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Hey there. We here at The Moth have an exciting opportunity for high school sophomores, juniors, and seniors who love to tell stories. Join The Moth Story Lab this fall. Whether for an aspiring writer, a budding filmmaker, or simply someone who loves to spin a good yarn, this workshop is a chance to refine the craft of storytelling. From brainstorming to that final mic drop moment, we've got students covered.
Plus, they'll make new friends, build skills that shine in school and beyond, and have a blast along the way. These workshops are free and held in person in New York City or virtually anywhere in the U.S. Space is limited. Apply now through September 22nd at themoth.org slash students. That's themoth.org slash students. Welcome to the Moth Podcast. I'm your host, Dame Wilburn.
In 2022, the month has been celebrating its 25th anniversary by taking a look back at each year we've been around. This episode, we're at 2007. In 2007, we started our open mic story slams in Detroit and Chicago. Pretty much a story slam is you put your name in the hat, you tell a story on the theme, and if your name is pulled, you got five minutes to razzle dazzle it.
Detroit and Chicago have so many stories, we've been so lucky to be able to share just some of them. I've never been to a Chicago slam, but I've heard stories from them, and I sometimes host a Detroit slam, and I can tell you both of us are running neck and neck for having great stories and great storytellers. Our stories in today's episodes are from these two cities. First up is Grace Topinka.
She told this at a Chicago Story Slam where the theme of the night was backwards. Here's Grace, live at the Moth. When I was 16, I decided that I wanted to learn how to drive stick shift because I thought it would make me cooler.
Also, stick shift cars tend to be cheaper. And I had this fear that if I was ever kidnapped and the only getaway vehicle was like a six-speed Jeep Liberty, I should know how to drive it. And I was thinking about this because my parents had told me that they were going to get me a car because my dad and I had both started new jobs and our schedules were just like so crazy that they decided...
It kind of needed to happen. And this was a very important time in my life because I was 16 years old and I wanted to prove that I was independent and capable. And having a car was like a huge part of that. And I was a pretty confident driver. I felt like I was a good driver and a quick learner. So I was like, oh, stick shift, that should be easy.
And not to mention my dad and the used car salesman were like, "Oh, driving stick is easy. The hardest part is just getting the car in first gear. After that, everything's basically the same." I was like, "Cool, that sounds cool." And then I learned that getting the car in first gear means making the car move at all. So I feel like they really downplayed the importance of being able to do that.
So my dad took me to this quiet street in my neighborhood, and the first thing he taught me was how to go in reverse. And it's not that hard to reverse in a stick shift. It's basically the same as in a regular car. So I got that really quick. I was like, wow, I'm amazing at this. And he was like, great, now we have to go forward. And he basically taught me it's all about the balance. You have to release the clutch and push down on the gas pedal, but with perfect timing and balance. And he seemed to think that I could just feel it, because he could just feel it.
And he had learned how to drive stick like 45 years ago. So 45 minutes passed and I had not felt anything. I could not get this car to move if my life depended on it. And the worst part was that because I kept having to restart the car, my dad was like, we should turn off the AC because it's not good for the AC to be turning on and off, which is like the most dad thing ever. But this was in...
This was in Miami in like 87 degree weather. So we were sweating bullets. I was crying. I was so frustrating. I was like, is there a return policy on a car? Like, I can't drive this. And my dad was trying to make me feel better. And he was like, Grace, millions of people drive stick shift every day. And I was like, great. I'm so happy for them. He was like, if you drive this car half a block, I'll drive you home.
So I put the car in reverse and reversed half a block and he drove me home. That is basically how all of our driving lessons went. And then we got to a point where I had a car that I could only drive backwards. But I had places to go and so did my dad, so he very graciously switched cars with me. And this was fine, but I felt kind of bad because my car was considerably crappier than my dad's car. But then I felt really bad when I was driving my dad's car and I got into a car accident.
