The Moth Radio Hour: Mirror Mirror on the Wall
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To buy your tickets or find out more about our calendar, visit themoth.org slash mainstage. We hope to see you soon. From PRX, this is the Moth Radio Hour. I'm Jennifer Hickson. Mirror, mirror on the wall. Who the heck am I? Who is this emerging self? In this hour, stories of questioning your everything. Who you are. Why you're here. Or as in the case of our first story, what's happening to me? We first met Ray Christian at a show in North Carolina.

Then when we started a story slam in Asheville with support from Blue Ridge Public Media, he'd make an almost two-hour trek to get to the show. Worth the trip, I guess, because he'd win almost every time his name was pulled from the hat. Here's Ray Christian live at a show in Princeton, New Jersey at the McCarter Theater Center. I was unusually sensitive as a kid, and I had a great love for animals. In fact, I used to bring home every wounded or sick dog or cat or broken bird I'd find.

I used to think that me and animals could communicate with each other, that I could communicate with them, that we had a special understanding. I saw myself as the Dr. Dolittle of the community, but the community didn't see me that way. In fact, people said I was strange and weird. They called me a punk and a sissy. And it didn't take me long to understand that in my community, for men and boys alike, the only way you were going to get respect was to be tough.

So I learned to put away my more sensitive side. I played football. I wrestled. I joined the Army right out of high school and I served in the infantry. I volunteered for airborne school and I became a paratrooper. And after nearly 20 years of service, deployments to Korea, Kuwait, Iraq, seeing people die for so-called noble causes, and for no damn good reason at all, cracks started to emerge in my personality.

People I worked with, my peers in the army, they used to say things to me like, "Hey Christian, you seem a little jumpy and nervous all the time." Well I was jumpy and I was nervous. It seemed like I would get this anger and rage and it would just build up in me. And whenever that would happen, I would flip into this mode where I'd start looking around in my environment to see what caused it. And I'd want to yell at it or hit it or kill it. Now in the army,

Being aggressive is something we admired, we honored, we looked up to that. It's something we encouraged. But in my personal life, it was starting to become problematic. See, during this time, my sister was living with me, and I had came back from deployments, and I used to keep rolls of quarters in a shoebox in my room. So I came home, I looked around my room from a shoebox. I couldn't find it anywhere. I went to my sister, and I said to her, "Do you know what happened to my rolls of quarters?"

And she answered me kind of weird and kind of strange and awkwardly and she said, "Well, uh, maybe somebody took them?" I said, "Who the hell would take my rolls of quarters?" She said, "Well, my friends had came over and maybe they took them." I said, "Your friends came over and took them? Are you talking about those three guys standing right there on the corner?" I didn't wait for her to respond.

I started looking around the house. I went into the garage and I found a baseball bat and I quick walked right across the street. And I twisted my body and I drew that baseball bat back and I was gonna bash his head wide open. And the three of those guys were just standing there frozen. And just when I was at the height of my arc with that bat and I was about to strike his head, my sister yells out, "No! Stop! Stop!" I lied. I lied. I took the quarters. The three guys were just frozen.

I dropped the bat. I started walking back across the street to the house. I'm flustered and frustrated. I almost killed a man over a roll of quarters. I wanted to get myself together, so I found myself in the grocery store, and I was walking through these aisles, and it seemed like the aisles were closing in on me, like it was some kind of maze, and I needed to get out of there. So I made a quick exit, and I ended up in front of the seafood counter. And I'm looking through the glass, and on the ice, I see...

what appears to me to be a human eyeball on the ice. And I say, "Hey!" And the guy in the store says, "Yes sir." I said, "There's an eye! There's an eyeball on the ice!" And he says, "Yes sir." We get fresh fish every day. I run out. At some point I want to get myself together and I find myself at the mall and I'm sitting on the bench just trying to gather my thoughts. And a middle-aged lady

She shows up and she's got her very elderly and frail mother with her. And she says to her, Mama, I have to go to the bathroom. I want you to sit right here and don't go anywhere until I come back, okay? And she leaves. And this old lady is staring at me and staring at me. I try to look away. She keeps staring at me. And then she slowly moves her trembly, frail old hand next to mine. And she holds it.

