The Moth Radio Hour: Can't Help Falling in Love
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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. From PRX, this is the Moth Radio Hour. I'm Sarah Austin-Ginness. Love is in the air.

and around every corner. Because in this hour, the stories are all about finding romantic love in unlikely places and leaning into that love, even when it seems the odds may be against you. When it comes to love and soulmates, most say when you know, you know. And that's what our first story is about. David Greco told this at a Moth Story Slam in New Orleans, where we partner with New Orleans Public Radio.

David lives in California and was just visiting New Orleans the night of this open mic show. But he decided to pop in and throw his name in the hat, and he was picked. Here's David Greco live at the mall. You know when you're first starting to date someone. You get to that point where there's this moment where you know this is either a total disaster or she's the one. Like for example, that one time I was on the date and she leans across the table and says, actually, I have something to tell you.

I'm like, alright. My name's not Debbie. And I'm in the Witness Relocation Program. I'm like, check. Thank you. So, a few years ago, I started dating this woman. And I really liked her. And now, the first time I was at Jazz Fest was about five years ago.

And I came and I just absolutely loved it. It was, I thought, the most magical, amazing event I'd ever been. Came right back the next year and loved it even more. So I'm starting to date this woman and it's February. I'm like, well, I'll say, hey, I'm going to Jazz Fest. You want to come along with me? Now, at some level, I'm hoping, please don't say yes, please. And she goes, yeah, this sounds fantastic. I'm like, okay, great.

Now this girl, she's classy, she's elegant, so I'm like, "Alright, we're gonna plan this amazing Jazz Fest." Now every other time I'd come to Jazz Fest, the sun is shining, nice warm temperature, beautiful food, music, everything. I'm like, "This is gonna be a fantastic event." We got it all lined up. So we get here, we land, and if anybody remembers Jazz Fest from a few years ago,

torrential downpours. I mean it is, the sky is opened up and it is just sheets of water coming down.

And so we're running around trying to find rain boots. Every store you go to, all the shoe stores, sold out, sold out, no rain boots anywhere. So we're like, fine. We go to some shoe stores. We buy just the cheapest pair of shoes we can find, right? We go to the CVS. We get a couple of the beach chairs, you know. So now we're all set to go. And so we trudge out there. We finally make it out there to Jazz Fest, and it is just pouring.

Now, for folks who haven't been to Jazz Fest in the rain, that field, that racetrack inside of that turns to just muck and mud. And so when you're walking through that, I saw just little children just get sucked down into that mud and gone. And we're trying to walk away through it, you know, that sound that it makes. You put your chair down, you sit down, and you just keep sinking.

And I'm just like, "Oh my god, my perfect plans, everything that I had." I was like, all going away. It is cold, she's got a parka on, and I'm just like, "We're from LA. We're not used to this. What are we doing?" And so we finally make it over to the stage. Maroon 5 is gonna play.

So I go out, I'm going to get a couple of Jackeries because I'm like, this day is just going bad for me. And so as I'm working my way back through the crowds and I'm fighting my way back, I see her there. She's standing by our chairs and she's just dancing. The rain is pouring down and she is having the time of her life. And I know at that moment that this is the woman for me.

And in the mud, and the mayhem, and the muck of Jazz Fest, I was given a gift. And for every day since then, I've been so thankful. Thank you very much. That was David Greco. David lives in San Francisco and is the executive director of All Stars Helping Kids, where he works to break the cycle of poverty for youth. And he recently returned from Warsaw, where he was volunteering with Ukrainian refugees.

Full disclosure, David and his girlfriend are no longer together, but they've stayed close friends. And to see the actual video of her dancing in the rain, go to themoth.org. And who knows, you may want to check out Jazz Fest in New Orleans yourself. It's in the spring when love is in full bloom.

