldn't give them a life without fear or want. I couldn't promise that I would be there all the time. I couldn't give unfailing support or provide a net. And so, I had to find another solution. And I looked at traditional adoption.
But I couldn't have a kid grow up the way I did with so many questions about who you are and where you come from. And I looked at fostering. But again, you know, I traveled that road. It hadn't really gone so well. And finally, someone explained open adoption. And if you don't understand what it is, it means that the adoptive parents want an ongoing relationship with the mother. And the mother, she gets to choose the parents. And I thought, I can do this if he never has questions, if he always knows where he comes from, I can do that. And so, I attacked this like I attacked everything else in my life, like a research paper. And I made a lot of calls and made a lot of notes and I finally found an agency that could meet my criteria. And I had three.
My first was that it was a same-sex couple because at this time it was a little harder for them to adopt. But additionally, despite my own sexual ambiguity, I realized that if I ever settled down, if I ever found anyone to settle down with, it would be another woman. I never wanted that to be an issue. Number two, they had to not have any extreme religious affiliation. I had religion shoved down my throat and I thought faith should be a choice and something questioned. And number three, they had to want an interracial child as their first choice. This father-- the father of this baby was black. And I was half very white and half something very brown and short. [audience laughter] And so, I never-- I wanted this kid to be a first choice. I didn't want it to be something they settled upon because they couldn't find a perfect blond-haired, blue-eyed baby or because they were trying to better their karma.
And even with those narrow parameters, I had over 200 couples that were viable choices. And each of them had a brochure. And each brochure was full of pictures of their family and friends and their homes and how well educated they were and how much support they had and how financially stable they were. And so, if you are ever thinking of adopting, I recommend a history in marketing. [audience laughter] And after going through those, I found about 40 or 50 couples that I really liked. And I made a long list of questions and some of them are what you might expect, like why are you adopting?
But a lot of them were a little different, like how are you going to do this kid's hair? And why don't you believe in God? And what do you do when you are mad? And eventually I found a couple that I really liked. Their names are Gwen and Gretchen. I did not pick their names, but it is really fucking cute. [audience laughter] And they lived up in Portland, Maine, which was far enough for me because I didn't want them to be too close because I totally knew I might be a stalker mom and I didn't want to find myself on a playground. [audience chuckles] So, they were far enough away that I could get there if I needed to, but also far enough away that I couldn't like run there in 10 minutes. And they came down from Maine to meet me. And Gretchen is tall and strong and unflappable and Gwenny is tiny and sweet and nurturing and I like them and they liked me, which was really important because they had to deal with me for a really long time and a lot of people had not really hung in there, so-- [audience chuckles] . But I knew they were right. I knew that they would work and they--
I chose them and they gave me an 800 number so I could always reach them. And we weighed the weight of expectant parents and I get bigger and eventually we find ourselves back in this delivery room. And after 23 hours of back labor, I gave birth to an 8-pound 6-ounce baby boy. And he was perfect and he was whole and he was so beautiful. And he had all of his fingers and toes. And I had 48 hours with him and I sang him every song I knew. And I tried to say hello to him and I tried to say goodbye to him. And at the end of that 24 hours, I brought him downstairs and I helped them strap him into a car seat. And I watched these strangers walk away with my baby. And I hoped I had made the right choice.
I hoped they were the right people. I hoped he would forgive me. And I never cried. And when I went home, I finally did. I shattered. I broke into a million pieces. And I looked at my body, this 17-year-old body that should be healthy and strong and young. And it was broken too. I had stretch marks that looked like purple claws had come from my belly button to my pubis. And my stomach that had so recently been filled with life was flaccid and dead. And my breasts were heavy and hard and swollen and leaking, trying to feed a child that wasn't there. A baby that was gone. And I didn't know what to do. And I had such a good start. But I stopped living the mantra of how not to be my mother. And I did my best to prove I was just as bad as her. I was someone that could give away a baby. I was the person that could throw away a child.
