The Moth Radio Hour: Walking the Walk
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From PRX, this is the Moth Radio Hour. I'm your host, Samuel James. This time we have stories of people walking the walk, some on their own, some with some help, and others who, let's just say, need a little extra nudge. We have stories of uniquely awkward situations, unrequited love, the search for beauty, and what it's like to have a crush on a classmate when your mom is the teacher.

We start with a story from one of the Moth's Grand Slam events in Boston, where we partner with PRX and local public radio station WBUR. Here's Kristen Lee, live at the Moth. I'm 13 years old and just said goodbye to my parents after they've dropped me off at the University of Iowa dorms for summer sleepaway genetics camp.

I am so excited. I'm gonna stay up late talking to my roommate, hang out with friends whenever I want to, plus we're gonna learn about mitosis and meiosis and Mendel and mutations and how can this possibly not go well. When I get back up to my room, my roommate Megan has just moved in and the first thing she says to me is, "I knew you were gonna be friends from the moment I saw the clothes hanging in your closet." That's a little odd, but at least she likes me. And that first day, a small crew of girls forms around Megan and me and I'm so excited I've already made my friends.

The first week of camp is a paradise of biology. We make 3D models of the double helix structure of DNA, lining up those A's and T's and C's and G's. We transcribe DNA sequences into RNA and translate that into amino acids and protein structures. And I feel like we've been given the secret code of life, which we have.

I geek out over Punnett Square problem sets and mapping pedigrees, shading those circles and squares to show how a disease is transmitted through a family. Classic summer camp activities. It's the best. I have to admit though, I'm getting some weird vibes from my new friends. Every morning as we walk through the university quad on the way to class, Heather makes fun of my hair and teases me about the keychains on my backpack.

Tori scribbles on my homework and crumples it up. Megan starts borrowing my stuff without asking, and I find notes on my desk written in my eyeliner that say, "I'm wearing your sandals today."

But it's okay, I know how to deal with people like this. 13 years growing up as a Chinese American girl in Iowa have taught me how to fit in as an interloper. Be super nice, erase my own personality, go with the flow. It's never failed me before and surely it's not going to fail me at nerd camp where by definition no one here is too cool for school. So I keep trying to be as agreeable and accommodating as possible.

At the end of the first week of camp, we're playing a game in class that requires other people to help us solve our mystery genotypes. This involves passing slips of paper to our friends with questions on them, like, "If I had a kid with someone who has attached earlobes, is it possible that our kids could have attached earlobes too?" And if the answer is no, then I know that I'm homozygous for the autosomal dominant trait of having detached earlobes. Super simple. But...

During the game, my friends, instead of passing back real answers to me on the slips of paper, they write, "Why are you so ugly?" and "You're stupid." And at the end of the game, I'm the only one who hasn't been able to figure out my genotype. As the classroom empties out, I sit in my chair and I rack my brain trying to think of what I've done to offend Megan and Tori and Heather and the others. And I really can't think of anything.

But I hope that maybe this is just some weird hazing ritual. Maybe if I weather anything that they throw at me, they'll finally accept me. So I trail along behind them to the cafeteria. We set our trays down at the same table where we always sit. And the other girls pass around a look. And Megan says, "I have a story to tell. Last summer at camp, there was this girl who no one liked, and she kept trying to hang out with us, and we didn't know how to get rid of her.

Heat floods my face. Thus far, I have refused to read the signals that these girls have been sending me because I'm under the mistaken impression that ignoring meanness in other people is the nice thing to do and will make it go away. But now Megan here has told such an obvious parable that she's basically forcing me to read between the lines. I know she's talking about me. I know I'm not wanted.

I get up quickly, bust my tray without having eaten, walk back to my room, but I can't even take refuge there because soon Megan and the other girls go back there to hang out and I don't want them to see me crying. But I have a new problem. Tonight is the Friday night dance and the last thing I want to do is go to a dance without any friends. So I ask the camp counselor if I can just stay in my room and read a book, but she says no.

So I go out on the hall, new plan, ask a random girl if I can use her dorm room phone. I unspool the cord as long as it can go to try to get some privacy, and I call my mom, and I say, Mom, please come pick me up. I am done with camp. Because you see, I live 10 minutes away. I live in Iowa City where camp occurs. There is no reason for me to stay in this place for another week. But my mom says no. So my last plan is just to hide in a corner of this girl's room and try not to cry until the time of the dance.