Eva Santiago is up next with an out-of-the-blue love story. She told this at a Moth main stage in Los Angeles, where we partnered with public radio station KCRW. Here's Eva Santiago live at the Moth. I get a request on Facebook. You don't know me, but my brother knows you. And he asked me to reach out to you to see if you'd write me. But unfortunately, he's incarcerated.

His name is Christopher and you ran around in similar circles over 20 years ago and you referred to him as old school. I remember Christopher. He was cute and he had a nice smile and I did refer to him as old school because he always wore a tank top underneath his shirt even though it was like 90 degrees outside.

I wrote him a brief letter, "How are you doing under the circumstances?" A couple of weeks went by and I really didn't think anything of it until I went to my mailbox and there was an envelope and across it, it was stamped, "Sullivan Correctional Facility." That's when it became real to me. We wrote for months. We talked about world views.

We talked about many systems that oppress our people. We talked about how the city once was, how we were influenced by hip-hop. When poets wrote words of substance, we talked about our families, and we drew beautiful pictures for one another. And then he asked if he could call. A week goes by, and the phone rings.

"Collect call from inmate Christopher so-and-so from Sullivan Correctional Facility. Would you accept the call?" I say yes, and all of a sudden I hear, "Hey Eva, it's me, Chris." And I say as if the automated message didn't give it away, and we start laughing. We spoke all the time since that phone call, and then he asked me if I would come and visit him.

The night before the visit, I told him that I was scared, nervous, anxious. I had never been to a maximum security prison before. The next morning, a white van drove up to my building. A gentleman stepped out and I said, "Nolly, going to Sullivan?" And he said, "Eva?" And I said, "Yes." The door opened.

and there were gray seats, and they were worn from usage. There were about eight or nine women, some sleeping. I got into the van, and I thought, "What am I doing? What would my family think?" As if being a single mother wasn't enough. Before I knew it, we were in front of the prison. There was a young girl who was standing before me with a young child.

And she went up to the desk and the correctional officer said, "What is his number?" And she said, "I don't know his number." And he said, "Well, if you don't know his number, I guess you don't really know him." And I thought, "Oh my God, I don't know his number." It was my turn, and I nervously said, "Hi, this is the first time I'm here. I don't know his number, but I know his birth date."

And the correctional officer, the CO, looked at me as if I was an idiot and said, "Put your jewelry, your shoes, and your money in the tray and go through the metal detector." I went through the metal detector as if I was walking on a tight rope, not wanting to touch the sides so that it wouldn't beep.

We then went through two heavy steel doors and they banged shut behind us to remind us that we were securely locked in. I was at the visiting room. It was cold and sterile and lifeless. And I looked at the door and the door opened and our eyes met and Christopher's smile warmed up the room

It was as if we were the only two people there, and the visiting room was very crowded that day. I felt as if there was a magnetic force that was pulling us together. He walked up to the table. We hugged for a minute. He held my hands, and we proceeded to sit. I asked him how he was doing, and he told me that he was working with the mentally ill, and that he was preparing a banquet.

because he was the head of the African Caribbean Unity Program, and that he was really excited because he was going to start school. We laughed, we joked around. I looked at the clock, and it was a quarter to three. We had 15 more minutes left, and he could see that I was sad. And he said, "Don't worry, babe. We'll see each other soon." I made sure that I saw Christopher at least once a month.

so that we had regular visits. The next visit was a beautiful sunny day and I asked Christopher if we could go out into the courtyard and we did. He stood behind me, holding me, and we looked up at the sun and we felt the heat on our faces. We would close our eyes and imagine that we were somewhere else. He slowly turned me around and we looked into each other's eyes.

And he said, "Eva, will you marry me?" And I said, "Yes, without hesitation." You see, Christopher and I were engaged before to other people, but it just wasn't right. And this was right. The visit was over. Our wedding day. My mother-in-law, sister-in-law, Christopher's niece, Olivia, drove upstate. We were in the visiting room. All of us hugged one another.

