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This autumn, fall for Moth Stories as we travel across the globe for our mainstages. We're excited to announce our fall lineup of storytelling shows from New York City to Iowa City, London, Nairobi, and so many more. The Moth will be performing in a city near you, featuring a curation of true stories. The Moth mainstage shows feature five tellers who share beautiful, unbelievable, hilarious, and often powerful true stories on a common theme. Each one told reveals something new about our shared connection.
To buy your tickets or find out more about our calendar, visit themoth.org slash mainstage. We hope to see you soon. Welcome to The Moth Podcast. I'm Kate Tellers, Senior Director and your host for this episode.
I failed my driving test four times. I blame my parents, don't we all? Who took turns teaching me to drive in my high school parking lot in their stick shift cars. I found the mechanics of manual driving, the sensitive clutch, the complexities of putting a Volkswagen in reverse, to be so incredibly frustrating. I was convinced that this was my parents' plan to never let me feel the ultimate teenage freedom of a car on the open road.
It was the very first time I openly cursed in front of both of them. I got very creative. Luckily, my best friend Jess had her license and inherited an old Toyota van we nicknamed the Magic Bus and decorated with rainbow blankets and glow-in-the-dark stars. I'll never forget the feeling of my hair whipping as we screamed freedom by George Michael and Kareem to school. The mornings were ours.
So many of us have had to get creative to get that first taste of car-fueled freedom. Since it's summer, a time when people hit the road, revisit Highway 61, and pack into the old jalopy, we'll be playing two stories about families and their relationships to cars. First up is Mary Ann Ludwig. She told this at a Moth Story Slam in New York City, where the theme of the night was burned. Here's Mary Ann, live at the Moth. So, I loved every single moment.
of raising my two daughters, Michelle and Allison, except for a brief period of time between 1982 and 1992. It was, they transitioned into the dark side, you know, the teenage years. And it was a very loud, dramatic transition. Stamping feet, slamming doors, yelling, it was awful.
So I was newly divorced and I wanted this perfect life for my family. So we moved out into Chester County, Pennsylvania and I rented a historic mill, 250 years old. I just pictured this beautiful life for me and my daughters.
We had an acre pond in the backyard, a walk-in fireplace. It was going to be great, and there would be no hormones involved in this. Our neighbors, the county next to us, were Amish, so it was going to be perfect. Well, eventually they got their driver's licenses, and the car became weaponized. It was like, do this, you can't have the car. Mom, can we go to the library?
Can we go bowling? And I thought, classic. You know, things never change. I said, sure, you can go. But, you know, I happen to know exactly how many miles it is to the library, exactly how many miles it is to the mall, and any place else you might want to go. So they understood. And they didn't take it easily. And, you know, they threatened to call Child Protective Services. A gentle reminder as I handed them the phone number, you know,
When you call, they take you. They don't take me. Yep. Yep. True. So I did let them live, and they grew up. They got married, and they have teenagers of their own now. It's beautiful. They call me every week. Mom, we're so sorry. So one night we decided we would go out for dinner together, and we went to Little Italy. Okay.
And the older daughter, she says to me, Mom, we have a great idea. How about if we tell you everything you didn't catch when we were teenagers? Wouldn't that be fun? And I said, no, you know, no. And because she said, you know, you were really good, but, you know, you weren't perfect. So the waiter even got in on it, and he said, have another glass of Chianti. As he said, a bird cannot fly with one wing.
and enjoy. So Michelle proceeds to tell me that we had an older car and the odometer was not digital. So they would take the car and she would come home half an hour, 45 minutes early. And we had a courtyard and they would go around backwards, put it in reverse and take the miles off the car.
And Allison, the second daughter, she would sit in the bedroom window and look at Michelle, like hang her arm over the front seat, you know, look in the rear and just go around and around and around and around. And they left. Isn't this funny? And they just laughed. And they really thought they burned me. They really thought they burned me. And I thought, you are amateurs. And they doubled over laughing, you know, the tears, the belly laughing. And they never heard me say, well, guess what?
So I waited and they're laughing, they finally composed themselves, brushed the tears off those angelic little faces of theirs. And I said, "Well, guess what?" And they both say together, "Well, what?" And I said, "I never checked." Thank you.
That was Marianne Ludwig. Marianne was introduced to the excitement of the spoken word through a storytelling class at the Irish Arts Centre. After years of studying with the writer's studio, writing poetry and short stories, she made the leap to Story Slams and the Moth Stage. She hasn't looked back since.
We have photos of Marianne's teenagers as well as the car on our website. Just go to themoth.org slash extras. And if you'd like more stories about teenagers or dealing with teenagers, you can always check out the Moth spinoff podcast, Grown. It features young voices, insightful stories, and a whole bunch of youthful misadventures. You can check it out at grownpod.com or get it wherever you get your podcasts.
I bought my first car just three years ago in the height of the COVID pandemic. I loved the freedom of picking up and driving my family to Rockaway Beach or a hike in Juniper Park. As the pandemic wore on, I was surprised that I also loved having a climate-controlled box where I could cry or scream in private. Sometimes I would just drive around the block and sing at the top of my lungs, finding a small taste of that freedom I first discovered in the Magic Bus.
Regardless of whether we were all in there together or separately, our pandemic car helped my family muscle through a challenging couple of years. And now when I look at the Sparkle Storm, as we call it, I see the promise of new adventures to come.
Our next storyteller is Melanie Kostryva. She told this at a New Orleans Grand Slam where the theme was leaps. Just a heads up, the story contains mention of a miscarriage. If that's something that's difficult for you, we understand. You might want to skip this one. Here's Melanie live at the mall. So there comes a point in every young family's life when you have to make that important decision.
