823: The Question Trap
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A quick warning, there are curse words that are unbeaped in today's episode of the show. If you prefer a beeped version, you can find that at our website, thisamericanlife.org. The question started right after Tobin and his husband moved to the Bay Area and got a house together. Tobin's family was pretty excited about this. They all lived within an hour. And they brought meals over for weeks. His mom bought them shades. But this question popped up.

And the first time I noticed it happening, it was with my aunt. Kind of out of nowhere, she was like, oh, which one of you is Handy? Is one of you Handy? And I was just like, why does she want to know that? Like, why does she care? And I had like feelings about it and I couldn't tell why. And then it just kind of kept happening with other family members. Like they would be talking about like, oh, you guys moved in together into this house. Which one of you is Handy? Yeah.

And on its face, it was kind of like, oh, we know when you're in a house, there's a lot of things to fix and a lot of things to do. But it felt like there was something else happening there, and it kind of bothered me. Something else there, like there was a question underneath the question that they were trying to get the answer to. Yeah, like there was something else trying to be figured out. And I don't know, like the more I thought about it and why I was having feelings about it,

It was kind of like this weird aha moment of like, "Oh, I think you're asking who the man is in my relationship." Right. You're both man. Yes. But one of you is really the man. Yes. Yeah. Then, when Dobin would tell them that it was his husband who was the handy one, he felt like he was just giving the man munition to put a picture of their relationship that just bugged him, like they were being sized up into familiar categories.

Would you view as the husband? Would you view as the wife? Like, it was weird because whenever they would ask it, I could feel myself getting defensive. I didn't want to give them that picture. And I think part of my defensiveness came from, I think, well, oh man, not to take us in a whole other direction, but if you spend any amount of time in the closet... In the closet. For Tobin, that means middle school and high school. I think you're afraid...

of being found out at all as being effeminate in any way. Like, I know for me, I was very conscious of if anyone could detect, quote-unquote, you know, feminine traits about me and then figure out if I was gay or not. And so I do think that, like, myself and a lot of gay men, like, carry that around for, like, kind of the rest of your life. And so I think that comes up in having to answer a question like this also.

Yeah. Yeah. It's funny because it's like this innocent question and then really like underneath it, it's like there's a bomb waiting to go off, actually. Like there's so many feelings. Yeah. It feels like it hits on a thing, at least for me, that I spent a lot of time as a kid running from or spent a lot of time trying to not have to answer. Yeah. Like how masculine am I and is somebody else more masculine than I am?

And like, I do want to make room for the idea that they could have meant none of this. Like, absolutely none of this. Did you address it directly with any of them? No, because that would be bonkers. To say, oh, you asked me who's handy. You're trying to say I'm not a man. Like that, the leap in logic to say that outright is so huge. Yeah.

Stay with us.

Okay, so instead of four different acts today, what we're going to do is we're going to present the show as four questions. Here's the first one. Question, tell me how you feel about this. So Tobin, who you just heard, is one of the editors here at our show. And really the idea for today's program came out of a conversation that happened at a staff meeting. And what happened was we all got talking about these kind of question traps, where it seems like somebody is asking about one thing, but the question is a proxy for trying to figure out something else. Tobin will explain more.

What do you think of Beyoncé?

It was a question that I found myself trying to ask basically a lot on first dates because it told me a lot about them. It's a question that tells you, one, in some ways how they feel about a powerful Black woman. It's a question that tells you how they think about Black women in general, kind of a little bit to me.

And that, like, if you feel the need to, like, put her down or, like, say something negative about her, it's like a real turnoff. It's like a red flag, basically.

They describe her singing style as kind of like caterwauling or like, oh, she's just screeching. Bim, another producer, has also asked this question on Many a Date. All these words that sort of like have double meanings if you're a woman and also if you're a Black woman, I'm just like, all right, so you don't like loud people. Okay, okay. That means you don't like me. Could you tell me about some like specific times that you've asked the Beyonce question and what the guy's response was and what it told you?