And Christopher's best friend and his wife made sure that they had a visit that day, so they participated in the wedding. The Reverend came and said, "Are you ready?" Christopher held my hands as I cried. He said, "Babe, don't cry. It was bittersweet for me. This was the man that I love." And he had done 22 years of a 34-year sentence, and I knew that he wasn't coming home anytime soon.

It was his turn to say his vows. And I knew that he was more nervous than he said he was because he was massaging my hands so intensely. We kissed each other quickly because we looked down and Queen Olivia was looking at us. We decided to take Olivia out to the courtyard. Christopher took one hand and I took the other. And we played tag with her.

until we both got tired. We ended up coming back into the visiting room and I went to the vending machines. I got my usual plantain chips and coconut water, Christopher's favorite, barbecued chicken wings and apple pie, and of course, chicken McNuggets for Olivia. We went back to our table with my mother-in-law and my sister-in-law.

My mother-in-law spoke of how Christopher was as a child in Jamaica and how he was so rank-bunctious and that he would ride his bike everywhere and then how him and his friends used to try to ride the goats. And my sister-in-law said, "Yeah, that's my brother, Mr. Adventurous." And we both laughed. I wish that day was just a little longer. I know what people think.

Why would you marry somebody who's incarcerated? Are you that desperate that you can't find anybody out here? Let me tell you what Christopher has taught me. He has taught me not to wear my heart on my sleeve all the time because it doesn't work for me. He has taught me to strive to do the best that I can, and he has taught me to live my life to the fullest. So even when the system tries to dehumanize him,

and tries to devalue him and tries to break him down of his identity, he still stands. So I think about that first visit when the CEO had said, "Well, if you don't know his number, then you really don't know him." I'm here to say that he's not a number. He's a beautiful man and he's my husband. There's a song that I dedicated to Christopher by India Irie, "The Truth."

Let me tell you why I love him. Because he is the truth. Yes, he is so real. And I love the way that he makes me feel. And if I am a reflection of him, then I must be fly. Because his light, it shines so bright. Thank you.

Eva Santiago and Christopher have been married now for eight years. Eva visits him when she can, and they talk almost every day. In fact, they taped one of their recent calls for this episode. Here's Eva and Christopher. How do we keep the spark in our marriage? What do you think? Wait, babe, babe, babe. No, no, no, no. Good jokes are possible, but I'm simple and natural. Naturally, you're funny, but when you... Babe. I keep saying, I said yesterday.

No, you don't. No. Wait a second. Wait a second. Wait a second. You said... Wait, hold up. You said that you always say, I'm right? Is that what you said? Oh, my God. I can't believe you said that, babe. Don't you... Yes. How do we keep it alive? Well, laughter. You make me laugh. That's like...

Well, you used to be, babe. I don't know if you're very romantic. Really? Yes, you used to be. No, you're not. You just, what, stopped? Forever. Forever.

That was Eva Santiago and her husband Christopher. Eva is a parent advocate with Bronx Connect, supporting families of color undergoing the trauma that comes with systemic oppression. She also works with high-risk youth on probation for the prevention of incarceration. At this point, Christopher has served 26 years of his 34-year sentence.

He's a model inmate helping anyone and everyone he can, and at the top of his class, about to earn his bachelor's degree. Eva continues to fight and advocate for clemency in getting her husband home. To learn more and to see photos of Eva and Christopher on their wedding day, visit themoth.org. ♪

After our break, a secret letter of love and an unforeseen first home for a married couple when the Moth Radio Hour continues. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts and presented by the Public Radio Exchange, PRX.org.

This is the Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Sarah Austin-Ginesse, and this episode is all about love, love, love. We met our next storyteller, Paola Ayala, through the Moth's Education Program, which offers storytelling workshops to high school students around the country. Live from Beacon High School in New York City, here's Paola Ayala.