I shuffle off to the dance alone and in the dorm basement 90s tunes are pumping. "Wannabe" by the Spice Girls, "Everybody" by Backstreet Boys. And in my normal life I'm too self-conscious to really be much of a dancer, but tonight I'm like, "What the heck? I don't know anybody here who I care about. Why not let loose?" Because these girls' rejection of me, yeah it's kind of broken me, but it's also freed me.

Because why contort myself into something else when it's not going to make people like me? Why not just be myself? So I let the music take over and I dance. I get pulled into this big dance circle and everyone around me is smiling and I'm feeling the beat and soon I'm smiling too. So when the camp counselor taps me on the shoulder and says, hey, your mom's here. I'm like, what? Why is my mom here? And then I remember that a few hours ago I was bawling and asking to go home.

I end up staying at camp. I do learn very cool stuff about mitosis and meiosis and mutations and Mendel. And I make new friends who are nice, normal people. But I never forget that there really are mean people in this world. And you can't always win them over with kindness, but you don't have to let them crush your spirit. Thank you.

That was Kristen Lee. Kristen is an avid reader, book reviewer, and aspiring writer who lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts with her partner, three children, and a mini golden doodle, Fluffy. Kristen ended up working in a genetics research lab during summers in high school and went on to major in biology in college, which eventually led to medical school. You can see a picture of Kristen and Fluffy on our website, themoth.org.

Maura Schneider shared this next story on another Grand Slam stage, this one at the Lincoln Theater in Washington, D.C., where we partner with local public radio station WAMU. Just a note, Maura alludes to teenage sexual awakening. It's all very innocent, but just wanted to mention. Here's Maura Schneider live at the Mott. I once lived in a world where sex was only practiced between two consenting Barbie dolls.

My best friend Emily and I spent so many unsupervised hours when we were seven in her basement kneeling in front of Barbie's dream house and carefully un-Velcroing blouses and pressing nipple-less boobs against chiseled chests and giggling. And then when we were eight, the summer we were eight, we emerged from that dark basement and realized, we went to the pool and we realized that non-plastic living boys could also make us giggle.

We would whisper about the cutest ones and laugh when they belly flopped or tried to eat a whole hot dog in one bite. And there was one boy who ruled them all. This muscly blonde middle schooler named Scott. When he was there, I felt like there was a magnet in my chest pulling me towards him. And he was so beautiful. It was like the world was brighter and better when he was there.

Emily liked him too, my best friend, and so we would tread water next to him trying to get his attention. And she was really bold, so she'd say things like, "Looks like that modeling contract's gonna come through, Scott." Or, "Time my underwater handstand." I was really shy. I would try and talk, but I would just stare at him, hoping that that would evolve into a romantic relationship.

Instead, Scott, after a week of being these perpetual giggling shadows next to him, Scott got tired of it. And he pushed us away from him in the pool and yelled, ugh, you guys are so annoying, just leave me alone. I was horrified.

Emily and I gathered up our stuff and ran back to her house, and once we had changed, we went back down to the basement where we were just seething with anger. See, we'd been playing relationships for years now with dolls and stories and movies, and the girl and the boy always get together. We had no framework for rejection.

And before I go on, I just want to remind you that there are a lot of adults in the world who do not know how to handle rejection without lashing out. And I still had 12 of my baby teeth. So we started plotting. Like, I wanted to take that pain and get it out of me and onto Scott. And I do not know why, but the solution was a letter. A sexy letter.

A sexy prank letter. We would write a letter and sign it from a made-up name and it would drive him crazy and he would never be able to find her so we'd win. So we started writing. Emily had better handwriting so she was doing most of the writing and she was coming up with some real good lines about butt. I was inspired by all of those hours of research at Barbie's Dream House. I said, "Write this down."

"I wanna get naked and hug and kiss you." It was the best. And we signed it "Love Sally" because we thought that was the sexiest woman's name. We ran over to his house and like jammed it in the mail slot when the coast was clear. And then we ran home and played it cool. And because I was eight, the next morning I had basically forgotten about it. And I was playing dolls in my second floor bedroom

And I looked out the window and there's Scott marching down the street with his brother and he's holding the letter. My mom was working, my sister was watching us. She and Scott were the same year in school and I shouted down to her, "Don't let him in!" But okay, my sister's awesome but she was like not very cool in school and Scott was and she chose status over sisterhood.