First date, bar date, pretty standard. Beyoncé actually came on in the bar in the background. I was like, oh, what do you think about Beyoncé? And he was like, I don't understand what the big deal is about her. Like, women act like they're in a cult or something. And it's like, they seem like crazy. I was like, oh, well, I really like her. And like, I don't really think I'm in a cult. Emmanuel watched the guy through all the reasons Beyoncé is, in fact, pretty great.

But the guy didn't budge. No, he did not. Didn't care to. And maybe didn't care to hear me talk in general is what it seemed like. They did not go out again because, well, you could say he was unapologetic when he fucked up the night. That's a play on a Beyoncé lyric, by the way. Sorry, couldn't help myself. Anyway, B.A. Parker, who's also been on the show, she said for her, it doesn't even have to be Beyoncé.

any well-known Black woman does the trick. If you say Serena Williams and they say, "Oh, I think she's overrated." Or if you say Jada Pinkett, it's like, "Well, she's too masculine," or, "She's ruining Will Smith's life. She's controlling him." Or, "How do you feel about Lizzo?" They're like, "Oh, she's a cover-ass." I bring up a Black female celebrity to get their opinion on them, and it usually becomes like a litmus test for how

they would treat me as a partner, how they would view me as a person. But the Beyonce question, she agrees, is the most potent. Because the answer can really tell you if you should be crazy in love or putting everything he owns in a box to the left. Again, I am so sorry. The thing about a bunch of people using the same trick, though, is that eventually people, in this case men, might catch on.

Are you aware of the Beyoncé question? Yes, I am aware of the Beyoncé question. Emmanuel Jochi, producer and man at the show. Have you experienced this? Yes, I've experienced it many times. He told me about a date he was on where they started talking about musicals, and the movie version of Dreamgirls came up.

And thinking he was just answering a question about the movie, Manuel was honest. He said, Beyoncé was just okay in that. He didn't realize he was answering the wrong question. And I was just digging a hole. She was just like, the only answer to being honest about Beyoncé is that, yeah, she's fantastic. She's amazing. Nobody can do what she does.

It was only later that he learned from another guy friend why he as a Black man should really only answer one way. I remember my friend saying basically, "That is the question Black women will ask you to determine if you really like Black women." Once it was explained to me, I totally understood where people were coming from. And I understood what the purpose of that question was.

In some cases, the Beyonce question is like an agreed-upon farce, where both parties know they're talking in code. Parker was recently on a date. She mentioned Beyonce's Black is King film. And he was like, he was like, I don't know what to say here. Because I like this, I like talking to you, but I don't love Beyonce. And I don't want you to be mad at me. He knew it was a trap.

He didn't know it was a trap. And how did you respond? I was like, what are you talking about? What are you? And he was like, I know girls do this. And I was like, you're right. And I'm sorry. I apologize. And I was like, well, I guess that's kind of the right answer. So we had a couple more dates. ♪

Of course, there are other questions like the Beyoncé one. Little traps we set on dates, hoping the other person doesn't fall in, or hoping they do.

One that made the news recently, which may or may not be true, according to an old classmate, Governor Ron DeSantis would ask dates if they liked Thai food. But, and this is key, he'd pronounce it "thai food," and if they said, "No, it's Thai food, not thigh," he'd ditch the date. It was his way of testing if they'd correct him, which he did not want. I don't know, sounds like a test I'd be grateful to fail, but that's just me. Anyway, I talked to a bunch of other people about their question traps.

Kelsey in Minnesota asked Herdates about their favorite Tom Hanks movies. She said he's been in so many movies across multiple genres. The answer is kind of like a personality test. Toy Story, for example, tells her there's a stunted adolescence thing going on.

Sarah in Tampa said when she started to get a weird vibe, she'd ask, what's your favorite conspiracy theory? Most people would keep their answers lighthearted, but occasionally someone would go all in. One guy started talking all about Nazi separatists. She's Jewish, so you know, kind of a deal breaker. But not all question traps are subtle. There's another genre that I was surprised anyone fell for. The kind of question that seemed covered in yellow caution tape and a sign that said, this is a trap.

