Mark Lovett

Molly Kendall at The Moth NYC StorySLAM

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Personal stories come in a variety of flavors, from happy to sad, and clueless to insightful, but some fall into a category that I call wild/crazy/funny. For example, we’ve all heard stories that evoked the response, “And what were you thinking?” For me, the tale that Molly Kendall shared at The Moth NYC StorySLAM back in 2016 was one such story.

It’s just six and a half minutes, yet it brought out a number of universal themes that all of us can relate to. Give it a watch, then think about the many facets of being human that were highlighted. Then consider how those themes relate to some of your experiences, and whether they can be woven into your story.

Here were some insights that I came away with. The point is that when crafting a personal story, you should put yourself in the shoes of the audience as a way to feel how they might react to the story. So even when an experience is unique to you, the underlying themes should be universal so that the audience can reflect upon their own journey.

The Themes That Resonated With Me

  1. Impulsivity vs. Consequence: Stemming from  impulsive and seemingly bold decision, the result was a cascade of awkward, unforeseen consequences.

  2. Vulnerability (Literal and Figurative): Molly is literally vulnerable under the coat — a physical representation — and that reality translates into emotional vulnerability and embarrassment as the story unfolds.

  3. Loss of Nerve/Confidence: The initial “blast of courage” quickly dissipates, replaced by panic, regret, and an inability to act or explain herself. She puts herself into an impossible situation.

  4. Social Awkwardness and Embarrassment: The humor stems from the excruciatingly awkward situations — the bus ride, the scene at the restaurant, the inability to take off the coat. We feel for her and wonder what we would do in that situation.

  5. Finding Connection Despite Chaos: Despite the bizarre and mortifying date, their relationship survived and flourished, which suggests that connections can happen even amidst absurdity. There is hope, even in the worst of situations.

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Transcript

About 12 years ago, I moved to New York City, and to this day, I do not know why I did that. But it was an adventure, and to support my adventure, I had to work two, three, however many jobs, running here to there, trying to find my feet on this pulsing, frenetic city.

Um, within the beginning of the time that I was here, I met this man named John. And being a product of someone who was born and raised here, he had a very calm spirit within this craziness that I felt. Um, so he and I started to see each other.

One winter night, he invited me over. Of course, I’m going to go. And so I opened my closet of really tired, old-looking clothes, and I think with this like blast of courage and insanity… Screw it. I’m not going to wear any of these. I’m just going to wear my snow boots – it’s the middle of winter – my snow boots, and I grabbed my old Navy all-weather, camel-colored trench coat. And I threw that on. And I’m like, “Yes! Every man’s dream!”

And I jumped on the M14D bus. And it was empty. And I realized, looking at this empty bus full of empty seats, I cannot sit down. The coat isn’t long enough. And… I’m just going to hold this pole and hope that like this trip goes really quickly.

So I get to his house, and he buzzes me up, and I go up. And I’m thinking, like on the bus, I had lost like all of my courage. And I thought, like, what am I doing? What am I doing? I am not this kind of person. Whatever that means. I’m not. This is not who I am.

And I get to his apartment, and I open his door, and he’s fully clothed, winter jacket on, and he’s lacing up his boots. And he’s like, “You know what? I’m so hungry. Let’s go out to dinner.” And I said, “No, I’m not hungry.” And he said, “Okay, just like, just pizza.” And I was like, “I hate pizza. No.” And he said, “Sushi.” And I was like, “No, I don’t…” And I just couldn’t tell him, like, I just couldn’t tell him what I had done because I was not… I didn’t know what I had done!

And he’s like, “All right, you know what? Bruno…” this, this bartender at the steakhouse where we often went to. He’s like, “Bruno’s at the bar at Strip House. We’re just going to go there. Don’t worry about it. We’re going to have lamb chops.” He knew, like, the secret to my heart was lamb chops. And he said, “Let’s go there.” And I thought, “Oh my god, every time I say no, it gets like worse! Like, pizza to sushi to steak! Like, now it’s going to be forever, and I’m naked!” And… “Okay, let’s go. Let’s just, let’s just go.”

And so we go to Strip House and like, it’s the middle of winter, so the beautiful, lovely, sweet coat check lady is like, “Oh, can I take your coat?” And I was like, “No.” Oh, okay. So we go… Bruno sees us at the bar, and he’s like, “Oh, John, Molly, hey, come on, sit down here, I have your places for you. Molly, take off that stupid coat! It looks like you’re ready to run away!”

And I was like, “Oh my god, if you only knew!” And I thought, “Before, before I sit down, like, this is my chance, this is my chance, I’m just gonna tell him and we’re gonna go. Like, I have to get this over with!” But I couldn’t because I was just too embarrassed. Like, what have I done?

And so we sat down. And Bruno said, “What would you like to drink?” And I was like, “What would get me drunk the fastest so I have the courage to tell him?” And I said, “A martini.” Boom, he makes the martini. It’s down. Gone. And then he’s like, “Wow, okay, would you like something else?” “Yeah, just another martini, another martini. Like, I need to think, I need to think.”

And he makes the martini, and in like the haze of somewhere else, I hear John ordering like three or four courses of something or something. And there’s like a seafood tower involved, and like lamb chops, and truffled creamed spinach, and like amazingness. But I was just trying to think, like, how do I get out of this? How do I tell him? And I just, I can’t get my courage back. The courage that told me like, “Just go naked!” Like, that courage was gone.

And so Bruno’s like, “No, seriously, like, take off your jacket.” And I was like, “You know what? I caught a chill outside. Like, it’s cool, like, I’m fine.” And then, like, to help me, Bruno decided to like turn up the heat in the bar. Oh my god! No, seriously! Okay. So he turned up the heat of the bar. I’m sitting at the bar, there’s like sweat dripping down my face, down into my like old Navy camel-colored all-weather trench coat.