And after never drinking and never smoking and never doing anything bad, that is all I did for the next three or four years, was just try to destroy myself as quickly as possible. And after four years, I made my way to Maine. I finally got up the courage to visit this family that had my child. And I went to their home and it was beautiful. And everyone in it was the kind of person that did what they said they were going to do as a child. They are actors and inventors and dancers. And the kitchen is the kind of place where everyone goes to tell their story and friends meet.
And all I saw was everything I wasn't. All I saw was a bar I would never meet. And I watched these people raise a child that I was incapable of holding or touching or saying, “I loved you.” And I didn't know how to do that. I didn't know how to do it for myself. I didn't know how to do it for them. I just hadn't been given those tools in my life. But I did realize on that trip that I had to get my shit together. I had to be someone eventually that this kid, when he was old enough to ask the questions, I had to be worth some-- I had to be someone worth asking those questions to.
And so, I went home and I stopped doing all of those horrible things to myself slowly, over years, and [giggles] I made better friends and started building my own family. And eventually I got better. And every year in August, I would visit them. And every year it was a little easier to talk and it was a little easier to share. And it wasn't so horrible when everyone stared at me and said, “You look just like him.” And when he was turning 9, I realized I really needed to change. And I was invited to a meditation seminar about an hour north of Portland. And I went with two of my best friends and we were given homework. We were asked to bring something we needed to get rid of and I had a lot to get rid of.
But the one thing I had to get rid of was this concept, this idea about myself, this comparison, this idea that I was Henry's mother, because that is his name, Henry. Because I wasn't. There is a big difference between the person that gives birth to you and the people that raise you. I knew that from my own life. It just took me a long time to learn that lesson for myself. And after this shedding [giggles] and meditation, went to Portland. It was the first time I brought friends with me. It was the first time I didn't second guess myself every time I spoke to them. It was the first time I didn't stop myself from touching him. And I realized this meditation hadn't changed me as a human being. It had just changed my perception in this comparison. It had changed how I saw them.
Because I realized these people, these wonderful, amazing people who did such an amazing job raising this brilliant kid had given me the only blueprint I had. They gave me the foundation for what a family should be and what love was and loyalty and what a mother could be-- what two moms could be. And I left there and it was the first time I did not cry all the way till Boston and scream until New Jersey. And I got home. And the year he was turning 10, I found out I was pregnant again. But this time it was so much different because I had spent these years trying to build a real family. And the people in my life were so excited because this baby was the first in our family. And I was still poor and I was still uneducated, but I wasn't alone.
I had this wonderful family. And they called and they wrote and they put ads on Craigslist and they drove all over the tri-state area and they filled a storage space with so many baby things that I had to give away two of many things. And when she was born, this birth was also well attended. So many people were there, they had to turn people away at the maternity ward. And Henry carries a picture of Asha in his wallet. I named her Asha. It means hope in Sanskrit. And it was so different.
And this year in April, when she turned four and my son will be 14 this year. He came with his mother Gretchen to our house and shared our home and stayed with our family and all the people that chose to be there. And I watched him hold her and play with her. I watched them as part of my family for the first time, really realizing that they were part of me too. And I watched this beautiful, brilliant, strong boy carry his beautiful, brilliant little sister and realized he had become part of the net that would hold her up. Thank you.
[cheers and applause]
[Little Waltz from Bill Frisell playing]
Jenifer: [00:16:09] That was Carly Johnstone. The night she told the story, everyone you just heard about was in attendance. Gwenny, Gretchen and Henry all came down from Maine to see the show. And Carly's four-year-old daughter Asha came to the venue early for a visit since showtime was also her bedtime. When they all came up to embrace her after the show, they really did look like one big happy family. Carly's story is included in our book, The Moth: 50 True Stories published by Hyperion. When I asked her to choose a title, she decided it should be A Perfect Circle. To see a picture of Carly with Henry and Asha, visit our radio extras page at themoth.org.