This one comes from Vivian in Iowa. After her husband died in 2016, she found herself back out on the dating scene. Her question on a date was, if your ex walked by right now with their new partner, what would you do? Which was her way of asking a much more interesting question, how fucked up was your last relationship? First time I did it, the guy said I would punch him and give her a piece of my mind.

Oh my God. Exactly. We had just sat down to have a nice lunch on a Sunday afternoon. So I'm like, do I get up and go? And that's when the story came out of how he was still about

a couple weeks away from going to court for finalizing his divorce. And it had been a 38-year relationship. And he found out she had been cheating for most of the time in a completely serendipitous way. She gave him an old phone that she had wiped. And when she downloaded the cloud, it downloaded into his phone too. And that's how he found out. Wow. You got so much information from that one question. You got to make it efficient. Why in

I was shocked. This question is so clearly, how bad was your last breakup? Do I have anything to worry about? But something about turning it into a fun little icebreaker made these guys open up. And what was his response?

Oh, he never answered directly, but I knew then that he was still in a relationship. With her now-husband, they met at a widow's support group. He talked about his loneliness and being a single parent. They kind of just got each other. And she knew the question, what would you do if your ex showed up, would not be right for this nice guy who had just lost his wife. She wasn't going to ask that.

The last person I talked to was Jessica. She teaches ESL classes in Atlanta. What's your go-to question? Do you believe in ghosts? Ghosts? I bet you didn't see that one coming, did you? Do you believe in ghosts? Here's how Jessica says it works. There is no one right answer. It just matters that you and your partner have the same answer, essentially, at its core. Your minds kind of work in a similar way.

Was there ever a time that you asked the ghost question, the person answered differently than you, and you went ahead and dated that person anyway? And how did that go? Yeah. Yeah, I was engaged before I married my husband now. And the ghost question really should have been my "get the fuck out" moment. Really? Yeah.

Her answer to the question is, "I don't really believe in ghosts. But if there was evidence to the contrary, I could be convinced. I'm open to changing my mind." And his response was, "No. And there is no information that you could give me to change my mind. And I just, I don't see why anyone would really think that."

At the time, she didn't think much about the difference in their answers. But then, as she got to know him better, other things would come up. His rigidity was one of the big things that broke them up.

Now she tells everyone she knows, if you're seeing someone new, ask them the ghost question. It could save you a lot of time. The thing about any trap, of course, is there are ways to sidestep it, disarm it. And then the person who laid the trap has to decide what to do.

Emmanuel had to make such a decision. Ironically enough, my current boyfriend had no idea who Beyoncé was, who's the only person who had that response. What did that tell you? That he just needed, like, some education. He's older and he's not from this country and, like, doesn't listen to music, really. And, like, by the second date, he had read the entire Wikipedia page for me and he knew Beyoncé's birthday and...

that she was married to Jay-Z and he knew about the elevator fight. So he listened to your opinion. Yeah. It ended up being a green flag. Now I talk to him about Beyonce all the time and I don't necessarily think he's like, he's not going out to like Beyonce concerts or anything, but he understands how important she is and how important she is to me and lets me rant about her. So that's all you ever really want, right? It is. All I think anyone wants is someone you don't feel like you have to set a trap for.

Someone who you can look at them and say, you're everything I need and more. It's written all over your face. Baby, I can feel your halo. Pray it won't fade away. Sorry, I'm going to stop now. Tobin Lowe is an editor on our program. Question two, how old are your kids? So there's a particular piece of small talk that happens all the time that for some people is like the most normal thing in the world and for others is a super delicate minefield.

This story that you're about to hear is about a couple for whom it is a minefield and how one day a question like this comes up and it goes completely differently from how it's ever gone before for them in a spectacularly wild way. You'll hear what I'm talking about. Chris Benderev tells the story. Stacey Silberman is a real estate agent in Southern California, and she's well suited to the job because she's excellent at making conversation with strangers about anything.

But for the past six and a half years, there's been this classic genre of get-to-know-you banter that's become a lot more complicated for her and her husband, Michael. And that's questions about their children. Yes, all the time. Talking to people, getting introductions. It's always asking about our kids. How many kids do you have? Blah, blah, blah. How old are they? The answers to these questions are complicated for Stacey because her older child, Max, died in 2017.