And I started to cry. Her mother comes back and she sees this and she says, "Mama, what are you doing? You can't be just touching people like that, sir. Are you okay?" I said, "I'm fine." And her mother looks up to her and says, "It's what he needed." It's what I needed. I almost kill a man over a roll of quarters. I think I see a human eyeball on some ice. I'm delusional. And now some old lady is comforting me? I was a soldier.

I served in combat. I killed people. What is wrong with me? With some encouragement from my wife, pressure from my military chain of command, I make that first long step to seeing an Army psychiatrist. And it doesn't take long but a couple of sessions for him to diagnose me with having severe post-traumatic stress disorder with psychotic features. So with this diagnosis,

I'm pretty much relieved from all my official military duties until I retire, which is about a year. A year passes, I'm out of the Army. With counseling, medication, removing myself from triggers like being in the Army, things start to get a little bit better. I'm living my dreams. I go back to school. I have kids that I love. I'm raising animals. Things seem like they're getting better in my life.

But PTSD never goes away. It's every day. I'm always trying to suppress it. And it reaches a point where the dam finally breaks. And about two years ago, I have a stroke. Now, the physical effects of that were I had left side weakness and numbness in my left hand and arm. But the most profound changes were those that occurred emotionally. In the days and the weeks following my stroke, it was like...

It was like my black and white world turned to color. You know when Dorothy enters the Wizard of Oz and she opens that door and everything is color? That's what the world seemed like to me. I would see a baby and I'd just start to cry because of all the potential. I'd see a young couple looking at each other and I'd start to cry because the world is so cruel to people in love. I'd smell bread and I'd start to cry.

because I love bread. But this is a problem. I mean, I can't cry every time people say hello, hi. Every time a light turns green, I start to cry. So I go to the doctor and I tell the doctor about these symptoms and the doctor says, what you have is a side effect of the stroke. It's known as pseudobulbar effect or emotional incontinence.

And he says that I can prescribe a medication for you that would relieve you of some of the symptoms if you find them too troubling. So listen, a couple of weeks ago, I'm looking at TV and I see this commercial. It's a squirrel in the middle of the highway. And this car is coming toward the squirrel. And just before it hits the squirrel, it swerves off the road and it crashes. And another squirrel comes out in the road and the two squirrels give each other fist bumps and hugs.

And I see this and my heart starts to thumpin'. I start breathing hard and I'm thinking, "Wow, all the love they must have. All the nuts they must have gathered together." So I tell the doctor, "No thanks, I'll keep this side effect." That was Ray Christian. Ray says that he's still feeling things very deeply and enjoying every moment.

Ray joined the Army two weeks out of high school when he was just 17 years old. He served as an infantryman and a paratrooper for 20 years. Among his many decorations, Master Parachutist's badge, the Combat Infantryman's badge, and the Bronze Star Medal. After his military service, Ray went back to school, earning a bachelor's degree and eventually a doctorate in education. Ray was selected as a 2020 Fulbright Specialist Scholar as an expert in education and storytelling narrative.

We've known Ray for a long time, and it's been really exciting to celebrate his accomplishments along the way. You can hear more from Ray at the Moth website or on his podcast, What's Ray Saying?, where he uses history, storytelling, and social commentary to explore the Black experience in America. To see a picture of Ray in the military, visit themoth.org, where you can also download this story or share it. When we return, two stories about dancing and personal debuts.

The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts and presented by PRX. This is the Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Jennifer Hickson. Next up, we've all been there. You attend a party where you're sort of between things and facing the dreaded question, so what are you doing with yourself these days?

Laura Gilbert told this story at a Grand Slam in New York City at the Music Hall of Williamsburg, where we partnered with public radio station WNYC. Here's Laura.

Right after I graduated from college with a degree in dance, I started to practice how to talk about my career in a way that made it seem like I had one, just in case anyone asked what I did for a living. And eventually I got it down to a memorized script that sort of went like this. Yeah, I'm a dancer, but I don't have a job yet. I'm still doing the auditioning thing because it's really a numbers game. And yes, it's a difficult field, but honestly, it's just so rewarding to be pursuing my dream here in New York. And...