And escorted him upstairs. And I panicked and ran to the bathroom to hide, but our bathroom door didn't lock. So I had to like jam my shoulder against the wall, against the door. And Scott and his brother and my own sister are pushing on the other side. But I've got a lot of adrenaline, so I'm holding my own. And every once in a while, the door pops open and Scott and I make eye contact in the mirror. He's still so...

Pop it back. And he starts interrogating me. And I'm denying everything, everything. And it's the longest conversation that we've ever had. And then he's like, who's Sally? Who's Sally? And I'm like, I don't know. I don't know. And then he's like, who's Sally? And I say, I think she goes to Emily's school. He leaves. He goes down. I'm like, oh my God. He bought it. I'm in the clear. And then I think, I sold out my best friend like really quick. And then I'm like,

Can we still have that romantic relationship? Well, surprise, it was not over. Scott's mom called my mom and Emily's mom, and they had what must have been the most awkward conversation my mom has ever had as a mom. And afterwards, she came home and came up to my room and sat on my bed and said, Maura, do you have any questions about your feelings?

And I'm like, "Oh my God, no, no, I don't want to talk about this." But when I open my mouth, I just start crying. And I'm embarrassed and I know I'm in trouble, but I started this summer thinking that sex was just a game that you played with adults.

And then in the last 24 hours, I had burst into this world of shame and rejection and erotic revenge letters. And now, everybody in my neighborhood knew that I knew what sex was. And I realized once you go into that world, you can never go back. Thank you. Morris Schneider is a writer and illustrator living in Fredericksburg, Virginia.

Her graphic essays have appeared in the Believer and No Tokens journal. She is currently working on a graphic memoir about sexuality, consent, and caregiving. What I love about Maura's story is not just the sudden realization that she's in over her head, but that she's got to stay there a while. Maura told me that she wishes she'd learned earlier not to be so scared of embarrassing herself.

But the absolute lack of control that comes with parenting encouraged her back to that place of bold, gut-driven risk-taking that gave her the nerve to get up on the moth stage at her first slam and win. In a moment, stories of helping hands during crisis when the Moth Radio Hour continues.

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 Samuel James. As I was listening back to these stories, I was reminded that walking the walk doesn't just show others who you are. Along the way can reveal who you should be, who you can be, and who you want to be. And sometimes even more than that, like with our next storyteller, Kaya Jarvis. They shared their story at a showcase we produced featuring stories from women and girls that we presented in partnership with the Kate Spade Foundation in New York.

A quick note that this story references an eating disorder. Here's Kaya Jarvis. In March of 2020, my parents drove me and my sister from our New York City apartment upstate to spend quarantine in a little cabin. It was heated by a fireplace for the first two months. It didn't have running water, so we had to use our neighbor's hose to brush our teeth and take showers.

It was very tight and cramped, and like everyone else, we were kind of going crazy. We were fighting a lot. I was finishing eighth grade at the time. I didn't want to be stuck in a house with my family. My sister didn't want to be stuck in a house with the family. My parents didn't want us to be stuck in a house together or with us. And it was a lot. And throughout eighth grade, you know, I felt very isolated and insecure, and I didn't feel very connected to the people around me.

And I was going through a lot of depression and anxiety.

And this got really heightened in quarantine because I had more time to just sit with my thoughts and I didn't have the distractions of taking the subway and always being surrounded by people and things to take me away from what I was feeling. And, you know, throughout my life I've always kind of dealt with bad feelings with food. You know, if I'm having a bad day, I would eat something that made me feel really good and happy. But in eighth grade, I kind of approached food in a very different way.

instead of eating something that made me happy, I would restrict to take my mind off of things that were causing me stress and to give me something else to focus on. And this progressed a lot in quarantine to the point where all I could think about was food and what I would eat and what I would not eat and how many calories I wanted to eat and how much I weighed and what I looked like. And

This got worse and worse throughout quarantine, and I couldn't think about anything else. And my mom wanted us to really connect, and so she started making these really elaborate dinners a couple of times a week, and she would make us all get off of our phones and sit us down at the table and present us with roasted vegetables and salad and pasta and whatever she could come up with, and have us all eat there and sit together.

But these dinners didn't really help me, and they made me feel very stressed out because I would look at this plate in front of me and not be able to eat it. And I would try to hide it from my parents, but at one point I couldn't hide it from them. So I had to sit my mom down and tell her that I had an eating disorder and that I needed some help with it.