So it has been six and a half years because I have a dot tattoo for every six months. This is Stacy's husband, Michael, Max's dad. He's a CPA, straight-laced kind of guy, for the most part. Max always wanted us to get tattoos, and we never did. I heard he had some. He had a wonderful sleeve and lots of tattoos.

But so I'm covered in tattoos and my right arm is an entire memorial for Maxie. I've got the kids tattooed up here on my right shoulder. So did you have tattoos before? Never, never. But, you know, it's tattoos are very interesting thing. It's it's it's it's less than the least I can do, but it does help me through the pain. And tattooing really how I see it from my perspective is just socially acceptable cutting.

Max was a funny kid, always loved playing pranks, who, by 15, was struggling with drug addiction, going in and out of treatment. He overdosed when he was 25 in his parents' house. And after he died, for a while, Michael and Stacey were around friends and family who knew what had happened, so nobody asked those "do you have kids" sort of questions. But then, Stacey traveled to a conference in Albuquerque. She was sitting down for lunch next to a couple, a friendly blonde woman and her husband,

They began asking Stacey where she was from and what she did. And then finally, those questions. Do you have kids? How old are they? And the woman was, you know, kind of Southern, very sweet, very bubbly. And when people are like that with me, you know, I'm pretty open. And so I felt like being authentic. And I told her, you know, one of my children died of an overdose two years ago.

And now I have one. This did not go over well. This woman and her husband, it really upset them. They couldn't, they just couldn't handle the conversation. I just saw this major pity face with the open mouth and the, oh, okay. And does the conversation with them kind of stall out at that point and then they kind of go? Totally stall out. They never talk to me again. Of course, over time, this happened again and again.

Strangers would ask them these sorts of questions, and when they'd answer, it'd suck all the air out of the room, which made Michael especially uncomfortable. He never liked sharing this stuff with strangers. He's more of a private person. But together, he and Stacey came up with a strategy for how to handle things. We're out and about?

And the question comes up. We sort of look at each other just a little, you know, imperceptibly so, so nobody can really pick up what's going on. And then usually Stacey will answer however she answers, and I support her unreservedly. A lot of the times I actually lie. We have two kids, this is their ages, talk to you later. And keep it short and sweet. Because sometimes the white lie is...

And so on they went, answering some questions about their kids and bobbing and weaving around others for six and a half years. Until this one day last November, when they got themselves into a situation that was very different from any that they'd been in before, and very public. ♪

One thing to know about Stacey and Michael is they both spend a lot of their time working at a recovery center for people struggling with addiction. And sometimes they hang out with the other staff and clients there. And so I saw that they were going to a show at the Hollywood Improv where Sarah Silverman was performing. And I'm like, oh my God, I love Sarah Silverman. I want to go. I want to go. And I said, when we got there, go, I want to sit front row center. I want to get heckled.

I want to be right under Sarah Silverman. I want her to like heckle me if possible. Or me. I guess we heckle them. I don't know. I just wanted to be a part of it. They get seats. Front row center.

But before Sarah Silverman came on stage that night at the Hollywood Improv, there was this opener, a guy named Adam Ray, early 40s, wearing a Mariner's cap. And he's got this backing band, drums, keyboard, backup singers. And he ends his set with a song about how all his friends with kids are miserable and boring now. ♪ A lot of my friends, they have kids ♪

But then the song shifts. Adam Ray says, or sings, that he and his wife are still deciding about having kids. Suddenly he turns to the crowd. He wants to find someone with kids who can make an argument for having them. Adam starts in the front row with a guy a few seats away from Stacey and Michael.

So the minute the word kids came up, I went on high alert and I just had a feeling, oh my God, we're sitting in the front row. Is he going to come to us? So I'm, I'm nervous because I don't know what I'm going to say. I don't know how we're going to deal with it. And remember, we're in a comedy club and even though Stacey and I subconsciously communicate with one another, we're not going to deal with it.