And I just didn’t know what to do. And the lamb chops come out, and I want the lamb chops! And I still don’t have the courage to say it. And finally, John’s like, “Do you want to start with steak or lamb?” And I was like, “You’re talking about steak, and I’m naked! I’m naked! The polyester is now sticking to my body!” And… “We just, we just have to get out of here because I’m naked!”

And he looked at me, and he’s like, “We gotta wrap it up.”

And okay, I know I’m over time, but I have to tell you guys that that was like 11, 12 years ago, whatever. Present day, we now have a three-and-a-half-year-old daughter. And I look at her, and she’s like this demon, like from the moment that she was born, she’s this like tornado in a tiny little thing.

And I look at her, and I think, like, “How do I help mold you into the person you’re supposed to be?” And I realized that when I was saying, like, “I am not this person,” that we don’t have control over who we are and what we’re supposed to be. And least of all, we don’t have control over our kids. But we can be more than we ever imagined.

Thank you.

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100% My Fault from the StoryCorps Podcast

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I’m thankful that I’ve never been in a life-threatening situation, but millions of people around the world have, and those who made it through the experience have riveting stories to tell.

In this case, it wasn’t just a single person in danger; it was two friends. And that means there are two story lines, two unique narratives. So in this episode of the StoryCorps Podcast we hear a recount of events as they unfolded, as well as a reunion of sorts where their innermost feelings are finally shared.

In addition to Alex Lewis and Matt Koch — the pair of storytellers who were up on the mountain — Michael Garofalo, StoryCorps chief content officer, also narrated this story. It’s an interesting format where the two main characters take turns telling their story, with the narrator jumping in to carry the plot along. It’s why I’ve included the transcript. Listen to the episode, then give the transcript a read. While you hear distinct voices on the audio, the script reads much more fluid, allowing you to appreciate out the episode was put together.

It’s also worth noting that a full recounting of this story could take hours, yet this version comes in under 15 minutes. Try to imagine what was cut out, and think about what was left in. As you craft your own story — life-threatening or not — consider all that could be in your story, and which elements tell the most impactful story in a limited time frame.

Transcript

Michael Garofalo (MG): In December 2016… longtime friends Alex Lewis and Matt Koch hiked into a mountain pass in Colorado for a backcountry ski trip. This wasn’t a casual thing— they would be in the mountains for days… miles away from the nearest town.

Alex Lewis:  We got to the trailhead and it was snowing fairly constantly and a decent wind. We had the feeling of feeling small because you’re in these big mountains, but you couldn’t even really see much of them because of the snow.

MG: Alex and Matt were pretty serious outdoorsy guys… and this is exactly the kind of adventure that their friendship was built on… camping… hiking… But they hadn’t been able to do anything like that in a while.

The year before… Matt had been diagnosed with Hodgkin lymphoma. After a difficult year of treatments, Matt was declared cancer-free. And what better way to celebrate than a backcountry ski trip with his buddy…

Matt Koch:  This trip was kind of a opportunity for me to prove to myself that I could do things that required a physical fitness level I thought maybe I’d never have if I was a cancer survivor.

This was my message to the universe of like, you didn’t get me. I’m still here.

And then… things unravel.

MG: Matt and Alex had never really talked about what happened in that mountain pass… until now. I’m Michael Garofalo. It’s the StoryCorps Podcast from NPR.

MG: Matt and Alex were headed towards a ski hut… which would be their home base for the weekend. It was nothing fancy, just bare bones – think hostel, not hotel – but there was a staff, heat, they’d get two meals a day, and beds for the night. And the only way Matt and Alex could get there was by skiing 3 miles UPHILL through a steep, snowy mountain pass.

Matt Koch: I think as we were hiking, Alex, I was becoming aware that I was not physically prepared for this; I wasn’t where I should be. Every step my pack just felt heavier and heavier.

Alex Lewis: The first time that I had some concerns, you said something to the effect of, ‘Well, I dumped out my water because I felt like it was too heavy.’ I was like, oh man, we need that water.

Matt Koch: You had stopped and said, like, ‘Give me your pack. I’ll carry it for you.’ And I, I kind of remember being a tough guy and saying, ‘No, no, no, I got it. I got it.’

Alex Lewis: It was starting to become nightfall, and the wind was picking up, and the snow was picking up.

Matt Koch: The discussion was, you know, we’re, we’re further in than we are out and we just needed to let this storm go through.

Alex Lewis: And we decided the best course of action was to go off into the trees and build a snow pit where we could stay for the night.

MG: Matt and Alex started burrowing into the snow with their hands… to make a shelter where they could stay the night.

Matt Koch: Couldn’t have been more than a big dog bed size. It was pretty tiny.

Alex Lewis: We crammed as close together as possible to stay warm. And one of the things I remember overnight is hearing the howling wind.

Matt Koch: Yeah, the wind was just relentless.

Alex Lewis: It’s a little scary to wake up in the middle of the night to see the makeshift shelter that you’re sleeping in starting to fall apart and deteriorate.

Matt Koch: God, it was just cold, and, bundled up inside of my coat and couldn’t get comfortable. The situation was bad.

MG: They woke up the next morning happy to still be alive… and they could see the ski hut by that point. There wasn’t much farther to go.

Alex Lewis: The weather was continuing to get worse and extremely snowy and windy there. Our progress was pretty slow, because of the steep terrain and fresh snow. And I just remember taking this step, and, all of a sudden, hearing kind of, this rushing water sound.

Alex Lewis: And being knocked off my feet onto my hip and starting to slide. And I realized that I had triggered an avalanche right underneath me.