What minivan are we gonna buy? For us that came when I found out I was pregnant with our fourth child. I know. And, you know, we had everything to bring the child into the world. We had all the gear. We had all the unwanted advice, you know. We just didn't have a way to get the kid home from the hospital. So we go to Craigslist. We find something within our budget. We go. We love it. It's a Honda Odyssey. You know what I'm talking about.
And we get it and within a few hours of driving it we realize, whoopsie daisy, we bought a lemon. It was a total piece of crap. So a couple days later was our annual Mardi Gras parade. My husband and I parade with crude illusion. It was also my birthday. So it was going to be, I was looking forward to this day for months.
And this was a couple years ago, and just so it's relevant, we were all dressed up like Donald Trump. And so two years ago, when him being in politics was just like this funny thing. And it's not funny now, but...
And I was dressed up like a freedom girl. And if you recall, at some of his rallies, he'd have these underage girls dress up in patriotic clothes and sing to songs. So I was a freedom girl. So it's the afternoon. We're getting ready to go downtown. And people are milling about my house. Little Donald Trump's everywhere. My kids are running around. The babysitter's there. And I go, oh, we're about to leave? I go to go to the bathroom one more time because I'm pregnant and you can't pee on the parade route. And I go to the bathroom and I see blood.
And I'm not supposed to see blood, you know? I'm pregnant. So the first thing I do whenever I'm in distress, I call my husband. I go, "Hey, I'm bleeding, but I think it's normal. I think it's just spotting and I'm not in any pain. So I just wanted you to know." And my husband goes, "We're going to the hospital." And I said, "No, no, no, no. It's my birthday. It's the parade. And I'm not in any pain." The doctor said, "You come when there's pain. I'm in no pain. So I think we're good." He said, "The second you want to leave, we go."
I said, "Okay." So we go to the parade and it's wonderful. It's the night of delusion. It's my birthday. I made 50 bucks. For real, I came home, I had 50 bucks pinned to my shirt. Thinking about what happened in the bathroom earlier. The next day, no pain, no blood. I'm relieved. Monday morning before the sun rose, my youngest daughter woke up with this nightmare I can only assume. And I shoot up out of bed to go see what's wrong. And as I leaned down to pick her up,
I feel a huge gush of blood leave my body. And I know now what's happening. I'm having a miscarriage. So I hold my daughter and she stops crying. And then I start crying. And then she's holding me. I go to the hospital later that day and I'm confirmed I'm having a miscarriage. And, you know, those days are just really dark. And I have a wonderful village here. I have a wonderful husband caring for me. But I felt so lonely.
I hadn't told anybody I was even pregnant. By the time you have your fourth, they just see like the other kid in your Christmas card and, oh, you had a fourth. No one knew. So it was really isolating, really lonely. And I remember my husband would rub my back because I couldn't even like look at him because I was having the miscarriage, but we both lost the baby. And so now I have this van, this piece of shit van that I had to deal with because I thought I needed it.
So for the few months after my miscarriage, every time I got in this van, I was angry. Every time the brakes squeaked or the engine shook under my feet, when you would accelerate above 35 miles per hour, or when the sliding door wouldn't open for a carpool, and I'm like that mom with the van, I'm like, don't worry, just the door, it's automatic, but it doesn't work. The thing's got hardly any paint on it. Like every time I was in this car, I was reminded that it's broken. I'm broken. It's not working right. I'm not working right.
I have such a strong identity in my children and being a mom and losing a child is like an identity crisis for me. But this van has redefined its purpose for our family. It's restored its purpose. We actually just bought a new radiator for it. And it has a new purpose now. I'm the carpool mom. I pick up five or six kids. I'll pick up any kid. If there's a kid on the side, get in! Get in!
My husband is a soccer dad, and I'm a ballet mom. And yeah, I'll give you a ride to the airport, you and your whole family, because I have this van. And so the van has redefined its purpose. And maybe its only purpose wasn't just to hold a fourth child for our family. And maybe the same is true for me. Thank you.
That was Melanie Kostryva. Melanie is a teacher living in New Orleans with her husband of 15 years. Writing, sewing, cooking, and chauffeuring her kids around are her hobbies and occupations. And she's not driving the same broken minivan. She's driving a newer one. Since Melanie told this story, she had another miscarriage and thought she was done having kids. Much to her surprise and delight, she had her fourth baby girl in November of 2021, eight years after her third.
That's all for this episode. We hope that the next time you're driving in your family's car, you take a listen to The Moth Podcast. We're a pretty good road trip companion. From all of us here at The Moth, have a story-worthy week.
Kate Tellers is a storyteller, host, senior director at The Moth, and co-author of their fourth book, How to Tell a Story. Her story, but also Brink Cheese, is featured in The Moth's All These Wonders, true stories about facing the unknown. And her writing has appeared on Mick Sweeney's and The New Yorker. This episode of The Moth Podcast was produced by Sarah Austin Janess, Sarah Jane Johnson, and me, Mark Sollinger.
The rest of the Moth's leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Jennifer Hickson, Meg Bowles, Kate Tellers, Marina Cloutier, Suzanne Rust, Brandon Grant, Leanne Gulley, and Aldi Caza. All Moth stories are true, as remembered by the storytellers. For more about our podcast, information on pitching your own story, and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org.
The Moth Podcast is presented by PRX, the public radio exchange, helping make public radio more public at PRX.org.