So I think after living with her all my life, I got used to my mom's like crazy neurotic cleaning around the house. But the one place I can't really stand it is in my room. I remember one day my sophomore year, I came home and everything was a mess and everything was everywhere. We had been doing construction and she didn't tell me about it. So I got home and she was like, good, you're home. She's like, all right, so you can help me clean now. She's like, let's start with your room because it's a disaster. So I was like, okay.

I go downstairs and my bed is misplaced and my closet's torn apart and everything is everywhere and I didn't even make the mess. And I see in a corner of my room there's a bunch of scraps of paper and just, you know, tumbled there. And I see that they had been tampered with and somebody was digging through my things. And then I see like this paper out of its envelope and I start reading through it and I start feeling really small. And my hands start shaking and I realize it was a letter.

And it was a letter I had gotten from my girlfriend for my birthday. And I suppose I should mention my mom didn't know I had a girlfriend. So I had the letter in my hand and I was shaking and I was really nervous. And I'm thinking, did she read the letter?

And so I'm in my room and I don't know what to think. And there are like a million things going through my head. And I was like, wow. I was like, I don't know if she read it. I was like, she might disown me. And then I hear and she's like, Paola, she's like, dinner's ready. And I was like, oh, my God, she wants me to go upstairs. She wants to talk about it over dinner. I was like, I'm going to throw up and we're not going to be able to talk about anything. I was like, all right, well, I don't know how I'm going to go about this. And so I think I wait long enough and I go upstairs and

And I don't go in the room yet. I peek through the stairs to see what they're doing. And they're all sitting there watching TV. And I look at them for a few seconds. I was like, all right. I was like, everybody looks pretty normal. Looks pretty oblivious. So I walk to the kitchen and I kind of look at the food. I kind of feel repulsed. So I don't really eat. And I sit down. My mom looks at me and she's like, you're not hungry? And I was like, no, I'm not that hungry. And she kind of just looks at me. And so...

I fidget a little and she just kept looking at me and I was like, "Oh God, she's gonna say something." I was like, "I don't know what to say." So finally, I look at her and I was like, "Mom, I think you found something of mine." And she was like, "What do you mean?" And I was like, "I think you found something in my room." It was like something kind of personal that you weren't supposed to know about. And her eyes get really big. And she was like, "Oh my God, you're pregnant."

And I was like, well, if you think that's the worst of it, I promise this won't be that bad. But this is what I'm thinking. And before I said anything, I thought, I realized she didn't read it. She doesn't even know. But then she was like, well, what are you talking about then? And I was like, well, I'm going to have to tell you now. And so I go, I was like, well, I thought you'd read a letter that I got from my girlfriend. And she kind of just looks at me.

And it was like this awkward looking at each other for like five seconds because she didn't know what to say and I had just said something and I was waiting for her to say something but nothing really happened. So my stepdad's sitting on the couch and he looks at me and he goes, he's like, well, it's about time. And I look at him and I go, what are you talking about? And he was like, he's like, you know what? He's like, I knew. He's like, I kind of had my suspicions. He's like, and your mom didn't see my point. But you know, I mentioned it. And I'm sitting there and I was like, well, they already knew. I didn't even have to go through all this trouble.

And so I go to bed that night and I wake up the next morning and I start getting ready for school and everything. And we have this routine where I say goodbye and she asks me, what are you doing after school? And it just felt so good to be able to say, I'm going to go hang out with my girlfriend. And I didn't have to lie to her and I could say that with confidence and she was okay with it. And I walked out of that door that morning and I felt like I could breathe. Thank you.

That was Paola Ayala. Paola lives in Brooklyn and is in the midst of creating her own startup. She says, quote, I don't know when I would have come out if my mother hadn't stumbled on that letter. I certainly wasn't ready to come out at 14 years old. I guess it all happened exactly the way it was supposed to.

Ten years later, Paola has now met the love of her life, and they recently got engaged. Paola's family has been extraordinarily supportive. To see Paola's engagement photo, go to themoth.org. Dr. Auburn Schaefer is up next with a story she told at a Moth Story Slam in Ann Arbor, where we partner with Michigan Radio. Here's Dr. Schaefer live at the Moth.