This was my first and only car accident, and it was a minor fender bender. No one was hurt, but I still had to call my dad and be like, hey, you know that car that you're letting me borrow? Do you like it with or without scratches on the front bumper?
No, but really I felt so guilty because my parents had sacrificed a lot to get me this car and my dad had sacrificed a lot of time and a lot of sweat to try to teach me how to drive it and I just couldn't. And I felt all that confidence and independence I had felt just melted away and I felt so young and stupid and in over my head.
But I decided that if I was going to be rear-ending people, I was going to learn how to do it in my own car. So my dad and I went out any time we could, and because of our schedules, it was usually at like 6 a.m. before school or like 9 o'clock at night, and we would very painfully inch around my neighborhood. And I was slowly improving, and my dad was very patient with me, and
And then he realized something that changed everything. He was like, "You're being too hesitant on the gas pedal. That's why the car keeps stalling. Just give it way more gas than you think you need and the tires will squeal and it will not be smooth at all, but the car will be moving and you'll be in first gear and then the rest is easy."
And that worked. I mean, I was squealing like crazy. Like if I was going from a dead stop at a red light, it sounded like I was in NASCAR even though I was going like two miles an hour. And like kids in my high school like knew me in the parking lot because I'd be like squealing out of a parking space like going like this.
But after like a week and a half, I officially became one of the millions of people who drive stick shift every day. And I know in that context, it doesn't sound that impressive, but I was really, really proud of myself. And that whole kidnapping situation thankfully hasn't happened. But there have been at least like two times where it's come in handy that I knew how to drive stick shift. So I guess it's been worth it.
But now I know any time when I face a challenge or I have to do something that I'm really terrible at, I remember that it can be easy to go backwards or to reverse and keep doing the things that you're used to doing. But sometimes in life, if you want to move forward, you just got to slam on that gas pedal. Thank you. That was Grace Topinka.
Grace is from Miami, but has been living in Chicago for 10 years. She is the co-host of Two Girls, One Crossword, a weekly trivia podcast for people who are bad at trivia. You can find her paying late fees at the library and on escape room leaderboards across the city.
Up next is Jenny Dilla O. What up, Jenny? Jenny told this story at a Detroit Story Slam where the theme of the night was neighborhoods. Here's Jenny, live at the mall. I'm not originally from Michigan. I am originally from sunny South Florida. And specifically, I'm from a little city called Hialeah. And if you're... Wow! Okay. Well...
If you're from Hialeah, you're from Miami the same way that people from Ferndale are from Detroit. So, anyway. So, I lived in a neighborhood called Hoffman Gardens, also known as The Projects. And the thing about growing up in Hoffman Gardens is that your neighbors were just as likely to feed you as they were to give you a cocotazo. And for my monolingual friends out here, a cocotazo is a good one upside the head, and you only need one because you learned your lesson.
So I can think of one specific incident like this was with my younger brother Lionel. I was sitting on this huge green transformer, which is located in front of my grandmother's house, who also lives in the projects, in what I now know would be a front yard in a normal house. So I'm sitting on the transformer, just watching the day go by.
And all of a sudden I look in the house and I hear my grandmother scream. I don't know what my brother did, and I surely don't know what he was thinking because he took off running. And my grandmother took off running after him. And I know he was thinking, "This old Cuban lady with spinal stenosis, she's not gonna catch me." And just as he gets out of reach, I hear my grandmother give the abuelita bat signal. Abuelita's grandmother, for you guys who don't know. She calls out, "Juanita!"
which means Juanita, that's the neighbor, get him. From where I'm sitting, I have prime seating to this unfolding drama because I'm between these two houses so I can look into Juanita's house and she's got the windows open, the salsa music's pouring out, she's scrubbing her house down with mistolin, which is like pine salt but on crack. And
And she drops the mop and she takes off after my brother. I mean, so you've got these two old Cuban ladies chasing after my brothers. Pink foam rollers are flying. Juanita's bleach blonde hair is just waving in the wind.