Carly came to us through our pitchline. If you have a story, we would love to hear it. Record it right on our site themoth.org or call 877-799-MOTH. That is 877-799-6684. The best pitches are developed for Moth shows all around the country.
[Little Waltz from Bill Frisell continues]
In a moment we will hear one story that takes place during a single dinner shift at the Macaroni Grill and another during a single day in the life of a first grader. Our next two stories are from our beloved open mic series – The Moth StorySLAM, where we provide the stage, a host, a theme and the general public brings us the five-minute stories. The shows happen on a monthly, sometimes weekly basis in cities across the country. You can check our website to see if there are any near you. This next story is from Sam S. Mullins. He's from Canada, but came to New York City for his birthday one August just in time for a StorySLAM. Luckily, his name was picked from the hat. Here's Sam.
[cheers and applause]
Sam: [00:18:01] So, I was sitting in my apartment one night, and I was thinking about the button on the elevator that gives me access to the roof because I was thinking about killing myself, which is terrifying for me to think about now. But in the moment, it wasn't hard for me to think about. It was soothing to think about, and I was in a really shit time in my life like breakup, shit job. I was living in the city, [audience chuckles] and it just completely crushed my soul. And that night, I ended up passing out on the floor in my kitchen fine.
And then the very next night, it happened. It was just like any other night for me. Waiting tables at the Macaroni Grill in downtown Vancouver. I was inches away from a full-blown anxiety attack. The chef was livid with me because one of my tables didn't think his medium rares were medium rare enough. And I was so dehydrated that when I went to pee, it came out as a paste. [audience chuckles] I'm like, “That is not pee.” I was, like, just barely hanging on my section, just sprinting around when I am set at a table four. So, I go up to the table with water glasses to greet them. And something about these people immediately put me at ease. They just seem, like, really calm and present and just like good people.
And right away it was like two parents and two grown up kids about my age. And right away the father shook my hand. He's like, “What's your name?” I'm like, “Sam.” He's like, “You look like a Sam.” [audience chuckles] And we started talking and having banter, and they were really into the fact I was a struggling/failed actor and writer. And they kind of became my number one priority. And they were my oasis in the mayhem. And they really knew how to dine, like, they had a lot of nice appetizers and fine wines. I cleared all that away, and I got them set up for entrees. And I went-- and I picked up their food and I came out to the table and I sat their food down. And then I paused and I asked them the question that the Macaroni Grill trained me to ask.
I said, “Is there anything else that I can get for you?” And then without skipping a beat, the father looks me in the eye and says, “Yes, a tinfoil dinosaur, please.” [audience chuckles] And before I could say, “What?” his daughter looks at me with a twinkle in her eye and she's like, “Yes, a tinfoil dinosaur would be perfect.” [audience chuckles] And that kind of made that sound that we all make when life doesn't make sense [sighs, half-laughing]. [audience laughter] And I kind of brushed it off. I'm like, “Okay, enjoy, enjoy.” And I'm like, “I guess I should clarify. Is there any particular type of dinosaur that you would prefer?” And again, without skipping a beat, “A Tyrannosaurus rex, please.” “Very well.” So, I go over the server station. I'm like, “What the-- wait, they-- like, a literal tinfoil dinosaur?”
But then I remembered, “Oh, I know what just happened. This is like the time that someone ordered a brown cow, and I didn't know what they were talking about. They just ordered a fancy drink that I've never heard of.” So, I go over to the bartender and he's making his drinks and he senses me lurking. He's like, “What can I get for you, Sam?” I'm like, “Doug, do the words ‘tinfoil dinosaur’ mean anything to you?” He's like, “I have no idea what you're talking about.” I'm like, “Okay.” So, this confirmed to me that were indeed talking about a literal tinfoil dinosaur. [audience chuckles] So, I guess I need some tinfoil.