Let me start with talking about home and what a really complicated relationship I have with the idea of home since the year 2009 when I got a phone call from Akron General Hospital saying that my husband had been assaulted and was in the ICU in a coma and may not make it through the night.

Well, we had been living two hours apart for the last seven years. It had been a long-distance relationship. And the year before, while it was still long-distance, we married, but we had never had our home together ever. We'd never spent more than a few days together ever in all the years that we knew each other. I was raising my son. We were finishing high school for him. He was two weeks away from going to college. He had a full-ride football athlete.

And this was going to be our time together. I had just given the keys to our home to the people who were going to rent it. And I got the call from Akron General. Are you so-and-so? You need to sit down. Do you have any family near you? We need to tell you that your husband is unconscious. And

I was like, yeah, okay, but my first thought, he's going to wake up, right? I'm waiting for them to say, but he'll be fine and you'll be able to take him home in a few hours. And I said, and he's going to be fine, right? He's going to be fine. And they wouldn't answer that. I said, is he going to die? And they wouldn't answer that. And that's when I knew it was heavy.

And I was literally wearing a pair of sweatpants, left Ohio, the side of Ohio I was living on, drove to Akron, and there he was in the ICU. He had been trying to tow a car from a rental property he owned, and a guy who didn't live there had parked it there, was drunk,

and assaulted him. He punched him in the head, and his head hit a brick wall right behind him. And so it was like a high-speed car wreck, the velocity of it. And, well, they said they'd know in the next three days if he'd live or not, depending on how much his brain swelled up. And, you know, that night my husband, the one that I knew, the guy that I did know, did die. But we were left with...

this man in a coma and so my first home with my husband was in the ICU of Akron General Hospital and then they moved him from the ICU to a coma hospital where he was completely on life support and I'd sleep on this couch near him and that kind of felt like home at least his body was there and he was breathing and then there was a day when he opened his eyes but he didn't look in any particular direction just blank

But that was, there were his eyes, those blue eyes. What I missed the most was his laughter. Man, he just had this laugh. Any room he'd enter, you'd know Chuck was there because of his laugh. And what I missed more than anything was that laugh of his. And so...

Damn it, he wasn't coming out of this coma, you know, he was waiting for this, you know, movie, Hallmark movie moment where he opened his eyes and said, oh, here you are. And like another week went by and another week went by and another week went by. And he's starting to curl up and he's starting to shrink up and he's not waking up. But I stayed with him night and day because he was so vulnerable. I made my home his body.

And I made sure they washed it, and I made sure they turned it, and I made sure they sat him up. And when they washed him, they thought I was weird, but I got in there, and I had to touch his skin. I needed to touch him. It was all I had of him. It was home. And he still wasn't waking up, and they sent him to a nursing home, and he's starting to shrink up, and he was starting to move. And there was this night in the nursing home,

where I was able to crawl. His bed was about this wide. I crawled into the bed right next to him and I put his arm around my shoulder and I curled up into his chest and I cried like a baby because even though he wasn't conscious, I was back in his arms and that felt like home. Well, I could tell about eight weeks into this, I could tell that

when he came back into his body. Nobody else could tell, but I could tell when his spirit came back into his body. And about a week or two after that, he said his own name. And then a day or two after that, someone said, hey, do you know who that is? And he said, well, that's my wife. And they said, how long have you known and loved your wife? And he said, from the beginning of time,

He's still very heavily impaired, my husband, severe traumatic brain injury, and we've lost all kinds of material things. But he laughs again, and we have loved each other so completely without words, just in our spirits. And we are so grateful for every part of him that is back.

that I've learned that even though I've been on hospital beds, couches, floors, air mattresses, I've been 15 different places in the last four years. Home is where anybody's heart is open to mine and where we see each other and hear each other and can trust each other. Thank you. applause

That was Dr. Auburn Schaefer. Auburn lives in Toledo, Ohio. She works as an urban school principal and teaches science and tech writing at the University of Toledo. She just launched the Red Rocking Chair Project, a literary initiative where they rock and read to children in underserved neighborhoods. ♪

Chuck and Auburn chose to forgive Chuck's perpetrator. Auburn went on to get a Ph.D. in urban education policy. And Chuck is being cared for now by family in Florida. Romantic love can strike when you're not expecting it. So if you're not in love right now, keep your eyes open. And if you are in love, or if that love changed the course of your life, consider telling your story at The Moth.