And I slide about a hundred feet and see these trees that are in my path. I was able to pin my skis to the trees and let the avalanche slide right past me, and continuing on down the mountain as I stood there in disbelief.

And I recall, yelling out ‘Avalanche, avalanche’, so that you could at least hear my voice and know where I was.

MG: Alex looked around for Matt… who was okay. But he also realized that with these conditions… it was too dangerous to keep going.

Alex Lewis: I remember taking a deep breath and realizing that this was the, the final straw. We weren’t going to make it to the hut. It was time for us to head down the mountain.

MG: But by this point… Matt was struggling to go anywhere.

Matt Koch: Every footstep hurt. And what little I had left in my batteries drained. I sat down and I just quit, and I don’t think you could move me if you wanted to.

Alex Lewis: I remember saying something like, ‘You didn’t let cancer kill you. You can’t stop here. You can’t quit now.’

Matt Koch: But I was resigned. I just had nothing left.

Alex Lewis: We had a, a really hard conversation around what to do. Then I took off. And I…it was extremely hard to leave you, but I also didn’t think we had another option. I needed to continue down the hill to get help.

MG: While Matt huddled alone in the cold and snow, Alex skied down the mountain pass… trying to get reception on his phone.

Alex Lewis: I got down the trail, was almost back to the car, and I got through to the sheriff. And he said, you know, ‘The avalanche dangers and risk are so high, I can’t send in three search and rescue team members to potentially save one knowing that I might lose all of them. If we can’t respond, what’s your backup plan?’

MG: Calling the sheriff HAD been the backup plan… and now it seemed like Matt was truly stranded.

Alex Lewis: When you were up there, after I left you, did you think you were going to die?

Matt Koch:  I don’t, I don’t ever remember thinking about dying. I just, I kept thinking about you. I kept thinking about if you were ok.

I think I was pretty delirious, being hypothermic. It was like being drunk. I started realizing how thirsty I was. I knew that if I would eat snow, it would lower my core temperature. I had one little guy on one shoulder telling me not to, and another guy on the other telling me, “But you’re so thirsty.” I kind of negotiated with myself that I could have just a little bit like, you know, help is on the way.

MG: For six hours, Matt didn’t move from the spot where Alex had left him… until finally a rescue team was able to get there.

Matt Koch: I was apologetic. I, I was so weak and demoralized and just frustrated and angry with myself for allowing this to happen. I just completely did not respect mother nature and her power.

I don’t remember pain of any sort, but my hands were definitely purple. I couldn’t really use them, they were so stiff. The toes were just frozen solid.

A helicopter came and got me. And when I got to the hospital in Denver, just kind of being a joker, I looked at the doctor and I said, ‘How bad on the fucked-ometer am I?’ And he goes, and ‘You’re nine out of 10, man. I don’t know if you’re gonna keep your fingers.’ I wasn’t ready for that.

MG: Coming up… when you’ve left your friend alone… knowing he might die without you… what do you say to each other after that?

Alex Lewis:  I was apprehensive about visiting you in the hospital because I wasn’t sure what would happen to our friendship.

MG: Matt spent several days at the hospital being treated for severe frostbite. It was so bad they had to put him in the burn unit. And all those days lying there in bed… unable to use his arms or legs… Matt had nothing but time to think about how he had gotten there.

Matt Koch: It ended up becoming kind of a slap in the face that, because I had cancer, I wasn’t physically ready for this trip. This was my fault, and it could have been avoided. Everybody was putting themselves in danger to save me, and they didn’t have to.

MG: Matt had plenty of visitors… his family was there with him… but the visitor he was most anxious to see… was Alex.

Matt Koch: What did you feel when you saw me?

Alex Lewis: I was nervous to go to the hospital, and I remember coming into the hospital and you’re kind of sitting there, wrapped up kind of like a mummy in multiple layers of bandages.

Matt Koch:  I think my mom was in the room and I asked her to leave so I could thank you. I don’t know if it was shame or embarrassment, but, um, I was thankful. I was glad to see you were ok. I was sad that I, uh, put you in that spot. I would never want for somebody to get hurt because of my actions, and that’s exactly what almost happened, um…

Do you harbor any anger towards me because of this?

Alex Lewis: No.  I helped get us in that position where we needed to do something to save your life. Plenty of things happened that day that were my fault. And so I was concerned you would feel that I was responsible for what had happened.

Matt Koch: I, I had no idea that you felt any level of guilt. I’m sorry that we’ve never had this conversation until now. This was 100 percent my fault. I knew the risks, and I wasn’t fit enough to be in the backcountry. You did everything within your power. I hope you know that. You did everything right. You rescued me, you saved my life.

Alex Lewis:  Yeah, and I think – you know, I appreciate you saying it because it does paint it in a different light. We had never really discussed it and kind of, always danced around it, but coming from you, it means the world to me.

Matt Koch:  Yeah. Well, I think the accident and cancer shifted my perspective because I’ve been a lot closer to death than many others. It’s made me realize what’s important to me. And I’m so thankful that we’re friends, because if I didn’t have you, I would be dead right now.

Alex Lewis: It’s what I would have done anyway for you and for our friendship.

Matt Koch: Well, I know I feel it now, and I think I felt it then, that I’m thankful to have you in my life. Not just because of this incident, but, no matter where I go, if I need you I know you’ll be there.

MG: It’s been almost a decade since that trip… and every year now, on the anniversary, Matt calls Alex to thank him for saving his life.

Matt’s injuries ended up being much less severe than they could have been. He kept his fingers… although he does have lasting nerve damage.

Today he lives on a boat in Florida… so he never has to feel cold again.

MG: We love it when you leave us voicemails… and this week we’d like to know: What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done for a friend? Tell us about it in a message at 702-706-TALK. That’s 702-706-T-A-L-K.