We can't do that here in this venue. I look at each other and get an idea of, you know, what are you thinking? What are you thinking without talking? So I'm there sort of in a desert waiting. And then I saw him coming to me, of course. So he comes to me, you know, do you have any kids? Damn right I do.

Pretty assertive for the guy who doesn't like talking about this. I was thinking, what are you fucking, you don't have kids and you're probably like, shut the fuck up and get out. Right, you know? So there probably was a little attitude, perhaps, you think? And I figured that would be it. But the comedian's not done with him. Can you help change our minds today? Do whatever you say.

And he's still not done. Oh,

Which one do you want? And the other. They're definitely probably not here. So you can say, so you can say, which one you forgot the birthday of? You wouldn't mind if they took the bus to Irvine tonight. First of all, how old are your kids? So he finally comes down to me with the microphone, how old are your kids? And that's where I was having difficulty calculating.

Because nobody asks me how old they are typically. So the first thing that went through my mind was, well, Sabrina's 26. And by that time I was fucked. Because there was no time to figure out, so Max is 31. That didn't happen. While Michael's thinking, Adam the comedian keeps holding the microphone, waiting. This dad is taking too long to answer. And then finally...

I felt protective over him in that moment. Like, that's a loaded question and that's why he can't answer you. Then the comic turns to Stacy. Oh.

And then I thought to myself, oh, now I've got to tell the truth. And so in a split second, very impulsive moment, I said, I'm sorry to tell you this, but one of our kids is actually dead. I'm sorry to tell you, but one is actually dead. Oh, no.

Oh, what the fuck? Taking a sip of my Casse Azul. On stage, no one quite knows what to do. One of the backup singers puts her hands over her face. The keyboard player just shakes his head like, no. And then I realized, like, uh-oh, I just screwed the show. Oh, Ronnie P.

Wow. All right. This moment for the comedian seems pretty insurmountable, right? Like, what could he possibly do to save a set after that? I called him up, Adam Ray, and he said he considered changing the subject, but chose not to. Well...

Don't have kids. Don't have kids. Okay. So that's what I'm looking for so we can end this story. We are right now. And finally, it's actually Stacey who saves the day. She motions for Adam the comedian. He bends down and points his mic at her. And then she says... Our dead son would think this was hilarious. I said, our dead son would think this was hilarious. That's the best compliment I've ever seen in a day.

It wasn't a lie at all. Our dead son would have thought this was hilarious. He would have been like, oh my God, of course my mom stepped in a big pile of shit. Then Adam gets an idea. What's the name of your son who's passed on? His name was Max. Let's give it up for Max right now. Give it up for Max right now. Yeah, give it up. Yeah, give it up for Max right now.

Thanks baby!

The video of Adam's set actually made the rounds on TikTok and Instagram afterward. Stacey says she read every last comment. All these people rejoicing for and remembering her son. I've listened to that thing like a hundred times, I think, as I keep enjoying it. I mean, it was like, it was incredible. It just was an incredible moment in time. Lots of people have asked them questions, putting them in this complicated spot.

But this time, in front of all those people, that ended with a room full of strangers cheering for Max. This time is their favorite. Chris Penderiff is one of the producers on our show. Coming up, a question about a 400-year-old play and the personal question underneath that question. That's in a minute from Chicago Public Radio when our program continues. It's American Life from Ira Glass. Today's program, The Question Trap.

What we're talking about today is those questions that can seem benevolent, innocent, harmless, innocuous, could not hurt a fly. But underneath, they're really asking something else or quietly making a point about something else. We've arrived at question three of our program. Question three, how's your mom? So we spotted this next thing we want to play you in an academic journal. It was originally a paper in Medical Anthropology Quarterly written by an anthropologist named Janelle Taylor, who adapted it to read here on the radio.

This one question that Janelle Taylor is writing about, it kept showing up all the time in her personal life. And she says as an anthropologist, she knows when lots of people are asking the same question over and over, it means something. And she wrote this essay to think through what is underneath that question. My mother is living with progressive dementia. Because I'm reading these words on the radio, I can't hear your response. But I'm listening for the question that, as I've learned, always comes first.