So, I go in the kitchen, I tore off a seven-foot piece of tinfoil [audience chuckles] and I started sculpting. [audience chuckles] And I'm noted for my artistic virtuosity, but this dinosaur, you guys, [audience chuckles] was my Sistine Chapel. It stood two feet tall and it had like an angular head and a sloping tail and two big bulky legs and the T. Rex talon arms and while I'm making it, all my co-workers are gathered around silently like they're watching this great thing take place. [audience chuckles] So, I put it under my arm and I go and I tore off a second piece of tinfoil, seven feet long. And I took that out of the kitchen, out into the dining room, and I took the dinosaur and I planted it in the center of their table like it was the flag of my country. [audience chuckles] And their jaws hit the floor.
They couldn't believe what I'd just done. And then the father pointed to the other piece of tinfoil I had. He's like, what's that piece of tinfoil for? And this time I was deadpan. “I challenge you.” [laughter and claps] So, then he started making a dinosaur too. [audience chuckles] And the restaurant was totally abuzz. There were like people leaving their half-eaten dinners and all the cooks stopped cooking. And everyone was gathered around for the world's first tinfoil dinosaur sculpting competition. It was completely ridiculous, but it was kind of magic, like there was electricity in the air.
And later on, they were the last table to leave the restaurant that night. And all four of them came up and gave me a hug. And the father said, “Sam, you went above and beyond. Thank you.” And I'll always remember the silhouette of him walking out into the night with a tin foil of dinosaur under each arm. [audience laughter] I like to think that they still live on their dining room table. And I remember walking home that night and I felt really happy for the first time in a long time. Thank you.
[cheers and applause]
[One Step Forward from Chandler Travis Three-O playing]
Jenifer: [00:24:11] That was Sam S. Mullins live at The Moth StorySLAM on his 26th birthday. Sam lives in Vancouver, Canada, where he tells lots of stories, often on the CBC show Definitely Not the Opera. You can find a link to his website at themoth.org.
[One Step Forward from Chandler Travis Three-O continues]
Our next story comes from Steve Zimmer. He's a Moth regular who's won dozens of StorySLAMs and a few GrandSLAMs to boot. Here's Steve live at a Moth StorySLAM.
[cheers and applause]
Steve: [00:24:50] 1969, first grade, room six. In honor of the space program, our child-hating teacher, Ms. Ross [audience chuckles] divides the class into three groups based on ability: Stars, rockets, and moons. [audience chuckles] Even though I'm a moon, I quickly deduce which is the dumb group. [audience laughter] But for added clarity, they give our classes different names. Stars and rockets have math, we have numerics. [audience laughter] And even among the moons, I'm a bad moon. [audience chuckles] My report card says that I don't apply myself as a student, but it also questions my potential in case I do try. [audience laughter] Now, my mom and dad don't apply themselves as parents, but even if they did, there is no way they could know I have severe ADD because it doesn't exist yet. [audience laughter] Especially the quiet kind.
Now, one morning in class, I noticed that all the other students each have five different species of leaves. I assume it's a coincidence, [audience chuckles] but then I look up at the nearest star, Cathy Wilt, and see her yellow folder with a smiling leaf and the words ‘Leaf Day’. And I'm like, [makes a huffing sound]. [audience laughter] I don't know it yet, but this moment will repeat itself in various forms throughout my life. [laughter and applause] So, I get bathroom permission and go outside to pick leaves, which turns out to be really interesting. I could sit there for hours, but there is two things I don't know. One, I'm picking leaves right outside our classroom window. [audience laughter] And two, Ms. Ross has been building a case to get me transferred to Rugen Elementary for their special ed program. [audience aww] So, on the way back to class, I stop off in the bathroom. Very important, because I'd ask permission, so I have to go. Otherwise, I'm a liar. [audience chuckles]