This episode was produced by Max Jungreis. Jud Esty-Kendall is our Senior Producer. Our Technical Director is Jarrett Floyd. And our Executive Producer is Amy Drozdowska. The art for this episode was created by Liz McCarty.

I’m Michael Garofalo. Thanks for listening.

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Journey Jamison on The Moth Mainstage at the BAM Harvey Theater

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The Moth has been hosting storytelling events for 20+ years, and the thousands of storytellers who have graced their stages are proof that every story is unique, and that the best stories come from our personal experiences.

In this story, as told by Journey Jamison, we are taken into a scene that few of have ever experienced, especially at the age of 15. But in a broader sense, I’ve heard many personal stories about how people reacted during an emergency, and you may have such a story to tell. The details that Journey provides bring audience members into her experience as the scene plays out.

But there’s also a larger story at play here, as Journey realizes how her training prepared her for that situation, and in turn, she was able to provide that same training to the victim’s family, thus bringing that wisdom full circle. Think about how story worthy experiences from your life contain such a circular narrative.

Transcript

When I was nine years old, my best friend died. We’d spent the entire day together at an amusement park and she’d been struggling to breathe. So when we got home her dad tried to get her as much help as she could, but it just wasn’t enough, and at three o’clock that morning, she died of an asthma attack.

It was always really hard for me to deal with because I’d helped her with her asthma before, and I just felt like I could have done something. So five years later, when my mother and I found ourselves at a grassroot gunshot wound first aid training, I was immediately intrigued. Now, some of you might be thinking, “Gunshot wound first aid, what?”

But I’m from Chicago, and the lack of resources in our communities makes that training so much more important. We don’t have any trauma centers on the South Side of Chicago where I’m from. So I knew the importance of this training and I paid attention. I sunk my teeth in, I got trained two months later, and I’ve been doing workshops all over the city. Yeah, I know how to apply an occlusive dressing with a credit card, but I was still just a regular teenager.

And so, the following summer, I was coming home from my very first day. I come home, I turn on the TV, I crank up the AC, just like any other day, and then I hear it. Back to back gunshots that sounded like they were right next to me, just back to back, to back. And I just thought to myself, “Is this real? Is this serious?”

You hear all the time about gun violence in Chicago, but I’d never come face to face with it like that before. So I jump in gear. I know that I have this training that I can help people, but I know that the first step to being a first aid responder is knowing that the scene is safe and prioritizing my own safety.

So I glanced out the window, and I’m staring almost like I can see through the window, and I’m like, “What is going on?” I’m seeing people who are kind of running away from a gas station and towards my apartment complex. And I knew I had the tools to help. And I never imagined going outside and putting myself in danger to help anybody.

But it turns out that I didn’t have to, because seconds later, my back door flies open, and a young man, 19 years old, comes in holding his neck. It’s bleeding. And he’s just saying over and over again, “I’ve been shot, can you help me, can you help me?” And without hesitation I just said, “Yes.”

And from that moment, it was autopilot. I lay him down on the floor. I’m asking him questions about who he is. I asked him first, “Can I call 911 for you?” ‘Cause we emphasize that a lot in our first aid trainings. That you had to ask for consent for people because they’re their own person, bodily autonomy.

So I asked him, he says, “Yes.” I get on the phone with the operator. They’re giving me a bit of a hard time, but I put my feelings aside and prioritize the safety of the wounded. They say they’re sending a person on the way. I say thank you. I go back to Peta. I’m asking him more questions about who he is, I want him to feel safe.

He tells me where he’s from – the same apartment complex that I’m from – Oakwood Shores. He tells me he wants to go to college, that he’s 19, that he’s confused. And then I kind of realize I’m taking this all in. I’m 15 years old. I’m home alone with a man who’s been shot in the neck, and I’m giving him first aid. I should probably call my mom.

So I take out my phone, and I guess you can call it a mother’s intuition, because as soon as I am about the press call, my phone rings. It’s my mom.

She’s like, “Hi Journey.”

I’m like, “Hi mom.”

She’s like, “What’s up?”

I’m like, “Mom, you are not going to believe this. There’s a man, he’s in my house, fire, gunshot wound. He’s on the floor, I’m giving him first aid.”

She’s like, “Are you serious?”

I’m like, “No mom, why would I lie about this?”

She’s like, “Okay, okay, okay.”

And I can hear the car unlocking, and the car starting up, and I’m like, “Okay, she’s on her way, good.”

So for a second there, it’s just me and Peta, and I’m trying to examine exactly what is happening. He has two wounds. An entrance wound and an exit wound. The bullet went through his neck and up through his jaw. So I’m trying to apply pressure on both sides to get his blood to clot so the bleeding can slow down.

A few seconds later, my mom comes. And you would think that she might be like, kind of hysterical, kind of crazy, but she’s not, because she’d been through the training too. And for a few moments, it’s calm. Peta is calming down, his blood is starting to clot, the bleeding is not so drastic, and it’s calm. And then somehow, some way, people start to flood into my house. Bystanders, I guess, who had seen what was going on.

And my mom, she does a great job at keeping Peta’s privacy. Keeping questions away from him so that he’s not getting more stressed out – shout out to my mom, she’s in the audience – and so we’re just kind of juggling this thing, me and my mom, we’re doing this together, I’m taking care of Peta’s body, she’s taking care of Peta’s surroundings, and then the police come.

And I feel like it’s not a secret that black and brown people are not trusting of law enforcement, quite frankly, it just makes us anxious. And my mom, she didn’t want that kind of energy in our house, she was trying to persuade them like, “There’s no crime scene here. Can you wait outside? It’s very crammed in our apartment.”