Every love story is unique, and we want to hear from you. Find a Moth event near you through our website, themoth.org. After the break, a father offers his family communion at home, where a lovely secret is revealed. When the Moth Radio Hour continues.

The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by the public radio exchange PRX.org. You're listening to The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Sarah Austin-Ginness. There's your love story, and then there are the love stories that circle around you, altering your idea of where love can come from.

Our final storyteller in this hour all about love is Matt Mercier. Matt told this at a Moth main stage in Brooklyn in the midst of the pandemic when we were in theaters again, but still socially distancing. So the story is full of life, but the audience, as you'll hear, is thin. Please give Matt all of your love and warmth. Here's Matt Mercier live at the Moth. So it's Sunday morning in the Mercier household.

And my brother and I are pulling on our corduroy pants, our nice dress shirts, steeling ourselves for the walk around the block to the gray and dreary confines of St. Mary's Catholic Church. Like all good Catholic boys, we know Sundays are really for sleeping in, Sunday comics, maybe a little TV. But first, we have to get through this early morning hour of pain, in which we're told that we're sinners and that our sins make Jesus cry.

But on this Sunday, my father shows up in the bedroom, still wearing his pajamas. He says, "Boys, I think we're going to have mass at home today. Meet me in the kitchen in 10 minutes." My brother and I look at each other like, "Mass at home? That's a thing? You can do that? Okay." Ten minutes later, we're in the kitchen. There's my mother and father at the table, and in the middle of the table is a plate with a single slice of Wonder Bread and a chalice of Carlo Rossi red wine, $15 a gallon.

I sit at the table. My father welcomes us, tells us what day it is in the Christian calendar, and then he gives me the Bible. I do the first reading. I give the Bible to my brother. He does the second reading. We give the Bible back to my dad. He reads from the Gospels and performs the homily, but instead of the fire and brimstone, it's a little bit warmer. There's more love, and it's nice. But the whole time, I'm staring at the bread and the wine. Now, I'm 10 years old.

I've made my first communion. I know what these symbolize. I just don't know how my father is going to play this. And he picks up the bread, and he says, the name of the Father, Son, Holy Spirit. Breaks it into four pieces, and this is the body of Christ. Picks up the chalice of Carlo Rossi. The name of the Father, Son, Holy Spirit. Bam. Blood of Christ. We eat the body, drink the blood, the mass has ended. Go in peace to love and serve the Lord. Amen. 15 minutes.

All that compared to the hour that we get. My brother and I go back to our rooms. They're like, what was that? It was like Catholic cosplay. He's a social worker. How do you pull that off? We don't know. We don't really care. Because now I know what to ask for. So the following Sunday, Dad, can we have Mass at home? No, get your clothes on. We're going to St. Mary's. Oh, come on, but you're so good at saying Mass at home.

And so, but now that sounds like, that's a 10-year-old trying to get their way, right? But as the year goes on,

We have Mass at home at least once a month. I enjoy it, not simply because of the brevity, but because my father tells stories. He makes connections. He tells us why Paul was writing to the Romans. And we understand the context. And his homilies are full of love and forgiveness. And he says, you see, boys, this is what Jesus means. Love God. Love your brother. It's that simple. All right, time for football.

It's become so normal that I begin to feel sorry for the other families that haven't figured this out.