And I'm thinking, gosh, my brother is crazy. And I'm watching him go laps just around. And Juanita doesn't know what my brother did. And she doesn't need to know. So they're going laps, they're going laps. And each time my brother comes around me, he gives me this look, this pleading look, like, please help me. But we both know he's screwed. Around the fifth time he comes around, the neighborhood kids have gathered onto the Transformers. We're all watching this. My youngest brother's sitting in front of the Transformer. Around the sixth lap,
They share a telepathic moment, these two Cuban grandmas, because they don't exchange a word, but they split up like velociraptors in Jurassic Park, and they trap him, and my youngest brother tripped him, but he laughed really hard when Lionel fell. And so he's on the ground, these two women are closing in, and we scatter because we know it's about to be a beatdown. And before you say, a Cuban grandma beatdown can't be that bad, these women start their day with Cuban coffee, which is like Red Bull and crack. So you...
You don't want to be there when it goes down. So I take off and the last thing that I hear is my little brother screaming, "No!" I would have heard more but I'm a little chunky and I was running as hard as I could. And so that was what it was like in my neighborhood. Cuban grandma beatdowns were not an uncommon thing. It's happened all the time. I remember my father, his father, who's a little raisin of a man, and my grandmother
leaving our house to help a kid who was being jumped by one of the new gangs that had moved into the projects. And they went out there armed with brooms and with baseball bats and they rescued that little kid and doctored him up. So for obvious reasons, my parents wanted to get us out of the projects. And the fact of the matter is, a whole army of abuelitas can't save you from gang violence and drugs.
So they did manage to get us out of the projects. We moved into a suburban neighborhood, and by that I mean a white neighborhood. And there were no abuelitas. There were no hundred eyes always watching you. The thing about Hoffman Gardens was you couldn't get away with anything because you were never out of sight and out of mind. There were always dozens of abuelitas watching your every move. And you never knew when the beatdown was coming, but you knew if you did something shady, it was coming.
So we move into this suburban neighborhood, and there are no abuelitas, there are no cocotazos. The trees are sculptural and not suited for cutting branches off to beat small children when they mouth off to their elders. So I had a front lawn. I did not have a transformer to watch the days go by. And there was no gang violence, no alarms going off in the night. But I have to tell you, even after all these years, I have never felt as safe as I felt in Hoffman Gardens with all the abuelitas.
That was Jenny Delao. Jenny is a poet and storyteller living in Detroit. She is associate editor of Frontier Poetry and writes The Brown Study. Her poetry collection, Sophia's, won the Taryn Burrell Chatbook Prize and is forthcoming from Knight's Library in September of 2023. That's all for this episode.
And remember, if you are ever in Detroit or Chicago or anywhere, come to a Story Slam. For more information on where they are and when they are, check out themoth.org. From all of us here at The Moth, have a story-worthy week.
Dame Wilburn is a storyteller, a host of the Moth Podcast, Dame's Eclectic Reign Podcast, and various live shows, including the Moth Mainstage. Her storytelling began as a way of keeping cool in the summertime on her grandmother's porch in Macon, Georgia.
She has completed four residencies for storytellers, including at Sarenby in Palmetto, Georgia, and one with Air Trez in Almond, Michigan. Dame has also presented at the University of Iowa and UCLA. She lives in a state of possibilities and in Michigan. This episode of the Mouth Podcast was produced by Sarah Austin-Ginness, Sarah Jane Johnson, and me, Mark Sollinger.
The rest of the Moss leadership team includes Catherine Burns, Sarah Haberman, Jennifer Hickson, Meg Bowles, Kate Tellers, Jennifer Birmingham, Marina Cloutier, Suzanne Rust, Brandon Grant, Leigh-Anne Gulley, Inga Glodowski, and Aldi Caza. All Moss stories are true, as remembered by their storytellers. For more about our podcast, information on pitching your own story, and everything else, go to our website, themoss.org.
The Moth Podcast is presented by PRX, the public radio exchange, helping make public radio more public at PRX.org.