And so my parents were very supportive and they signed me up for therapy and my mom started driving me down to a doctor's in Manhattan once a week where I would get weighed and I would have to list everything that I ate that day and everything that I'd eaten that week. And I was very lucky to have this help but I also felt very watched and in trouble and like I was doing something wrong, which I was, but I also couldn't really tell that I was doing something wrong at the time.

And, you know, this went on. I kept on going to these doctor's appointments. I kept on having therapy. But it wasn't really helping that much because I still felt really isolated and disconnected. And one time, while my mom was driving me to the doctor's appointment, she brings up my friend Lana. And she's like, hey, why don't you reach out to Lana and ask her to hang out? You know, she lives right by the doctors. You guys could go to the park. It might be nice for you to talk to someone outside of the four family members that you're stuck in a house with.

So I reached out to Lana and Lana was one of the only other black girls in our mostly white Upper West Side middle school. So we always had this connection that I didn't really feel with any of my white friends. And we always understood each other on a deeper level. And I reached out to Lana and we made plans. And they're quarantined. She was one of the only people I ever actually stayed in contact with.

I was kind of isolating myself from school and my friends and even my family because all I could think about was food. And so I reach out to Lana, and we make plans to hang out, and I'm really excited. And the next week, I go to the doctor's appointment. It's very cold in there, and the doctor isn't very nice, and I'm being weighed, and I feel very watched again. But I know I'm going to see my friend in a couple of hours. So I make my way from the doctor's appointment. I walk 10 blocks to her house.

But as I'm walking over to her house, it hits me that I'm sick and I have an eating disorder. And when you hang out with people, you're supposed to eat and you're supposed to have fun eating and you're supposed to talk with each other and not focus on the food. But all I could focus on at the time was food. So I'm making my way over to her house and I'm very excited, but I'm also deeply, deeply stressed. But I pick her up and we do a little air hug and we start walking over to Central Park and

And then she's like, "Hey, there's this pizza place around the corner and it's really good. Do you maybe want to get a slice?" And I'm like, "Sure, yeah, I love pizza. That sounds great."

But we go to the pizza place and I'm really stressed out the entire time. I get my slice though and we go over to Central Park and we sit down at this really nice bench and it's super sunny and the wind is blowing perfectly. And she's telling very great stories. She's a very funny person. And we're like looking at TikToks or whatever. And she starts to eat her pizza. And I look down and I open up this box in front of me and I can immediately smell how good this pizza will taste.

and I look at it and it has the perfect amount of cheese and the right crust and it has all of these things that I really love but also all of these things that at the time I'm really scared of. You know, cheese and oil and bread and whatever. And so I don't want to be weird and I don't want Lana to suspect anything and I just want to have a normal hangout. So I take a couple of bites and I kind of just make myself eat.

But I don't finish the slice and it's okay and she doesn't notice anything and we just go on with the hangout and it's okay. And the next week I go to the doctor's again and we hang out again and we get pizza and I'm still really scared and I don't finish my slice but at least I know Lana won't be watching me and I know that she'll still treat me like I'm normal.

And this goes on. Every week, I go to the doctors, I go to therapy. I feel really watched by everyone, including my family. You know, my mom would check my plate every meal, and I would have to list everything I ate.

But I would always get to see Lana every week and we would always eat together and I would always be able to laugh and focus on what she was saying. And over time, these hangouts really helped me because I'm able to associate food and eating with my friend and the laughter and the joy I feel when I'm around her and also when I'm eating with her.

And it's now about to be ninth grade. We're about to start high school. It's a very big time. I'm kind of nervous about that, but I'm also really excited to start something new. And I'm doing a lot better with food. I'm eating a lot more. I'm feeling a lot less stressed about it. And a big reason for that is Lana. And so we're hanging out, and that day we get pizza, and we decide to go to Riverside Park. And we find this really nice spot that's away from everyone where you can see the river, and we're covered by trees.

And we start to eat our food, and I notice that I'm not thinking about the food, and I'm just thinking about what she's saying and how nice it looks that day. And so I decide I want to tell her, and I go, hey, Lana, throughout quarantine, I've had an eating disorder, and I'm a lot better now, and you're one of the main reasons I'm a lot better. And I'm scared to tell her this. You know, I don't want things to change. I want to feel normal. I don't want to feel watched.

but she gives me a hug and she tells me she's proud of me and she tells me how strong I am and things go back to normal and we watch TikToks and we talk and we laugh and it's fine. And throughout ninth grade and high school, I'm now a junior. We've stayed friends and I'm fully recovered now and every time we hang out, we eat together and we laugh and we share stories and

And instead of focusing on food and the negative parts of it and the things that are scary about it, I can now focus on what I love about food and also what I love about the people that I share food with. Kaya Jarvis is a 16-year-old born and raised New Yorker. They said they spend their hours going to school, playing in a band, making art, curled up in a ball with headphones on, and skipping around with friends.