Everyone, almost without exception, responds with some version of the same question. Does she recognize you? There are variants, of course. Does she still know who you are? But does she still know your name? However it may be phrased, the question is always whether my mother recognizes me. Meaning, can she recite the facts of who I am, what my name is, and how I'm related to her? When everyone keeps asking me, does she recognize you?

I find myself thinking, that is the wrong question. I believe the question really is, or should be, do you, do we, recognize her as a person who's still here? Does she recognize you? The weirdness of the question becomes more obvious if you think about what would be required to answer it. Let's say I ask my mother, what's my name? Who am I? How old am I? How do we know each other?

testing her that way. What does it prove? What does it actually accomplish? I read a book by a journalist named Lauren Kessler. She wrote about how she would correct her own mother when her mother called her by the wrong name. Every time she would visit her mother, she'd take framed photos from the dresser and point to them and quiz her mother. You know who this is, don't you, Mom? Of course she didn't.

Kessler writes,

So why then would I make a point of asking her these questions that I know she can't possibly answer? It seems rude or just mean. I can't bring myself to do it. I guess you could say that my mother raised me better than that. Does she recognize you? I'm not so convinced that the inability to remember names necessarily means that a person with dementia can't recognize or care about other people.

But very often, it does mean that other people stop recognizing and caring about them. My mother was close to lots of people, but only one friend remains present in her life. Every month or two, Eli Davis drives an hour and a half from her home to Seattle to visit mom, bringing treats and hugs and her always cheerful self. I love her dearly for it, and I wonder, where are the others?

Where are the couples with whom my parents socialized? The women with whom mom spent hours and hours on the phone all through my childhood? This shouldn't surprise me as much as it has. Maybe it's not fair to expect friends to step up. Even close family drop off. Friendships in America are not usually expected to survive dementia. Friendships are often more like pleasure crafts than life rafts, not built to brave the really rough waters.

Does she recognize you? When people ask me whether my mother still recognizes me, they're often expressing concern for me, asking me how I'm bearing up under the burden of suffering that her dementia must place on me. And they're quite ready to hear about my burdens and my suffering. What they find harder to hear, I think, is that being around my mother is not a nightmare or a horror. It's not like any of that. Here's what it is.

In a cafe, as we share a scone, mom and I make what passes for conversation. I've learned to ask only the sort of question that doesn't require any specific information to answer. So, things going okay with you these days? How's my favorite mom doing? You doing all right? I tell her funny little stories about my kids. Sometimes we leaf through a magazine, looking at the pictures and commenting on them.

Sometimes we look out the window and I make general observations that require no specific response. Looks like spring is coming. Look at those leaves coming out on the trees. That guy's hair is really curly. With each exchange, mom smiles at me, beaming affectionately in that familiar, slightly conspiratorial way as if we're both in on the same joke. So, our conversations go nowhere.

But it doesn't matter what we say, really, or whether we said it before, or whether it's accurate or interesting or even comprehensible. The exchange is the point. Mom and I are playing catch with touches, smiles, and gestures, as well as words, lobbing them back and forth to each other in slow, easy underhand arcs. The fact that she drops the ball more and more often doesn't stop the game from being enjoyable. It's a way of being together.

Does she recognize you? She may not recognize me in a narrowly cognitive sense. But my mom does recognize me as someone who's there with her. Someone familiar, perhaps. And she doesn't need to have all the details sorted out in order to care for me. The impulse to care, the habit of caring, these are things that run deep in my mother.

Someone who, for most of her life, was very engaged in caring for other people, her children, her husband, her grandchildren, her friends. Even some of the behavioral quirks that my mom has developed make sense to me in those terms as expressions of care. Here's an example. People with dementia often engage in repetitive behaviors, and mom is no exception.

When I take her out to a cafe, I usually get a cup of black coffee for myself and order a cup of hot chocolate for her. Not too hot, and don't forget the whipped cream on top. As we drink them, she checks constantly to see whether my cup and hers are even, whether the liquids have been drunk down to the same level. And if not, she'll hurry up and drink more to catch up, or else stop and wait for me.