But eventually she gave up her battle when they threatened to arrest her. And so eight police officers crowd into our tiny apartment, just watching me apply pressure to this young man. And after the police come which, after the police come, after my mom gets there, the fire department finally gets there. Not the ambulance, but the fire department. So that just gives you a glimpse of what healthcare is like in Chicago. The ambulances don’t really come to our communities that fast.

So the fireman gets there and he’s coming in to check Peta’s vitals and I have my hands over his neck, and he says, “You need to take your hand away.” And I was so overwhelmed and I just had all these feelings of doubt and I just reluctantly pulled my hand away, and just as I thought would, he starts bleeding again.

And I’m just looking at the guy like And then another fire man comes in and he says, “Actually she needs to put her hand back there, you’re doing a good job. And I looked at him and I said, “Okay, I knew it.”

So I am continuing to apply pressure and keep my hand on his wound while they’re taking his vitals and preparing him to get in the ambulance. So then, a few, maybe five or six minutes later, the ambulance does come. They take him on a gurney. They take him away. And luckily my mom was able to get some information from his mentor who was there, so we could follow up with him later.

So my mom, she rushes all these people out of our house, and I go outside, and it’s so chaotic. The ambulance is there, the police is there, my neighborhood is there, the news station is there, and they’re kind of looking to me like this “Shero,” and I’m kind of very overwhelmed, and so instead of fielding questions, I took my story with me, and my experience with me, and I come back inside. I closed the door, I wash my hands, I grab my cell phone and my keys, and me and my mom get in the car. I zone out and I’m just replaying in my mind what just happened.

Then I snap out of my trance, and the car stops, and we’re at the beach. And I’m just like, “Oh my God, what is going on?” And she looks at me and she’s like, “Come on,” and I’m like, “Okay,” and we proceed to join a group of women on the sand doing yoga. And my mom just looks at me in her tree position, and she goes, “Self care.” And I was like, “Okay,” and I was just so grateful, that I had a mom who emphasized that a lot when I was growing up, and that I had the opportunity to really process what just happened in my life.

So, that happened, and then I resumed my life as a normal teenager. I go to camp. Conflict resolution camp, by the way. But I go to camp. I go to camp in Maine. And then I come back, and I’m in the car with my mom and she’s like, “Hey, I got in touch with Peta’s family, and, you know, he thinks you saved his life.”

And I never thought about it like that. For me, I was just in the right place, at the right time, with the right information, and I did the right thing. But to him, I saved his life. So that’s what it was.

So few days later, I see him. I visited him and I said, “Hey, look I know it was really cool that I was able to help you, but I was trained to do that, and I was equipped with the right tools, so how cool would it be if you were equipped with the same tools, and you can help your mom, or your brother.

And he’s like, “That sounds pretty interesting.”

And I’m like, “So do you want me to like, I can set up a training. I can set up a workshop. I’ll come to you.”

He’s like, “Aight, bet.”

So about two or three months later, we were able to train his whole entire family of about like 25 people ranging from three years old to 60 years old. And we trained his whole family in his apartment, and it was the most empowering thing for me.

And maybe some of you are saying, “Oh, I’m so sorry, this young girl had to go through that.” But it’s not something I feel embarrassed about or sad about. It was the most changing thing that I’ve ever been through. And it’s shown me the circle of change. You know, you go to school, and you learn about stories, and you learn about how there’s a plot, and that plot is like a hill, it starts the beginning, and then the rising action, and the climax, the falling action, and then the resolution.

But change, instead of it being a hill, it’s like a circle. And me training his family was this entire experience coming full circle, because I started at a training just like that one. And so maybe he could do something like I did, or I could do more things, but it was so empowering for me as a 15 year old girl to have that kind of experience.

So it changed my life for the better, and it showed me that I can change the world if I wanted to. And I guess it just kind of made me feel like I didn’t have to be afraid anymore of where I’m from and my community. I didn’t have to fear walking outside because I was empowered with the tools that I had. Sorry guys. And I thought about it, and I hear all the time, “Children are the future.”

And I’ll tell you guys, I’m a child, I’m a teenager, and it’s super intimidating. You know it’s like 400 years of slavery, an eternity of sexism, it’s intense, and you guys are like, and you guys are like, “It’s you, it’s you,” and I’m like, “Oh my God,” but this experience showed me that I don’t have to be the future, because I can be right now.

Thank you.

[Note: all comments are my opinions, not those of the speaker, or The Moth or anyone else on the planet. In my view, every story is unique, as is every interpretation of that story. The sole purpose of these posts is to inspire storytellers to become better storylisteners and to think about how their stories can become more impactful.]

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Leonard Lee Smith on The Moth Mainstage at the Paramount Theatre

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The Moth has been hosting storytelling events for 20+ years, and the thousands of storytellers who have graced their stages are proof that every story is unique, and that the best stories come from our personal experiences.

In this story, as told by Leonard Lee Smith, we are treated to a narrative of how his Granny brightened the holiday season despite his mother’s divorce and the subsequent move from Alabama to Southern California.

Even though we’re watching his talk on video, Leonard’s delivery is one that can make us feel as though we’re sitting in his living room. You hear the emotion in his voice, yet the emotional swings are not dramatic. It’s subtle, yet powerful.

He allows us to be there when opening each heavily reinforced cardboard box filled with mounds of homemade Christmas treats. And he brings us full circle when he tells us about hanging Granny’s plastic poinsettia bouquet with the bells on his own door during the holidays.

How did you experience the holidays when growing up? Was there someone in your life who made the experience special? It may have been a family member, as was the case with Leonard, but it could also have been a friend who altered the spirit of the season.

Transcript

It was Christmastime 1974. I was ten years old, but I wasn’t looking forward to Christmas that year.