And it was super crucial for me to have this memorized script at this point because I was deeply fearful of talking about the actual facts of my life, which at the time were, yes, I had a degree in dance, but I had zero job prospects and I had just accepted an unpaid position as a janitor for a set of dance studios, which they were calling like a work-study internship, but really it was just me waking up very early six days a week to clean toilets,

for free. So the script allowed me to have a pleasant alternative to saying all of that. And I deeply believed that if I didn't present a polished version of myself to the world, people might see the very unattractive reality of me, which was that I was anxious and depressed and I was a mediocre artist and I was just inadequate.

Also around this time I was in a brand new relationship and so one weekend my boyfriend invited me to a party where I was going to be meeting a lot of his friends for the first time and it was a party that was celebrating this group of friends who had just graduated from Villanova Law School. So I showed up to the party armed with my well-rehearsed script in case anybody asked me what my job was. I was wearing like a nice tinted chapstick just really ready to do the best me, you know, so

But the party went well, you know, like by the end of the night I had met a bunch of people, I had used the script, we were getting ready to go and my boyfriend excused himself to go to the bathroom, which left me alone for a moment. And that is when I was approached by an older gentleman who said to me, hey, you're one of the recent graduates, right? Congratulations on getting a law degree.

So here's what I'm thinking. Number one, I'm exhausted from a night of meeting people and trying to present this shiny version of myself. And number two, we are right about to leave. So this exchange is going to be really brief. And so it really seems to me that the best way for me to have a conversation that is both nice and also very fast with this man is to just let him congratulate me on graduating from Villanova Law School. So I say, yeah, thanks.

But then he says, "I'm Uncle Murphy. I'm Brad's uncle. Brad, from your class." So then I say, "Oh my gosh!

So nice to meet you. I'm Laura. And Uncle Murphy mishears me because he's saying, nice to meet you, Andrea, which is not my name. But also, I did not just graduate from Villanova Law School with his nephew, Brad. So really, it's fitting that I have this new name to go along with this totally new identity. And I'm trying to calculate the risk in my head because obviously if Brad, wherever he is, comes over, the jig is up. Also, I'm on the clock because my boyfriend's going to come out of the bathroom at some point. So like, on the one hand, I'm playing a very dangerous game.

But on the other hand, I am feeling freer and happier than I have felt this entire night because I am suddenly not ashamed of my lack of career because I am not stress-ridden Laura. I am Andrea, who has just graduated from Villanova Law School.

My older brother is actually a real lawyer. So as this conversation continues, I'm just repeating things that I've heard him say. And my commitment to the role of Andrea is like escalating wildly. And there's this confidence fueling me. I've never felt... It's felt amazing. I had an answer to every one of Uncle Murphy's questions. What was my favorite class in law school? I'm saying torts. Have I always known I wanted to be a lawyer? I'm like, since the day I could say my name. And when...

When he asks what field of law I want to go into, in like an out-of-body experience moment, I hear my voice say "space law" and then I hear my voice try to explain what in God's name that field could possibly be. I'm like, you know, we need laws for if people are doing illegal things in space.

And in the distance I see my boyfriend come out of the bathroom so I know it's time for me to deliver my closing statement stat. So I say, you know, it's been great but I actually have to go and Uncle Murphy is like, well we can continue this conversation later. I'd love to hear more about the field of space law. And I'm like, you and me both. But I say, well you know Brad has my contact information so we'll just get in touch via him. And I run to my boyfriend. I have never exited a party with more velocity in my life.

And I didn't tell anyone about the conversation because honestly afterwards it felt terrible to realize that I could talk more freely as Andrea and when I considered talking about myself I felt like I needed to have a script. And for a long time I thought that the only way I could get Andrea, the space lawyer's confidence, to apply to my own life was to just have a better life, be more successful and just...

be someone worth getting to know. But that feeds into this narrative that like who you are at this moment is inadequate and like it's time to put that belief system on trial and convict it for being toxic because maybe everybody's life is just like a big beautiful mess and we should just start sharing it. And so ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I grant you

Being a space lawyer is interesting and great, but I would argue tonight that it is equally interesting and great to be somebody who's figuring out their path while they are cleaning toilets pro bono. I rest my case.