So, I put my leaves under the bathroom garbage can to smooth them out and I've got the bathroom all to myself. So, I get a stool and I put liquid soap on paper towels and soak them in water. And that is how I make my own moist towelettes. [audience chuckles] But my work gets interrupted by the appearance of a group of fourth-grade raptors. [audience chuckles] So, I grab all my stuff and zip back to class. Back in room five, Ms. Ross casually inquires as to what I've been doing with myself for the last hour. [audience laughter] And I say I was in the bathroom. And she says, “Were you outside?” And I don't want to answer her, but I know from TV, it's worse if you run. [audience laughter] So, she's like, “I saw you outside.” And so, I'm like, “Yeah, but I went to the bathroom too.” [audience chuckles] And she says, “Do you know what deception is?” And I'm like, “No.” Which is true, I don't. Hello, I'm a moon. [audience laughter] And so, Ms. Ross then makes me empty my conspicuously stuffed pockets and I hand over several plastic baggies of moist towelettes, but no leaves because I forgot them in the bathroom. [audience chuckles] So, I'm clean except for deception. [audience chuckles]
Nonetheless, Ms. Ross sends me to the principal's office where I have like an endowed chair. [audience chuckles] But I actually like it there with the compassionate secretary and the Highlights magazines and most importantly, the quiet. I'm intimidated by the other kids and how wild they are. And that is the weird thing. Ms. Ross sees it like she's order and I'm chaos. But I'm actually like her. I try hard to follow the rules and I stress out if the other kids don't follow the rules. In fact, I still do. [audience chuckles] So, eventually an eighth-grade lunch girl comes and takes me back to class. But on the way back, she lets me stop in the bathroom where I'm able to sneak out my leaves. So, back in class, Ms. Ross is collecting her leaf packets.
So, I fold my leaves into a piece of notebook paper and draw a picture of a smiling-leaf Amoeba in front. [audience chuckles] Not, not great, but I figure I should at least beat this one kid who I'm pretty sure got all his leaves from the same tree. [audience chuckles] And he's a rocket. So, I assume Ms. Ross will accept my assignment because I'd met the rules and I don't know at this point how people really are. You know, it never occurs to me that she might flunk me just because I deserve it in the big picture or because I must have cheated somewhere or because of towelettes. [audience chuckles]
The next day we get back our papers, our packets. Mine has a big red C-minus. It's my best grade of the year [audience chuckles] and it revs me up to excel in school, which I don't but I do well enough to pass two of the disruptive kids and avoid Rugen Elementary. In 1969, you checked into special ed, but you didn't check out, [audience chuckles] especially if you were already prone to downward spirals. And if Ms. Ross hadn't respected the rules, I might not have finished high school, I probably wouldn't have finished college, and I definitely would not have gotten a PhD in Math or-- [cheers and applause] or as some of us call it, numerics. [audience laughter]
[cheers and applause]
Jenifer: [00:30:57] That was Steve Zimmer.
[Fly Me to the Moon (Bart Howard) by The Smooth Jazz Instrumental Band playing]
Side note, Steve's PhD in economics, Harvard University. And proof that old labels die hard, the night Steve told this story in Chicago, two of his old friends from elementary school attended. Later, they said that they couldn't remember who was stars or rockets, but that they definitely remembered all of the moons.
[Fly Me to The Moon (Bart Howard) by The Smooth Jazz Instrumental Band continues]
When we come back, we will hear a story from a chaplain in the New York City Police Department.
[murmuring]
This is The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Jenifer Hixson from The Moth. Our last story is from Imam Khalid Latif. He told it for a show in Seattle called Prejudice and Power. Here's Khalid Latif live at The Moth.
[applause]
Khalid: [00:31:56] So, when I was about 12 years old, my brother and I went to Pakistan to visit my grandmother after my grandfather had passed away. And at 12 years of age, I looked a lot different from what I look like right now. We were walking down the street and I was wearing my Timberland boots. I had on some baggy jeans. I had really long Pantene Pro-V kind of hair. [audience chuckles] I was wearing a white baseball hat backwards. I definitely didn't look like I belonged there.