The previous spring my mother and the man who was to become my stepfather – when all the divorces had been finalized and he and my mother could marry – had moved us from rural central Alabama to sunny Southern California. My brother and I were leaving behind our father and all our extended family. This would be my first Christmas away from Alabama.

My beautiful and elegant mother took to California like a swan to a royal lake. My soon-to-be stepfather was a California native. My very athletic little brother reveled in a temperate climate that allowed him to be outside eleven months of the year.

I, however, was a fat, awkward child with a high-pitched voice and a heavy southern accent. I was having extreme difficulty with the transition to a West Coast lifestyle. My first day at my new school, I walked to the front of my fourth-grade class to introduce myself. All I said was my name and where I was from, and the class erupted in laughter, with jeers of “He talks funny” and “He has a weird accent.”

It took the teacher nearly two full minutes to restore order, and she was angry at me for having caused a disruption. I was so disillusioned after that first day that instead of walking home after school, I went to a nearby gas station and used a phone booth there to try and place a collect call to Granny Smith, my paternal grandmother.

She was my biggest ally. I was going to ask her if I could return to Alabama and live with her and if she would send me the money for a bus ticket home. But despite several attempts the line was busy and I never get through. My mother was always encouraging, nagging, and badgering me to lose weight and always trying to help with that endeavor with whatever the latest diet craze was.

She had been a fat child herself, but with puberty she had gained height and lost weight and undergone the proverbial ugly-duckling transformation to become a great beauty in high school. She saw weight loss as the panacea of all problems and believed it to be the key to my happiness. She was very relieved to have me away from the annual holiday sugar binges and weight gain that my Granny Smith’s cooking provided.

Granny Smith was, for me, everything good about Christmas. Her language of love was food. She was an excellent baker and candy maker. She would cook for weeks in preparation for Christmas Eve, when all of her children and grandchildren would gather at her house.

Every favorite dish, dessert, and confection had been made to specification. Her table and sideboard groaned under the weight of all of the food. My brother, my cousins and I would burst through her kitchen door, brimming with anticipation, our arrival announced by the sound of five silver bells suspended from red velvet ribbons hung on a plastic poinsettia bouquet on the door.

Her house was tiny and saturated with tacky Christmas decorations and cigarette smoke. But to my childhood aesthetic, it was glorious. She sewed new pajamas for all of her grandchildren. She scoured newspaper ads, catalogs, and stores all over town to get us exactly the toys we had requested. She was interested in me and my happiness. She was my resilience. She was magical, and I missed her desperately.

It was Sunday evening, and I was moping around the house, dreading Monday and the return to school. Fortunately, there was only one week left until the Christmas break. I was longing for my familiar southern Christmas. That Thanksgiving we had spent with my step-father’s extended family. He and my mother had finally gotten married in Vegas over the summer.

His family were polite, kind people, but I did not know them and fit poorly into their established routine, and I feared that Christmas would be more of the same. The phone rang. It was Granny Smith. She often took advantage of the discounted long-distance rates after 7:00 p.m. on Sundays.

She spoke with my brother Todd and I chatted for nearly half an hour, asked us about our life, and school, and how things were going, assured us she had gotten us the toys that we wanted and they would be there by Christmas. But before we hung up, she asked to speak to our mother. This request made my brother and me very anxious.

When our parents separated they didn’t so much dissolve a marriage as declare war on each other. My brother and I knew that the campaigns and battles of this war could be long and brutal. My mother considered Granny Smith to be in the enemy camp. They maintained a civil but strained relationship. My brother and I were always worried that hostilities might erupt whenever they spoke to each other.

Granny Smith informed my Mother that she had sent a Christmas package and that it should arrive in the coming week. My mother said, “Thank you, but you didn’t have to do that. It’s very expensive to ship things across the country. I hope you did not have to spend a lot of money.” Despite their differences my mother understood and respected that Granny Smith was a woman of very modest means. Granny had been a widow for nearly thirty years and worked mostly menial jobs. For her, money was always scarce.

Granny said, “It wasn’t very expensive at all, and I was happy to do it.” They exchanged polite but tense pleasantries, wished each other Merry Christmas, and then said good-bye, and my brother and I breathed a sigh of relief. Sure enough, on Thursday afternoon after school the phone rang, but it wasn’t the US Postal Service – it was the Greyhound Bus Lines calling to say we had a package waiting at the bus terminal in Claremont, California.

My mother said to the clerk on the phone, “I didn’t even know that Greyhound shipped packages.” The clerk said, “Oh, yes ma’am, and we’re much cheaper than the US Postal Service because we don’t deliver door-to-door.” We have some of the cheapest rates around. My mother was a little annoyed by this since the bus station was nearly ten miles away. But the clerk assured her that the bus station was open twenty-four hours a day and that there was someone on duty at the shipping desk around the clock. We could pick the package up at any time.

So after supper we drove to the bus station. We went in to see the clerk. He confirmed that we had a package. And then he said to my mother, “You can pull your car around into the loading bay.” My mother said, “What for?” He said, “The package is too large to hand over the counter.” My mother said, “Are you sure you’ve got the right package?”

This irritated the clerk and he learned over the counter and addressed my brother and me and said, “Are you guys Lee and Todd Smith?” We nodded and said, “Yes, sir.” He said, “Then this package is for you. I’ll meet you around back.” We drove us around to the loading bay, and the shipping clerk came to our car with a hand truck carrying a heavily reinforced cardboard box, large enough to hold a dishwasher or small refrigerator.

He said, “This barely makes it inside the maximum freight dimensions and weight restrictions,” as he hoisted the box into our trunk and went to get some twine to tie the trunk lid closed. My brother and I were giddy with anticipation on the drive home, wondering what the box contained. Our mother was not in such a good humor. She knew her ex-mother-in-law well and was suspicious of the box.