To see a picture of Kaya and find out more about any of the storytellers you've heard this hour, as well as info about other Moth Live events, you can visit our website at themoth.org. Our next story is from Dr. Sam Blackman. He shared this emotional story about his work in pediatric oncology in Seattle, Washington, where we partnered with public radio station KUOW. Live from the Abbey Arts Center, here's Sam Blackman.

I looked in the usual places. I looked in the lab and the labor and delivery ward and the operating room. But for me, the images under the microscope were just mostly interesting. And the birth of a child, if it's not your child, is not beautiful. And, sorry. And in the operating room, I found more brutality than beauty.

As a second year pediatric resident, if there was beauty in medicine, I wasn't seeing it. After 100 hour work weeks, a kid could craft rose petals and I would just dutifully put some in a vial and note it in the chart.

And don't confuse cute with beauty. Sick kids, even really sick kids can be cute, but disease is not beauty and parents of sick kids are not beautiful. Parents of sick kids are terrified. And when you feel that the life of your child is in danger, you want some element of control. And what you don't want is a second year pediatric resident. And you certainly didn't want me at that time.

Because between the crushing fatigue and the constant fear of screwing up and not knowing enough, not only was there no beauty in my life, but I was actually getting uglier because I would let the frustration and the fear creep in and sometimes my words would hurt the people that I was there to help. And it turned out that there were moments where I was so ashamed because for someone who so desperately wanted to be a doctor, I was not being the doctor that I wanted to be. I was not being my best self.

Brianna's mother took this to a whole new level. The rage that she felt and that she made the team feel pervaded us on a daily basis. And we all knew why. Her child was going to die and there was nothing that we could do about it. She had the period, worst period, tumor period ever.

She had a diffuse intrinsic pontine glioma, a bastard of a tumor that invades the brain stem. It's inoperable in all situations. You can't touch it with chemo or radiation. It's 100% fatal and most children die within eight months of diagnosis. And her rage was compounded by the fact that she was a single mother and she was going through this alone.

And so she would wall herself off. She kept the glass door to her room closed. She kept the curtains drawn and the lights off, and she wouldn't let us in at all for rounds. She wouldn't even let us in to examine Brianna because what was the point? And so we would dutifully hover every morning outside of her room to go over the day's labs and to go over the plan, and we would beg to come in, but she would not let us come in

And she wouldn't even talk to us or want to hear the treatment plan except for when she wanted us to use her treatment plan. And then we would negotiate. Substitute herbal tea for water? Sure. Skip the steroids and blood pressure medicines? No. Coffee enemas. What about coffee enemas?

We had a week-long debate about coffee enemas. It's a thing. And my attending had never heard about coffee enemas, and so he sent me to go research coffee enemas. And when I came back, he said, "You go into the room and tell her why we can't do daily coffee enemas." And so I went into the room. But because I presented both sides of the issues to her, she actually started to let me in, literally let me in. I was the only doctor who could go into the room.

And every day I would sit outside and we'd round as a team and then I would go into the room and I would examine Brianna and I would talk to her about the plan and then I'd come out and communicate with the team. And so for a few weeks until I went off service, I was exclusively Brianna's doctor. But then rotations end and teams rotate off and residents change and I went on to the next thing.

About a month later, I was coming home from dinner with my wife on a Saturday night. My pager went off and it was a nurse from the pavilion, which is the part of the hospital where the palliative care patients stay. And the nurse said she thought that Brianna was dying and wanted to know if I would come in. Now, I wasn't on call or on service, but something told me that I should go. So I called my attending on service and I said,

Would you meet me there because I've never attended a death before? And believe it or not, attending a death is a lot more complicated. You don't just sort of stand there and wait for the person to die. One of the horrible things that they neglect to tell you at the start of your pediatric residency is that children take a really long time to die because they've got brand new hearts and brand new lungs and their bodies really try to cling to life. And think about that for a minute and think about what that looks like.

So it was 10 o'clock at night and for the next four hours we did our job. We gave medicines to help her agonal breathing and to alleviate any pain and when we couldn't do any more we stood by the door and we bore witness.