As were going down the street, we came upon a young boy. He was probably about six years of age. He was wearing a more cultural attire, what we call the shalwar kameez. It was like a mint green tea colored kind of thing. And he started to look me up and down. And when we got closer, he definitely let me know that I didn't belong where I was. He craned his head backwards and screamed on the top of his lungs to everybody who was listening to him, “Que Michael Jackson agaya” that Michael Jackson is here. And then he and his friends started to chase me up and down the street because they thought I was Michael Jackson [audience chuckles] and I am definitely not Michael Jackson. [audience chuckles]
And now 15 years later, when I think back to that time, it definitely makes me laugh, but it also makes me think a little bit. This kid, the way that he saw me dressed, the way that he kind of understood me to be, was something that one could say maybe was his idea of an American, but it was definitely his idea of something that was not Pakistani. And for me, if I didn't fit in there in the country where my parents came from, and it was really difficult for me to figure out how to fit in here, where I was born, I didn't really know where I belonged, where was I supposed to go?
Now, when I was entering into my freshman year at New York University, I really didn't have any intention of being part of any kind of organized Islamic activity, which sounds pretty bad when you say it like that. [chuckles] [audience chuckles] And so, for whatever reason, I went and sought out the Muslim Student organization, thinking that the kind of people I would meet would be, like, people I grew up with who were Muslim. My dad, he's a doctor. He was from Pakistan. Most of the Muslims we interacted with growing up happened to be doctors and their families who were Pakistani.
And when I went to this student organizations meeting at NYU, I was pretty astonished because the first Muslim that I met was not somebody who was South Asian like me, but he was Indonesian. He had a scraggly beard. He was carrying a surfboard in his hand. And it was just really strange for me to conceptualize, especially because were in Manhattan and he was carrying a surfboard in his hand. [audience laughter] But I had never met a Muslim who was Indonesian before.
Now, when I walked into the room where the meeting was taking place, I saw Muslims who were definitely Arab and Muslims who were South Asian, but also saw Muslims who were black, Muslims who were white. I even saw a lot of people who weren't Muslim. And for the first time, I got to actually see, really how deep and diverse the religion of Islam can actually be. In that year, my religious identity, or the component of my identity that was aligned to my religion, it began to cement itself a little bit stronger. It began to externally manifest itself a little bit. I grew out my beard. I started to cover my head. And the way I started to look was a little bit more stereotypically the way a Muslim would look.
Now, when I was going into my sophomore year, I was running through Washington Square Park, which is in the middle of NYU's campus, a little bit late for my Arabic class. I had overslept like I usually do on my way to classes in the morning. And when I walked into the classroom, my professor wasn't really teaching, and all the students were talking to one another and I had no idea what was going on. A few minutes after I got there, a security guard came to the door and he said, “Everybody, please get all your belongings make sure to not leave anything here. We need to evacuate the building. A plane has flown into the World Trade Center.”
I then left from the building with my classmates, and went back into Washington Square Park, which just a few moments before had been completely empty. And now there is probably about 10 or 12,000 kids standing in the park. And everybody was looking downtown towards where the World Trade Center was. Everyone was speaking to one another. There was a lot of commotion. And as we stood there, we were suddenly struck by this really awesome silence because a second plane then flew into the building. What felt like an eternity, but was actually moments soon just passed by. And as instantaneous as the silence came about, it was shattered and people started to run everywhere. I went into my dormitory and I started to hear conversations of people who were living in my building who didn't know that I was within earshot. And they were saying things to the effect of, “We need to get all the Muslims together and send them out of this country because they're all violent and they're all terrorists.” And when they saw that I was there and I could hear what they were saying, they got really quiet. And I said to them, “You shouldn't stop on my account. If you actually believe it and you mean it, you should keep going.”
My two roommates at that time were two of my friends who were Hindu and they wouldn't let me walk around by myself. There was a young woman who lived in my building who actually tried to push me down the staircase. It was a really, really tough situation. My parents, they were feeling it very hard because they lived in New Jersey and they had no way of knowing if I was okay. And even worse, they had no way of getting me out of New York. When I was finally able to get out of the city, I got on a train. I took it to Edison, where I grew up. And as I was going into the parking lot of the train station, my sister ran out of the car and she hugged me in front of everybody in the parking lot with tears running down her face because she was so worried at what could have possibly happened to me or what she thought could have potentially happened to me had I not gotten out of New York.