That was Laura Gilbert. She's a writer, dancer, and a nanny. She has a degree in dance from NYU's Tisch School of the Arts, but says she kind of minored in being very stressed about where her life is headed in an existential sense. She co-hosts a podcast with her brother and roommate called Let's Make a Music. To see a picture of her dancing, visit themoth.org.

Our next story is also from a dancer, a line dancer. Monday and Tuesday nights, pre-pandemic, you could always find Martha Wegner at the studio with Tina, Lady of Line Dance Jackson, in Twin Cities. Here's Martha Wegner on a Wednesday at the Moth Story Slam in Minnesota. My name is Martha, and there may be a few other Marthas out there. And if you're a Martha, you know what I'm talking about.

When I introduce myself, I say my name is Martha. People don't just say, "Oh, nice to meet you." They have something to say. They say, "Oh, my grandma's name was Martha. I loved her." They say, "Oh, I had an Aunt Martha, my favorite aunt." They say, "My favorite name is Martha." But you'll notice they don't ever name their daughters that. So I grew up as Martha.

On top of that, I had four sisters surrounding me. Kathy, Julie, Susie, and Lizzie. We're talking perky. In the midst of that is Martha. So I really became my name. I was shy, I was reserved, and I did everything I could to keep attention off of me. The other thing about me is I love to dance. And the husband that I just love beyond words does not love to dance.

And he's really bad at dancing. And we don't get along well when we try to dance. So I got this great idea. I thought, I'm going to take line dancing. You get out there, you do it yourself. And I found a line dance class. It's called Soul Line Dance. What that means is we are not dancing to Billy Ray Cyrus and Achy Breaky Heart.

We're dancing to Billy Ray Cyrus with Lil Nas X, Old Town Road. I decided I'm going to have a new persona as I go into dance. I am going to be Marty. And that's what I did. I signed up as Marty. I put a name tag on as Marty and everybody in this class calls me Marty. Soon after a new person started this class. His name is Randy. He's about my age.

And whereas I dance according to the rules, Randy dances. When I turn, he spins. I said to him, where did you learn how to dance? And he said, well, I was on Soul Train. I looked it up. He was on Soul Train. I was in a video with Lionel Richie, you know, all night long. It's true. I looked it up. He was dancing.

Randy loves me. I love Randy. When I come into the room, he yells, "Marty Mar!" And it just makes me so happy. About a year ago, he said, "We are going to have a," and this is what he called it, "a dance extravaganza. There will be dancing. There will be stage performances, and there will be lip-syncing. Marty, what will you be doing?" And I said, "Nothing. I don't perform. I don't sing. I do not draw attention to myself."

The next week he said, "And Marty, what will you be doing?" I said, "Nothing. I don't do it." The next week he said, "Marty, I need your song because I'm getting my playlist together. You will be lip syncing." I said, "Okay, Taylor Swift. What else?" So I got my outfit out of my closet. This is the closest I could get to Taylor Swift. This is what I wore. Put on my dance shoes. Went to Walgreens, got red lipstick.

Got a blonde wig with a ponytail, which I did not wear because I took the green line and I didn't want people to think they had to sit next to a crazy lady. So, I did it. I did it with all the Taylor attitude you could imagine. We are never, ever, ever getting back together. Like, ever.

I did great. My dance teacher was there taping it on her phone. And so I watched it, and I can hear my husband standing next to her. Now, my husband's known me for 45 years. And Tina said, did you ever think you would see your wife do this? And my husband says, no. And he doesn't say no like, I'm so proud of her. He's like, no, this is so...

And then I, oh, shoot. Oh, and so I put it on Facebook, and the reaction is great, except my sister, my parents are like, what happened? And my sister Kathy writes, emails me, do you realize that someday your grandchildren are going to watch this? My husband emailed, exactly. My husband emailed me, and he said, I love watching this, because this is so not you. But he said, oh.