The nurse went in on check during her and came out and said that she thought that Brianna had stopped breathing and the attending physician said to me that I should go and pronounce her dead because the mom knew me and appeared to trust me and I said, "Alright, but I've never done this before. I didn't know what to expect." So I quietly went into the room and I said, "I need to examine Brianna one last time." And then I performed the ritual. I felt for the absence of a pulse.

put my stethoscope on her chest and I listened for a full 60 seconds for the absence of a heartbeat and I said to her mother, "I'm so sorry for your loss." And I noted silently the time of death. And as I was getting ready to leave the room, I turned to her and I said, "Is there anything I can do for you?" And she paused and said, "Could you pray with me?" And I hesitated because I'm a lapsed Jew from New Jersey and I don't really pray and I don't really believe in God.

And frankly, pretending to pray in the face of a dead child seemed like the absolutely wrong thing to do. But then, there in that moment, it dawned on me that this wasn't about me. Brianna's mother needed me to be the doctor that she saw me as, and this was the opportunity for me to be the doctor that I wanted to be. And so there in that room, lit just by silent glowing monitors, I had the one truly beautiful moment for myself in medicine.

where a stranger held my hands, and we stood over the body of her daughter, and I closed my eyes when she did. And when she started to speak, words of a prayer that I had only heard a few times before somehow came forth. Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Thank you.

Sam Blackman is a pediatric oncologist, cancer drug developer, and chief medical officer at Day One Biopharmaceuticals. He lives on Orcas Island in Washington State with his wife Julie, daughter Annika, and a menagerie of pets. Sam said his decision to enter medicine was less about science and more about understanding life and what makes it so precious and special. This experience was a tipping point for him, and he has carried the memory of Brianna with him for over 20 years.

You can see a picture of Sam from his residency days on our website, themoth.org. ♪♪ Coming up, navigating teenage crushes in high school, where your mother is also your teacher, when the Moth Radio Hour continues. ♪♪

The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts and presented by PRX. You're listening to The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Samuel James.

We all know that high school years can be strange and nerve-wracking, and that's what Annie Lin told us about at a story slam we produced at the Miracle Theater in Washington, D.C., where we partnered with local public radio station WAMU. Here's Annie Lin, live at the Moth. As I prepared to enter high school, my mom introduced a new rule. I would have to call her Mrs. Hoblet.

And even though I threw a huge fuss about calling her by her teacher name, it turned out that this was not the most difficult part of our mother-daughter student-teacher relationship that we were going to have to navigate. I was a highly dramatic teenager who just wanted to fall in love, and she was a stoic Norwegian-American teacher who just wanted her students to love grammar.

And she laid out some pretty strict rules at the beginning. She was not gonna pull any strings for me. This was not gonna be like the drama teacher who cast her daughter as the lead in every play, no resentment there.

And I didn't really want her to or need her to because I was a super goody-goody rule follower. So she didn't really need to do anything for me for me to get along in high school. The one exception that she did make was that she bumped me up on the list for driver's ed. Not because she wanted me to get my license any earlier. You can drive in Montana at age 15. But she wanted to make sure that I learned how to drive on the icy Montana winter roads.

But then things got a little more blurry when she actually became my teacher. It turned out that her omnipresence had a bit of an effect on my romantic life. So when I first had her as a teacher my sophomore year for English, and I started to scheme about how she could be useful in more ways than just teaching me how to write, which she was very well known for being very good at. But my first high school boyfriend broke up with me several days into the school year.

And it was not a serious relationship. We held hands a couple times and he kissed me on the cheek, but I still was very dramatic and wanted to feel all the feelings. So I plotted this revenge plan that I pitched to my mom over dinner.

I said, "So, Mom, Nate's desk is not that far away from your desk, and you have this," she called it the "dinger," this high-pitched bell that she would ring. She probably got it at the mom store to get students' attention. And I said, "You could just ring it in Nate's ear, and it would be very nonchalant. He sits right there. Just consider it." And she didn't. But it turned out that the population of boys in that particular sophomore English class

would be fodder for many dinnertime conversations throughout the year. As I recovered from the heartbreak of Nate, something very surprising happened in that Caleb started flirting with me. And he was much cooler than me. He was the star of the basketball team. And I was not quite sure what to do with all this attention, especially because the attention

mostly came in the form of him telling dirty pickup lines to my easily scandalized self. So for example, walking into class, he says, "Hey Annie, let's do math. Add a bed, subtract the clothes, divide our legs, and I'll multiply." I know, a real winner. On and off the court.