We got back home and my father sat me down and he said that when you go back to New York, I would prefer if you didn't cover your head anymore. My father, he's a pretty religious guy from certain standards. He's got a big white beard. He himself covers his head. He started to do it after my brother had started doing it when he went for his undergrad when he was about 18. He kind of looks like one of the seven dwarfs, if you want to conceptualize it. [audience chuckles] When I was in high school, a girl gave me a really giant Sleepy dwarf, and it looks just like my dad. [audience chuckles] So, now this man who looks like Sleepy is sitting me down in our living room, and he's saying to me, “Don't cover your head.” And it was a real challenging kind of thought for me to synthesize and make critical sense of, because over the last year, I hadn't gone out into the world not looking like a Muslim.
And my parents, they were always encouraging me and pushing me to do some of these things. And now they were sitting down at a time when people had questions about Islam and they wanted to know what the religion actually stood for, they were telling me we would feel a little bit more comfortable if you just kind of blended in and didn't let people know that you were Muslim. And so, since my father was asking me, I did what he told me to do. Classes started again. I went back to NYU and I walked into my Arabic class, and I saw that a lot of my classmates, they had tried to blend in as well. Girls who wore headscarves were now wearing hoodie sweatshirts. Some of them were wearing turtlenecks and had wrapped bandanas around their heads. A lot of guys who had very long beards had trimmed their beards down. Some had even completely shaven them off. Everyone was trying to just “fit in.”
And then there was one young woman who, prior to the 9/11 attacks, she was wearing a headscarf to cover her hair. But under her own volition, she also chose to wear a face veil so that all you could see of her face were her eyes. And now, post 9/11, she had made a decision to still wear her headscarf. But she took off her face veil because she was worried what might happen if somebody saw her dressed like that. And for the first time, I was able to look into this girl's face, and she looked back into my face and I really felt so wretched that here I was hiding who I am and blending in, and this young woman alone was there representing my faith and my tradition to everyone who wanted an answer as to why what had just happened a couple of weeks before had actually happened. And I was letting her do it by herself.
And so, I made a decision that I would no longer hide who I am, that I would make a point to not just play the part, but also look the part to the best of my ability, and that if somebody had a question that they wanted answered, I would take full responsibility of telling my story and my narrative and not letting somebody else define for others what I actually am. These days, I work as a university chaplain at New York University. I also work as a chaplain for the New York City Police Department. And I'm regularly invited to gatherings like this, to the media, to do interviews where I answer questions about Islam. And I try to deconstruct a lot of the negative stereotypes that people associate with my tradition. And more often than not, the response that I get is one that's very welcoming, but there is still instances that definitely highlight to me the need to go out and still engage and educate. This past September, I stood with the families of individuals who had passed away on 9/11, some 10 years ago now. And I've been doing this in my role as a New York City Police Department chaplain since I started working with the NYPD.
The way it kind of works, we have breakfast with the families, we get in buses, and we go down to a special area that's reserved for these families near the stage and near the Ground Zero site. And during the day, in its entirety, I'm wearing my police uniform. It's an inspector uniform, but at the same time, I still have my beard, and I'm still wearing my cap. And so, this past September, when I'm standing with these families, I was approached by three individuals who were wearing suits who asked me to show them my police credentials to just ensure that I actually worked for the NYPD. They said that Secret Service spotted you from the top of a building, and they asked us to come and ask you just in case. Just in case. [audience chuckles] And I said to him, “Just in case what?” And the one guy said, I'm really sorry that we're doing this to you.” And I said to him, “Then why are you doing it?”