When we got home, we had to go inside and get our stepfather – the box was too heavy for us to get out of the trunk. He grunted and complained as he set the box down in the living room, and said, “What the hell did she send, a jeweler’s safe?” My brother and I tore into the box, and the smell of our granny’s house wafted into the air: a combination of fried meat, grease, furniture polish, and cigarette smoke.

There beneath wadded newspaper and excelsior was our southern Christmas. There were presents wrapped in colorful paper and bows to go under the Christmas tree. Neatly folded in brown paper was a new set of pajamas for both of us. There were also two five-count packs of Fruit of the Loom underwear in the appropriate sizes for us both. There was a countless number of decorative tins and repurposed Cool Whip containers.

We opened them to find mounds of homemade Christmas treats: Divinity. Fudge. Boiled chocolate cookies. Parched peanuts. A massive container of “nuts and bolts,” which is what southerners call homemade Chex Party Mix, but to which no prepackaged Chex Party Mix will ever compare.

A whole fruitcake. A chocolate pound cake. She even included our traditional stocking stuffers of candy bars, chewing gum, citrus fruits, and pecans and walnuts in the shell. The box was as bottomless as Mary Poppins’s satchel. As every sugary confection came out of the box, my brother and I shrieked with delight and our mother moaned in defeat.

Mother tried a last-ditch effort to hide all the confections and dole them out a few at a time, but each evening when our stepfather would come home, he would begin to search for them and our mother’s scheme would be thwarted. Eventually she just gave up and just left it all out on the kitchen counter.

Each Christmas that we spent in California, Greyhound would call and say that our package had arrived. Over the years many treasures arrived in the box: hand-crocheted afghans, an heirloom family quilt, homemade Christmas decorations. A check to help with the purchase of my first car. For me it was always the best part of Christmas. Even after I moved out of the house, the box continued to arrive. My friends and roommates at college were always astounded and delighted by the contents of the box.

My grandmother was able to package and ship magic and love. Granny is long gone and missed more each year. Since her death I have discovered in conversations with my cousins that Granny came to the rescue of all of her grandchildren at one time or another, softening what would have been hard and harmful emotional landings. She did it in such a way that we each thought we were her favorite. Granny had endured a sad and difficult childhood with a mother who suffered from mental illness. She understood the importance of a child having an ally when a parent fails them.

Each year, a few days after Thanksgiving, I hang Granny’s plastic poinsettia bouquet with the bells on my front door to announce the arrival of holiday guests. I have mastered many of her recipes, and last year finally managed a very respectable batch of divinity. When the Christmas season arrives, I lovingly remember Granny and cherish that the magic and resilience she gave me.

And during the holiday season, when I see a Greyhound bus on the highway, I think to myself, in the belly of that machine may travel some child’s Christmas.

[Note: all comments are my opinions, not those of the speaker, or The Moth or anyone else on the planet. In my view, every story is unique, as is every interpretation of that story. The sole purpose of these posts is to inspire storytellers to become better storylisteners and to think about how their stories can become more impactful.]

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Mark Lovett

Tara Clancy on The Moth Mainstage at the Avram Theater

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The Moth has been hosting storytelling events for 20+ years, and the thousands of storytellers who have graced their stages are proof that every story is unique, and that the best stories come from our personal experiences.

I recently came across this video and knew that I had to share it as an example of how the lessons that we learn early on in life can change the way we see the world and our place in it. For Tara Clancy, one such lesson involved a shift from fear to choice.

She does so with a sharp sense of humor while taking us back five generations to set the stage for stories about her mom, her upbringing in Brooklyn, and a most unusual set of after dinner conversations.

It’s a revealing look at straddling cultures, spanning generations, and absorbing the wisdom that comes from interesting dialogues. Consider the experiences as you grew up which shifted your outlook on life. I’ll bet there’s a great story there.

Transcript

I am a fifth generation native New Yorker. Yes. And while there is definitely something cool about that, there is also actually a downside. Like there was this moment when it occurred to me that while many other American families also first landed in New York City for the most part, at some point they kept going, pioneering their way west with little more than the rags on their backs and all of that. Meanwhile, my own family got off a boat, took two steps, looked around, and were like, good enough for me, forever.

I come from a place where discovering the great unknown means New Jersey. All right, well, it didn’t take me too long to realize that the reason for all of this was mostly fear, and that that fear pervaded everything. Where you live, what you do for a living, you just find the first solid thing and you don’t risk going any further. But as it turned out, my mother was something of a pioneer herself, although not without her share of false starts. So at 20 years old she had hardly been outside of Brooklyn, and when she did finally leave a year later, it was only because she married a guy from Queens, which she then called the country.

Anyway, they had a baby – me. But by the time I was two they had divorced, and to make a little extra money afterwards she had to take on a weekend job cleaning apartments. So the very first was this duplex filled with antiques and artwork and Manhattan skyline views. But as it winds up, it would be her last, because over the course of one year, she would go from being the cleaning lady, to the secretary, to the girlfriend of the multimillionaire who owned it, named Mark. They never wound up living together full time. For one, they were both divorced, so it was just kind of a been there, done that.

But also my mother had this philosophy, which was just that if you take somebody’s money, you have to take their advice. And so when it came to raising me, she wanted to do it her way, which she felt like had to be on her dime. So she would go on to spend every weekend with him, and then every weekday back home in Queens living this dual life for the next 22 years. And on the weekends when I wasn’t with my dad, I was right there with her. So together my mother and I had kind of become superwomen, able to jump social strata in a single bound.