Because having Mass at home is clearly superior than dragging yourself to a drafty church every Sunday. And so the year goes on, and we're going into catechism, trying to learn how to be good Catholics. And our teacher, Mrs. Simon, eventually drops that chestnut that in order, you must keep holy the Sabbath. Go to Mass every Sunday at a church. I raised my hand. I said, Mrs. Simon...

What if you say Mass at home instead? Does that count? And boy, she looks at me like, if I've said, she said, I worship Satan. And she's like, Matthew, no, only Protestants can say Mass at home. Are you baptized Catholic? No, you cannot say Mass at home. So I go back to Dad, confused, since as a general rule, my father is not a rule breaker.

And I said, Dad, are we Protestant? We're Irish Catholics. He's like, what? No. Am I baptized? Of course you're baptized. Where is this coming from? And I said, well, he's like, oh, look, son, I should have told you. You can't tell anyone that we do that, all right? That's our little secret. I was like, okay, I like secrets, but you seem to know what you're doing. What's the story here? And he nods in that way that parents do when the jig is up.

And he goes to get a photo album. It's dusty. He cracks it open. And there he is as a young man. I've never seen pictures of my father as a baby or a teenager, so this is a bit of a shock. And he's narrating. He's like, yeah, eight years in seminary.

And then eight years with my own congregation on the Upper West Side, Our Lady of Esperanza. I said Mass in Spanish because I had a Dominican population. And there he is in the black robe and the clerical collar of a priest. Now, the Masses at home had been going on for some time, so this wasn't a huge shock. I had suspected it.

What was a shock was the sense of pride that I felt. I thought, "This is some nifty history. This is where I come from. This is my dad." And then I asked the next logical question. I was like, "How does an ordained priest meet a single woman?" Shuts the book. That's complicated. Go ask your mother.

So I go to mom, and by now I'm a preteen. I'm a little blunter. I'm like, mom, dad was a priest. And she's like, yeah, honey, I know. I'm like, well, what did you do to him? She's like, dude, I didn't do anything. We fell in love. I'm like, okay, but how? He won't tell me. And she's like, well, you have to understand, Matt, that was a very painful time in your dad's life. You know, his family is Irish Catholic. Having a priest in the family is like a status symbol. So when he left for me, his mother left.

Ripped up all his baby pictures, which is why you haven't seen any, and disowned him, said, you're not our son. They called me the Italian hussy from Long Island who was stealing your father away from God. But they were also just pretty scandalized by my profession. I said, you're a teacher. What's so bad about that? She said, no, no, my other profession. Then she goes to get her photo album, takes it down, opens it up, and there she is as

as a young woman, and she lets out a sigh. She's like, "Now, you have to understand, I hadn't taken final vows yet. I was a novitiate, so it was easier for me to leave." And there she is in the black robe and the habit

And now the shock has, this Catholic double whammy. I'm like, "You, you were a nun?" He's like, "Yeah, Sister of Mercy." And his parents just, you know, that was extra scandalous. You know, not only was he in love, but that he was a nun in love with a priest, well, their Irish Catholic heads just, that was it.

As is my head exploding now. And she's like, well, you have to understand, Matt, this is the early 70s, which means nothing to an 11-year-old. And then she tries to explain Vatican II, which is equally complex, but the takeaway is that the windows of the church metaphorically were now open and that there was a greater liberating spirit. A lot of clergy people

were leaving, they felt the freedom to leave. And priests and nuns, nuns and nuns were falling in love and leaving the church two by two. It was like Noah's Ark in reverse. Everyone was abandoning ship. And my mother says, well, you know, we're not alone in this, Matt. A lot of our friends are ex-clergy. I'm like, really? Yeah, you know the Noonan boys? Their parents, Mike and Mary Beth? Priest? Nunn.

I said, you're kidding. No, Mary Wooten. Mary was a nun. She was a nun. Her partner, Patsy, nun. And your godmother, Kathy McLeod, she was my best friend in the convent. And I was like, what about Jim and Grace O'Malley? Oh, no, they were just pseudo-hippies. They were...