And there was a woman who was standing next to me whose son had passed away on September 11 in 2001, and she said to me, “I'm sorry that they're doing this to you also. That what they're doing to you right now is more dishonoring of the memory of my son, who I lost on that day. And the fact that you, as a Muslim, are able to stand with us here and remember those who we lost is not just an act of compassion, but it's an act of courage as well. And we most definitely appreciate the fact that you are willing to stand with us in our moment of need.” And so, for me, it gave me a sense of promise and a sense of hope that as much as there were still people who were only willing to look at what they stereotyped me to be, at what they preconceived me to be and understand me in that way and tell me that I don't have a place to be here and I need to be somewhere else, there were still individuals who were willing to say to me that I most definitely belong here. And this place where I was born is someplace that I should always be able to stay. Thank you.
[applause]
[Americana from Keith Jarrett playing]
Jenifer: [00:45:30] That was Imam Khalid Latif. He serves as executive director and chaplain of the Islamic Center at NYU. To see a short profile of Khalid Latif in his role at the NYPD, visit our radio extras page at themoth.org. You can pitch us your story at themoth.org record it right on our site or call 877-799-MOTH. That is 877-799-6684. Here is a pitch we like.
Jeremy: [00:46:09] Hi, my name is Jeremy Orvik. The story I'd like to tell you has to do with my mother. I'm an emergency physician. And she about six months ago got diagnosed with lung cancer. The real short version is she had a port placed in her chest, which in front of me-- I caused her lung to collapse. In the series of having a couple of anxiety attacks and other things that she'd gone through that day, she began to go into cardiovascular collapse right in front of my face. My story involves basically getting her into the ER real quickly and as she's going under with sedation, anesthesia, going through the process of deciding whether or not we should even try to bring her back from this. But I do think it's a compelling story about, for me at least, being incredibly powerful, being incredibly powerless, and standing by somebody who stood by me their whole life. Anyway, she's still alive and doing fine.
Jenifer: [00:46:57] Remember, you can pitch us your story at themoth.org. You can find all of the stories you heard in this hour at the iTunes store. Don't forget to check our website for upcoming mainstage shows or StorySLAMs in your area. And thanks so much for listening. We hope you'll join us next time for The Moth Radio Hour.
[Uncanny Valley theme music by The Drift playing]
Jay: [00:47:23] Your host this hour was Jenifer Hixson. Jenifer also directed the stories in the show.
Unknown Speaker: [00:47:28] So, if you have your name in the hat and you didn't get to tell the story, we're going to read those names off. And it'd be great if you would come up and just tell us your first name and the first line of your story.
Jay: [00:47:37] The rest of The Moth directorial staff includes Catherine Burns, Sarah Haberman, Sarah Austin Jenness and Meg Bowles, with production support from Jenna Weiss-Berman and Brandon Echter.
Neil: [00:47:49] Hi, My name's Neil. My dad is a gynecologist who owns a liquor store. [audience laughter]
Jay: [00:47:55] Moth events are recorded by Argot Studios in New York City, supervised by Paul Ruest. Our theme music is by The Drift. Other music in this hour from Bill Frizzell, the Chandler Travis Three-O, Bart Howard, Keith Jarrett and Flora Tome. The pitchline story came from Jeremy Orvik.
Unknown Speaker2: [00:48:15] I was told that the initiation for the cross-country team involved duct tape, shaving cream, and a portable toilet. [audience chuckles]
Jay: [00:48:22] The Moth is produced for radio by me, Jay Allison at Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, with help from Viki Merrick.
Unknown Speaker3: [00:48:30] There was clear within six minutes there would be no second date. [audience laughter and applause]
Jay: [00:48:35] 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.
Unknown Speaker4: [00:48:49] I'm not a very brave person. I can't handle confrontation and it takes the jaws of life for me to take any action. Therefore, it was really out of character and beyond my comfort zone for me to jump into the arena in San Sebastian, Spain, and fight that bull. [cheers and applause]
Jay: [00:49:08] The Moth Radio Hour is presented by the Public Radio Exchange, prx.org. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching your own story, and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org.
[Uncanny Valley theme music by The Drift continues and ends]