Because of my mother’s plan my life was really never very different than anybody else’s around me. I wasn’t sent to some special school or moved to a penthouse, so I just kind of grew into your typical queen’s teenager. I was a walking cliche in every other way, except for the fact that I still spent every odd weekend talking and talking with this brilliant art collecting, croquet playing man at his mansion in Bridge Hampton. And when I say talking and talking with him, I actually really mean it. I don’t just mean we just sort of made some chit chat. I mean that after dinner, every odd Saturday, for 20 years of my life, he would look at me and ask me some enormous question. Something like, “If I were to tell you that the universe was infinite, how would that make you feel?”

And for that when I was five years old, right? But I just lived for it. And we would just talk and talk, and sometimes my mother would, would kind of leave us to it, and then she would come back in an hour later and she would be like, “Are you too gonna talk about the moon and the stars all night?” And that’s actually what she came to call them. Our Moon and Stars talks. So by 16 years old, like every other teenager, I didn’t wanna be away from my friends for five minutes, let alone a whole weekend. And so for the first time, I decided to ask Mark if they could come along. So I give him a call, ring, “Mark speaking, hey, it’s Tara. Would it be okay if I brought some friends this weekend? Yeah, that’d be fine.” Click.

He wasn’t one for small talk, right? So the problem wasn’t him. The problem was that some of my friends had no idea about any of this. Now, it really wasn’t that I was trying to hide it. It’s just that the details weren’t always easy to slip into conversation. Truly, the only thing I could compare having to tell them about all this stuff is just kind of like my own coming out. You know? I’d sit them down and I’d be like, “I have something to tell you, and I hope you find it in your heart to accept me. But I know a rich guy.”

But truly, I wanted them to come. I didn’t want them to be embarrassed, so I knew that I had to explain some things to them. And so literally here I am in the schoolyard one day at recess, and in one corner kids are just beating the crap out of each other. It’s how we do recess in Queens, right? And in the other corner I’ve pulled aside my friend who I’ve invited, Lynette, and I’m just sitting there and I’m trying to explain to her what it means to go antiquing.

But before you know it, there we are. Me, Lynette, her boyfriend Rob, piled into this little red civic. We’re flying down the highway heading from Hollis to here, to the Hamptons. And just for brevity’s sake, we’ll say Lynette’s, like Rosie Perez, Rob’s like Eminem. They’re in the front. I’m in the back, and as we’re getting closer I’m getting more and more nervous, and I’m trying to think of everything I haven’t explained, and I’m like, “Oh my God, did I tell you about the ketchup? The ketchup? Listen, you can’t put the ketchup bottle on the table. You gotta take the ketchup out of the bottle. You gotta put it in a little bowl with a spoon. Don’t ask.” And then I keep getting nervous, and more things, that I’m like, “Oh, guys, I got another one. I forgot to tell you guys. Listen, there’s no TV there.” And they’re like, “Dear God, what does he do all day?”

So that kind of led me to explain what we did after dinner, which wasn’t watch TV, it was the talks, the moon and the stars talks. So I should have said while I loved these talks, they actually were not for the faint of heart, meaning Mark didn’t care if you were some kid unaccustomed to this kind of thing. He was going to talk and argue with you like you were his peer and fully expect you to keep up. I just didn’t know if my friends were gonna be into that or if he was gonna be into them, but before you know it, too late, there we are, pulling into the driveway.

So the most shocking thing you first saw at Mark’s house actually was not the beautiful hand laid stone pool, or this enormous regulation croquet court, or even the historic farmhouse. It was just Mark himself. He was six foot 10, yeah, six foot 10. So here are these two kids from Queens, like, is that a man or is that oak tree wearing Chinos?

Likely because everyone completely ignored my stupid paranoia and were just themselves the day went without a hitch. But after dinner that night, when I knew the questions were coming, I couldn’t help but to be a little bit nervous again, and then of course, he just goes for it. He looks up at them and he’s like, “So if we were to presume we could fix all of the societal ills right here and now, where would you begin? Go.”

I mean, you guys gotta understand. Nobody is asking us these kinds of questions, right? And even though we are at an age where you might be starting to think bigger picture, you might be starting to think about what you wanna do for a living, we come from a world where it only ever felt like there were two job options. It was cop, not a cop. What else could there be really? You know, really.

Sort of like your parents, you took the first solid city job that came along and you held on for dear life, and you were proud, and you did your best, and you did it forever. So solving society’s ills. But of course, soon as he says it, I kind of look down, take this breath, and then I hear Lynette say something, and I look up, and now Rob has disagreed with her. And now Mark is sort of nodding along and just like that, it’s on.

And not just that one time. Most of these friends would come back for many more of these talks over the years. And while in a way it was this beautiful thing, of course, in another way it was a little bit sad because what most of them would tell you now is that those talks forever changed the way we thought of ourselves.

They really made you think that maybe there was a little more to you than you knew. And for some, certainly not all, but definitely for me, they even made you think like, boy, you know, if A) I like talking about these big things and B) the universe is infinite, then C) there’s gotta be some more job options than bus driver.

But truly, I think this experience gave us something that unfortunately I know my parents didn’t have. And that’s just when we came to that crossroad in life the next couple of years, we had the confidence to know that we had a choice. And so today I live in a whole other world, Manhattan, a whopping 20 minutes away from where I grew up. But that’s not because of fear. That’s my choice. Thank you.

Watch Tara’s video, make some notes about what impressed you, then read the manuscript and watch again. You’ll see & hear differently the 2nd time around.

[Note: all comments are my opinions, not those of the speaker, or The Moth, or anyone else on the planet. In my view, every story is unique, as is every interpretation of that story. The sole purpose of these posts is to inspire storytellers to become better storylisteners and to think about how their stories can become more impactful.]

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