This man who's known me since I was 19 years old, he said, but I recognize you in all of it. And he's right. It was in there all the time. And I needed Randy, and I needed Taylor, and I needed Marty to show me.

That was Martha Marty Mar-Wegner. To see a picture of her as Taylor Swift in the extravaganza, visit themoth.org, where you can also see a compilation of Randay's performances on Soul Drain. Very impressive. Martha says, I love to dance and my husband does not. One of the strengths of our 39-year marriage is while we love to do things together, we love to pursue passions on our own. Mine is dancing. He likes the History Channel.

Every year, Marty's class performs at the Minnesota State Fair. Marty says that when she's invited to a wedding, she's excited for the ceremony, of course, but mostly she's excited for the dancing. She dances the entire time, often with herself, which does not bother her one bit. For Marty's 60th birthday, she had a dance party with dances led by Miss Tina. And she plans to have another one when she turns 65 in 2022. She says we are all invited. All right. Look out, Minnesota.

On the other side of the break, a mama's boy takes a summer off, and a young woman contemplates how to ease her parents into accepting her truth. Tell me nothing.

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 Jennifer Hickson. We're hearing stories about emerging selves. We first met Trevor Norris at a story slam in Louisville, Kentucky, where we partnered with Louisville Public Media. Here he is at a main stage show in Charleston, West Virginia.

Being the oldest son of a single mother came with a lot of responsibilities. You know, at 10 years old, I was kind of like the little man of the house, so mom expected me to pitch in and help out, be well-behaved, and I tried. But it wasn't always easy because I was the kind of kid who did enjoy a bit of mischief. And the big deal about single mothers is they work. You know, they work a lot. And as long as I can remember, my mom worked shifts at the local factory.

And the thing with shift work, you know, that's a first come, first serve kind of gig. So if you low down on the totem pole, you got to take whatever shifts available. And sometimes, even if you got a little time in, somebody with more time than you comes along, decides they want your job, they knock you off that job and off that shift. They call it pulling rank. Mom called it bullshit. But looking back on those days now, man, I'm always fascinated at how much what shift my mother worked at a given time affected the way we lived our lives.

Like when I was real young, my mom worked the midnight shift. That was 11 p.m. to 7 a.m. And when she'd get off in the morning, she couldn't go straight to sleep. She had to stay up because she had three kids. And we all worked first shift. So she would sleep above the evenings, and as the oldest, it was my job to keep the house calm. And we lived in kind of a rough neighborhood, so one of my most specific instructions was always that I was not to open that door for nobody.

And when you're given a set of instructions by a single mother from South Kentucky, you don't deviate. And I like my job as a little man at house because I got to be in charge and tell everybody what's what. And I like that. But what I really liked was every now and then you might get the opportunity to tell an adult what's what. And that was priceless.

For example, if I hear a knock at the door, I open it a crack, I look past the chain, I see some dude standing there and asking me, is my mom home? I say, yes, sir, she is, but she's asleep right now. And he'd be like, it's cool, little man, you can open it, tell her it's Tony. And I'd be like, look here, man, you know, I got a very short list of names of people who I'm allowed to open this door for, and Tony ain't on it.

Now she'll be up around 10 p.m. You're welcome to come back then, but I prefer you call first. Have a nice day. And another time, there was a knock on the door, and I remember I was already in a bad mood. So I go to the door with an attitude, and I crack it a bit and look past the chain, and I see some dude standing there. But this time, that dude was my dad. Now my dad was what they call a rambling man, and he wasn't always around when I was growing up.

When he did come around, it was on his own schedule. You know, he missed a lot of ball games, missed a lot of birthdays, and I used to get mad and upset, and early on, I even tried to hate him. But I never could do it, you know? Trying to hate my dad was kind of like trying to be mad on Christmas Day, because even though he wasn't always around, when he did come around, he was always bearing gifts, you know? It was always a new bike or a new pair of sneakers, and when you're a 10-year-old kid, it's real hard to stay mad at a new bike.