So I go my own way, and we're working on our individual writing assignments. And he pokes me across the aisle, and he's like, "Hey Annie, do you want to help me with my math?" And I was like, "Okay, bring it over here." This was not uncommon for people to ask me for help with homework. And he's like, "No, will you help me with my math?" And I was like, "Okay, bring it over here."

And he goes, "No, will you help me with my math?" And all of a sudden the joke clicks into place and I screamed, "Oh my gosh!" And my mom whips around. She goes, "You two, detention." Hoblet! I had never had detention in high school and now my mom was my sentencer. And she wasn't just gonna settle for any old detention. She decided that instead of going to the detention room, we were going to clean her classroom.

So over dinner that night I tried to plead my case, like, "You should be glad that I had that reaction to a dirty joke!" She said, "You should be glad that I just got you an hour by yourself with Caleb!" I realized that she was right, and so I prepared for this detention with great hope. Like, in the very romantic setting of my mom's classroom, I could have my first real kiss.

And so the day of detention, I dressed up very, my mom's looking at me over breakfast like, "Okay, you're taking this really seriously." And we go and I'm really excited and he just acted like we were not there because of his attentions to me and there was nothing between us. And it was the first of many heartbreaks of the roller coaster of my sophomore year with Caleb. And later on in the year,

I said to my mom, "I am so over him." And she goes, "Okay, good. Well, just please can we not, can you not like develop feelings for anyone else in this class? Like it's becoming a little bit disruptive." And I was like, "Who could I possibly like in the class?" And she like raised her eyes at me and was like, "Um, Patrick." And I don't know if it was motherly wisdom or teacherly wisdom, but Patrick and I are married.

We are expecting our first child this fall, and I am not a teacher, so I'm going to have to figure out another way to really shape and influence my child's life, both academically and romantically.

Annie Lin works on global public health and is based in Bozeman, Montana. When she told this at a story slam on the theme of mothers, she was about to become a mother herself. And now she's getting ready to do it all over again with her second child. I asked Annie if her mother had used her teacherly wisdom to predict anything else in her life.

She said her mother predicted both that Annie would be able to hold her own out in the world, but also that she'd sometimes struggle with letting things go. According to Annie, both, especially the latter, are definitely true. You can see a picture of Annie and her mom, aka Mrs. Hoblet, on our website, themoth.org. If you happen to be in Fremont, Washington at the height of summer, you might come upon the annual Fremont Solstice Parade.

which features people on their bikes in various states of nudity, covered in body art. Our final storyteller, Evie O'Reilly, told us about her first time joining this annual tradition at a story slam we produced in Seattle, Washington, where we partnered with local public radio station KUOW. Live from the Abbey Arts Center, here's Evie O'Reilly.

So the first time you do the naked solstice cycle, you want to look amazing. And you have a lot of plans and you have a lot of objectives. And they fall away because you have life. And so the day before you get body paint and that morning you wake up earlier than you ever normally wake up on a Saturday and you paint yourself and you look in the mirror and you think, I look fantastic. My God, I should do this every day. I thought I was bad at makeup, but this is amazing.

Now, this was established with clown paint down the centre of my body and smashing green side and orange side because I was going to be the Irish flag. And then you have this moment where you look at yourself and you're like, this is brilliant. God, just such a... What about my back? And so you panic and you think, he'll be up. Never mind he'll be up, he'll do it.

And so you ring your friends and you get that like morning like, "What? Hiya, what are you up to?" "Oh, I was asleep." "Great, that's brilliant. I love that. Would you, um, do you mind coming over? Are you alright?" "Yeah, I'm great. I need you to paint my bum." "I'm sorry, what?" "I need you to paint my bum." Long, long pause. "Okay." Click.

Minutes later, I'm being paged. Now the next thing was, I hadn't actually worked out at the time I lived on Capitol Hill, how to get to Fremont. Normally I would have taken a bus, but that seemed like a very bad idea under my current situation. Plus, I now had a bike that I wasn't entirely confident could make it to Fremont.

I was sure it could make it somewhat along the race, whatever we're calling it, but two, three months, I don't know. So I now think, and I look at my friends, I'm like, your boyfriend has a car, right? And she goes, yeah. So what's Dan doing this morning? So next thing I know, this poor, exhausted teacher is getting me in my car going, try not to get paint. Too late. There's going to be paint. There is paint to this day.