Long, very supportive friends, but no, nothing. And the people she's listening are amazing. They're peace activists and anti-nuclear activists. Some of them come out as gay and lesbian. It's like a justice league for Christ. And these people left the church to do the work of the church, sometimes better than the church itself. And now that pride, that swelling pride is coming back. And I've never been so happy. And so now I'm like, well, why can't priests get married? And she's like, well, that's a very good question.

Your father asked that in his resignation letter. So I go back to my father, I'm like, "Resignation letter?" He's like, "Yeah, I had to write a letter to the Vatican."

I was like, can I see it? I'll show you sometime. No, fat chance. I don't get it. I don't see it at all. But now, going into my teenage years, this pride and this history is overwhelming. All the shame and guilt that I got at St. Mary's, it's running off my back now. Because this is the real thing. This is what I've got. And so now, in high school, when people ask me what my parents do, I was like, yeah, priest and a nun. And...

And I asked stories about what were my parents like? I asked questions of my godmother. And she said, well, your mother took in homeless people. And oh, the best thing we did was your mother and I, we wrote a letter to the local bishop demanding that he sell his rings to feed the poor because that's the work of the gospels. And so that pride and that just continued on. And the stories just kept going and going. And then years later, after my mother dies,

My father finally shows me the resignation letter and then he says, "I'm in love with a nun. We're leaving. We wish we could stay, but we can't. If we do stay, we'll be well taken care of with shelter and food and finance. But now that we are entering secular life, we feel that we'll be taking our true vow of poverty, humility, and service." And that letter is my North Star.

It means as much to me, if not more, than any Bible verse. And I think about it when I'm in church. I think about it when I'm not in church, which, as my wife likes to remind me, is not a lot of the time. But my church is no longer that large, drafty cathedral where I was told to hate myself and hate others who didn't have my faith. My church is that humble kitchen table where

with that piece of bread and that Carlo Rossi and those two people who taught me about service and community and above all, about... That was Matt Mercier. Matt now lives in the Hudson Valley where he continues to write and tell stories, teach at SUNY Albany, and hunt for mushrooms in the woods around his home.

Matt doesn't attend Mass as he once did, but he tries to live up to the example of the men and women who raised him. Fun fact, Matt met his wife Claudia at the Catholic Worker in New York, which was founded by Dorothy Day and Peter Morin. The Catholic Worker movement inspired many of the men and women in this story. To see photos of Matt and his mother and father and the Justice League in all of their glory, head to themoth.org.

We'll leave you with the last part of a recent phone call with storyteller Eva Santiago and her husband Christopher, who's still incarcerated in New York State. Eva, I love you. I love you more. I love you more, Mom. I love you more, Mom. I love you the mostest. Okay, here's this. Here's how about this. I love you more than anything, anything you say. Double it. I love you more than infinity and beyond, just like Buzz Lightyear. Add it twice, right? Multiply it by twice, right?

you say is going to be multiplied by twice. So keep talking. I love you, baby. I love you more. That's it for this episode of the Moth Radio Hour. Thank you for opening your hearts and taking the time to listen. We hope you'll join us next time.

This episode of the Moth Radio Hour was produced by me, Jay Allison, Catherine Burns, and Sarah Austin-Ginness, who also hosted and directed the stories in the show. Co-producer is Vicki Merrick, associate producer, Emily Couch.

The rest of the Moth's leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Meg Bowles, Jennifer Hickson, Kate Tellers, Jennifer Birmingham, Marina Cloutier, Suzanne Rust, Brandon Grant, Inga Glodowski, Sarah Jane Johnson, and Aldi Casa. Moth's stories are true, as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by The Drift. Other music in this hour from John Boutte, India Ari, Hermanos Gutierrez, Evan Christopher, Bruce Coburn, and Jason Beals.

We receive funding from the National Endowment for the Arts. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by PRX. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching us your own story, and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org.