It'd be like now, if I was mad and you baked a pecan pie, I ain't mad no more. And it wasn't just the gifts, no, it was my pops, it was my dad. And he was there to invite me and only me to spend the entire summer with him at his place.

So in 1984, I was 10 years old, I went to spend the summer with my father in a strange town and a strange house, and this was a big scary thing for me because one, I'd never spent that much time with him, and two, I'd never spent that much time away from home. And when I got to my dad's, I knew right away it was going to be different, you know, because where my mom was strict and had instructions at my dad's place, basically, there were no rules.

I could get away with stuff at my dad's house that I'd never get away with at my mom's house. And not only would my dad let me get away with some stuff, but sometimes he would even participate. And let me tell you something, when you're a mischievous kid, there's nothing better in this world than doing things that you're probably not supposed to be doing under adult supervision. Because even though you're a dumb kid, you're still smart enough to know that if something goes wrong, it ain't my fault.

And we did everything that summer, man. Hanging out with my dad was the best. We skipped rocks, scaled rooftops, watched R-rated movies, had pizza every night. It was great. And I said earlier that, you know, my dad didn't usually come around unless he was bearing gifts. And that summer was no different. He had bought me a gift, and it was a special gift. You know, when I was a kid, for years I had obsessed over one thing and one thing only. And that one thing...

was motorcycles. And finally it had happened. He bought me a dirt bike. It was a beautiful little red 50cc dirt bike. It had three gears on it, one down and two up. He taught me how to work the clutch and he taught me how to ride. And I ride that thing around the front yard and in the field behind the house and I loved it, man. It was so much fun.

And I got good at riding that little dirt bike, you know. I wasn't nervous, I was sure, I was confident, you know. And then out of nowhere, one day, my dad changed the game. He asked me if I wanted to ride his bike. It was a street bike. It was a 1981 750 Honda Shadow. Had about 100 horsepower. Weighed about 350 pounds. I might have weighed 50. And of course, I jumped at the chance. Ha ha ha ha ha ha.

But the thing was, I was too short for my feet to touch the ground, so what we'd do is my dad would run along beside me, holding onto the seat to help me balance and get me going, and then he'd let me go. And I'd be off on that grown man's motorcycle. And I'd ride up and down the street, back and forth from stop sign to stop sign, and I loved it, man. I would go so fast. I'd go so fast I felt like I was flying, right?

And I was a wild child though, man. You know, I never could get enough. I never could go fast enough. I never could climb high enough. And my dad probably didn't know what he was doing at the time, but he had awakened something inside of me because now I didn't want to ride a little bike anymore. I only wanted to ride a big bike. And I'd bug him every day. Dad, put me on the big bike. Dad, put me on the big bike. Sometimes he would, sometimes he wouldn't.

Well, I called my dad one day. He must have been preoccupied with a football game or a bottle of early times whiskey. And I asked him, "Put me on a big bike, Dad." And he said, "Not right now. But you can ride it. Just get it out yourself." And I didn't know my dad that well at the time. And I assume he probably didn't think I would get it out myself because it was so heavy and I was so small. But he didn't know me very well either.

So I pushed that big, heavy motorcycle out of the garage, and I knew I was too small to mount the bike the regular way, so I wheeled it right up next to the porch, and from the porch I climbed on, and I fired it up and put it in gear and pushed off the porch with one foot, let out on the clutch, hit the gas, and I was gone, unsupervised, on this huge monster of a motorcycle.

and I was going back and forth, up and down that street from stop sign to stop sign, and I would go so fast. It was glorious. But I never could get enough, you know, so after a while, that little street wasn't enough. So I got to the stop sign once, and I took a left, and I rode out into the city, this little kid on this grown man's motorcycle. Now, it didn't take me very long to realize that I hadn't thought this thing all the way through.

Because I was too small for my feet to touch the ground so when I saw the first red light I knew there was no stopping. And for the first time that day, maybe the first time all summer, I knew I was in over my head and I was scared. I was scared and I missed home and I missed my mom. I even missed the rules. I had no idea how I was going to stop this motorcycle.