So he gets me there and then I have the next bit which I can't work out which I'm like, oh there's all these people how are we actually going to drive in to drop me off? I'm a proper part of this parade. And I realise the only way to do this is to be dropped at the Nickerson Street Saloon, get out and then run across the bridge with my bike holding it and then scream at the crowds, "I'm sticky, let me through!" This works very well if you're ever in an emergency. People scatter.

So now, this was a while ago and at the time there was still this vague fear of it being kind of illegal and people, the sites, I basically had no clue where to meet the other cyclists. So I'm looking around, looking around, looking around, finally, I mean, it's a moment of delight, you see another naked cyclist and you're like, fantastic, great, we're all here, I'm doing something proper.

So I meet up with them and we're all outside Hales and they're like, "Oh, we do this little cycle to Ballard first." And then we come around and I'm going, "I don't know what you're talking about. "I live on Capitol Hill, but I'll follow you anywhere." And it was brilliant. It was the year of the World Cup and a lot of people were in different countries. So the Irish thing, I got a lot of people screaming, "Go Italy!" And I was like, "Yeah! "EU, we're all alike, it's great."

And, well, up until recently, but that's another story. So we're cycling along Learie and it's great and we're almost at 15th and suddenly that feather boa that I put on my bike is bringing back that quote from the Avengers where they say, no capes. Turns out, no feather boas either. Because it gets stuck in my chain and they all keep going and I'm going, wait, wait for me, please wait, please, no. And so I'm there outside a coffee shop

furiously tearing feathers from my bike chain, fully naked, painting it as Irish flag, as families are getting their morning coffee with their small children. Looking at me going, "Oh, isn't that authentic?" And now all I can do is cycle around the free large area, which as I said, I had no clue where I was. And I keep cycling and cycling and I'm looking for them, no clue where they are. And I would come across random people and I go, "Hello, have you seen a large group of naked cyclists?" And they go,

"No, just you." Now this went on for 20 minutes. The longest 20 minutes of my life. And yet I had a little dress. I never put it on. I kept going.

I looked endlessly and finally I found them and I had this amazing race and it was like this amazing justification. I'd been at my lowest low and I'd found them and at the very, very, very, very end of the whole thing I was at PCC, I'd put the dress on but I had this silver wig and I was still painted and I felt a hand on my bum and I thought, what the job? This is not the time. And I turn around and there's nobody there. And then I look down and there's a tiny little person. She was about five. She looks at me and she goes, um, are you real? Um,

And I was like, yeah, I'm pretty sure. I mean, it's up for some debate at times, but yeah. She goes, awesome. That was Evie O'Reilly. Evie says that in addition to the Fremont Solstice Parade, she has also appeared naked on a bike in a Flaming Lips video watching the planets. She says she'd like to give a shout out to Wayne Coyne for normalizing and empowering nakedity.

And poor Ross for helping with that first paint job, and all her friends who have helped in the years since. To see pictures of Evie painted as the Irish flag, and a pineapple, peacock, zebra, and even Jean-Luc Picard of the Starship Enterprise, you can find them all on our website, themoth.org.

The Moth hosts slams all around the U.S., in the U.K., and in Australia. If you want to throw your name in a hat for a chance to tell a story, you can find out all of the info for cities, dates, and upcoming themes on our website, themoth.org. The Moth finds a lot of storytellers from our Story Slam series, but if you have a story you'd like to share and there isn't a slam in your area, you can always pitch us.

Just go to our website, themoth.org, look for Tell a Story, and you will find all the info for how to leave a two-minute pitch. That's it for this episode of the Moth Radio Hour. We hope you'll join us next time. And that's the story from the Moth.

This episode of the Moth Radio Hour was produced by me, Jay Allison, Catherine Burns, Meg Bowles, and Samuel James, who also hosted the hour. Co-producer is Vicki Merrick. Associate producer, Emily Couch. Education program and Grand Slam coaching by Michelle Jalowski and Larry Rosen.

The rest of the Moth's leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Sarah Austin-Janess, Jennifer Hickson, Kate Tellers, Jennifer Birmingham, Marina Cloutier, Leanne Gulley, Suzanne Rust, Brandon Grant, Inga Glodowski, Sarah Jane Johnson, and Aldi Caza.

Moth Stories are true as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by The Drift. Other music in this hour from Stellwagen Symphonette, Corey Wong, Victor Wooten, Paul Motian, Bill Vrizel and Joe Lovano, Wolfpack and Michael Hedges. 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.