But being a South Kentucky kid had kind of prepared me for this moment because before I rode motorcycles, I rode horses. And before I wanted to be Evel Knievel, I wanted to be a rodeo cowboy. And I know y'all seen that move that the rodeo boys do when they slow the horse down to a trot, jump down from the saddle, run alongside, rein him to a stop, and then wave to the crowd. Be a risky move on a motorcycle. And it almost worked.

I mean, I had it, man. I went for it. I pulled my move, hopped off the bike. That part went great, but I had underestimated the weight of the bike while in motion. And it was just too heavy this time. I felt it coming down. It was coming down fast, and it was coming down right on top of me. I had no choice. I had to jump out of the way. I had to let it go.

And I watched as my dad's cherry red 1981 750 Honda Shadow slid across the asphalt throwing sparks and grinding chrome on its way to wipe out a mailbox and dig a huge rut right in the front yard where it came to rest. I had no... I walked away with minor scrapes and scratches. I was fine.

Except for that growing feeling of dread I had in the pit of my stomach at the thought of telling my dad what had happened. See, I knew my mom's rules. I knew she'd ground me, but she wouldn't kill me. I had never seen my dad angry before. This was uncharted territory. And when he made it and I saw him as he was, I watched his face. He was looking down at the motorcycle all scraped, painted.

broken glass and twisted handlebars. I couldn't read his face. When he finally raised up and fixed his gaze on me, I think his exact words were, "You are not to tell your mom about this." He would never win the Father of the Year Award, but I really got to know my dad that summer.

Now, I wouldn't say that growing up a latchkey kid in a broken home was the perfect childhood and they weren't perfect parents, but there were more than perfect moments. I was raised by a single mother from South Kentucky, so I've always been proud to call myself a mama's boy. But in the summer of 1984, for a few moments, just a few fast and furious but fleeting moments, I was my father's son. Thank you.

That was mama's boy Trevor Norris. By day, he does work climbing trees. The highest one was 125 feet. Yikes. He is still a daredevil. He loves mountain bikes, kayaking, and has a 750 Honda Shadow, just like his dad's, in his garage. To see a picture of him as a baby with his mom and dad, and also a picture of him on that motorbike, visit themoth.org. Despite all that sporty daredevil stuff, Trevor always arrives for shows dressed to the nines.

Our final story is from a story slam in Berkeley, California, where we partner with public radio stations KALW and KQED. Live at the Moth, here's Sejal P.

Growing up in Bangalore in South India, my only exposure to the LGBT community was in offensive Bollywood movies that featured clearly heterosexual actors pretending to be gay by wearing floral prints and speaking effeminately. But then I moved to America and college greeted me with a group of liberal friends who would say "love is love" and I would go to Lady Gaga concerts and scream "baby I was born this way."

and feel completely empowered. But then I would go home to India for the summer or the winter and people would ask me, "Do you have a boyfriend?" and "Have you thought about your future and your partner?" And I would say, "I just haven't found the right man yet."

And I knew in the back of my mind that even though I came out to all my friends in my junior year of college, that I would explore my sexuality for a few years and have fun and discover the side of myself. And then eventually, I would make it work with a man. I was kind of bisexual, right? So I could do that.

See, coming out to my parents, my family, it never really felt like an option to me. It felt like the end, the death of so many things that I had imagined. The end of my relationship with them as I knew it, the death of the future that they had always imagined for me.

And so, as I tried to avoid this inevitable ending, I told myself all these things and told myself the sacrifices that they had made for me and the pain that I really did not want to cause them. But it turns out that I'm not as bisexual as I thought I was, and I probably can't make it work with a man. And so, two years ago now, I did end up coming out to them.

And there was no anger, there was no questions of whether they still loved me or not, which I'm very lucky to have, but there was a lot of pain, agony really. My mom cried, my dad cried, which he never does, and then my mom wrote me an email that made me cry the next day. And she said,

Dear Sejal, I'm proud of you for being as brave as you have been in telling us about this after keeping it a secret for I don't know how many years. I am begging you to think about a future with a man and think about if you can make it work.

because in your 25 years of life, you know, Papa has never asked you for anything and I see that he is completely broken and that makes me completely sad and if you're with a woman, I don't know how I would accept it. I don't know what people would say and I can just imagine them feeling so sorry for us and us having to hang our head down in shame and I'm so sorry if

I am not as open-minded as you would have liked me to be or I'm not as liberal or I don't understand this, but I don't. I will still always love you and admire you. It was a very hurtful email, but it was not a hateful one.

It was not a hateful one. I could tell that she was struggling as much as I was. And so after weeks of feeling pretty helpless, I started to realize, and my parents and I still talked three times a week, four times a week,

And I started to realize that a lot of their fears, a lot of their insecurities came from them never actually having met an openly gay woman in India. They thought homosexuality was something that happened to Americans and to men.

And I was like, they've never seen a happily married, successful Indian lesbian. So I was like, I just have to find them a happily married, successful Indian lesbian and then maybe they'll see that this is something that a future that they could imagine for me. And so naturally I turned to where we all turn in these times, Tinder.

And I contacted, I actually contacted a lot of women that I had gone on like one, two, three dates with and I said, "So I just came out to my parents and I explained, I wrote a very sincere message saying, basically saying, 'Do you know any Indian lesbians that might be able to relate to what I'm going through?'" I didn't have a very big LGBT community back then when I just moved to San Francisco.

And what was funny is I got a couple of dates out of the Tinder messaging. But I didn't really get someone that I could speak to or could speak to my parents or whatever I was imagining.

And so I didn't want to give up, so I started contacting wedding photographers that had LGBT weddings on their website with Indian women. And one of these photographers, all of them replied, one of these photographers put me in touch with Archita, who lives in Philadelphia, came straight from Calcutta in India to UPenn, went to business school at Wharton, and now works as a management consultant at BCG. I was like, I hit the lesbian jackpot. LAUGHTER

And incredibly, she effortlessly understood everything that I was going through, even offered to meet my parents, and even more incredibly, my parents agreed to meet with her.

And on the way to meeting Archita at this cafe in Philadelphia when my parents were visiting the East Coast, I was texting her, worried about all the worst case scenarios. I was like, if they ask you about how you're going to have your baby or she was pregnant at the time or anything, I am so sorry. Worried about if they might say something homophobic. But when they got to that cafe,

And my mom offered her a box of Indian sweets, Mithai, and my dad hugged her and congratulated on her baby. And in that moment, I realized that Archita was helping my parents understand me better, but she was also reminding me of their humanity. And so it was an end, but it was an end to a future that never would have worked. And I was much more excited about the one that was beginning. Thank you.

That was Sejal P. She's originally from India and currently living between San Francisco and New York. She's a product manager by day and screenwriter and city wanderer by night. It's been a long journey for Sejal and her parents, but she feels incredibly lucky to have found someone like Archita to help them navigate. She would love to pay it forward, so if you're going through something similar and would like to speak with her more, feel free to email us at themoth.org and we'll make sure she gets your message. ♪

I told Sejal that I sometimes playfully prescribe moth stories to people, like doctors write prescriptions. For someone having a crisis of identity, I'd say, listen to these two stories and call me in the morning. I think I may find myself prescribing this Sejal story from time to time. That's it for this Finding Yourself episode of the Moth Radio Hour. We hope you'll join us next time, and that's the story from the moth.

Your host this hour was Jennifer Hickson. Jennifer also directed the stories in the show. The rest of the Moss directorial staff includes Catherine Burns, Sarah Haberman, Sarah Austin-Ginesse, and Meg Bowles. Production support from Emily Couch. Moss stories are true as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by The Drift.

Other music in this hour from the Christian McBride Trio, Geek Music, Lil Nas X, The Bendigos, and the Silk Road Ensemble with Bill Frizzell.

You can find links to all the music we use at our website. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by me, Jay Allison, with Vicki Merrick at Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. This hour was produced with funds from the National Endowment for the Arts. The Moth Radio Hour is presented by the public radio exchange, PRX.org. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching us your own story and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org.