Or if we share a cookie, she's concerned to make sure that the halves be the same size and that we eat them at the same rate. I think keeping track of whether our drinks and cookies are even comes naturally to my mother, a woman who has always had to carefully divide quite limited resources, first with her own brothers and later among her four children.

She's cared about such details all her life, and caring about them was also a way in which she cared for other people. Mom also does still take care of me in some small but important ways. One time, a little more than a year ago, I stopped by the assisted living facility where she was living at the end of a very busy day and an especially hectic week. I had stayed up very late the night before trying to finish grading student papers, then spent the whole day teaching and in meetings.

I went with her up to her room, I turned on the TV, and we sat down together on the couch. I was exhausted. I leaned back and yawned. Mom patted my hand and said to me, "You're tired. Just go ahead and sleep. You can just lay down right here." And so I sat there next to my mom, holding her hand, feeling her warmth against me all along one side of my body. And I leaned my head on her shoulder and slept.

Does she recognize you? For a while, after we first moved my mother into an assisted living facility, she often said that she wanted to go home. I understood this to mean that she wanted to move back to the house where she had lived for 40 years until my father's death, the house in which I grew up.

Usually, I responded with my own mild version of reality orientation, explaining as gently as possible that that house was all empty and cold now, and nobody was there to keep her company or help her do stuff, so it was probably better to stay here. One time, though, I asked her a question instead. You mean home to the house up in Edmonds? No, on the farm, she answered. You go down...

With her raised arm, she traced out the curve of a long-ago road. For the first few years of her life, my mother had lived on a small farm in southern Idaho before her father moved the family to Seattle during World War II to seek work on the docks. "'They're inside there,' she added. "'Who?' I asked. "'My mom and my dad. "'My mother's in her 70s. "'Her parents are not waiting for her inside an Idaho farmhouse.'"

You could use that evidence to draw a clear line between us. Me, here, on the side of reality, competence, personhood, recognition. Her over there, on the side of delusion, incapacity, not quite fully human. But what she was longing for was her childhood home. She missed her mom and dad. She was trying, in her own way, to hold onto them.

just as I was trying, against the odds, to hold on to her. Our predicament is exactly the same. Janelle Taylor. She's a professor at the University of Toronto, teaching medical anthropology. Her mom, Charlene Taylor, died in 2019. Janelle is collecting this essay, I know there's a lot to mention, into a book. You can find a link to the original academic article that she wrote at our website.

Deck 4, can I help you? Okay, here's one last example of a question that has another question lurking behind it. The question goes like this. If Matthew scored an average of 15 points per basketball game and played 24 games in one season, how many points did he score in the season? That's a question from the SHSAT, which is a standardized test given to middle school students in New York City. A high score on the SHSAT will get you into one of the eight top public schools in the city. Wonderful schools.

A low score will keep you in the regular public school system where your school may be assigned by lottery. So the question lurking behind that math question is, are you good enough? Are you good enough to go to the best schools? And maybe from there to the best colleges. And from there to all the advantages you get from that kind of education, including a higher income, maybe a better job, all the sorts of stuff.

Kind of a big, scary chasm opening up in the earth behind that innocent little math problem. For five years, Milo Kramer tutored kids who wanted to leap over that chasm and into those eight elite high schools. At first, it made Milo feel good. Because I thought I was helping children. And I only gradually came to understand that I was really just a fucked-up cog in a larger fucked-up system. This recording is from a one-person show that Milo did this fall about the kids they tutored. Right?

I worry a little that it's going to be hard to get across over the radio what's so special about this show. Most of it is songs, songs about the kids that Milo tutored. These very funny and heartbreaking portraits of these middle school and high school kids and Milo's relationship to them.

Like, for example, the boy who takes a lot of pleasure denouncing God and the Democrats. Jason's 16 and he proudly identifies as libertarian. He's a 16-year-old libertarian. I'm kind of afraid of him. Milo is not a great singer. They would tell you that themselves. Or a skilled musician.

But they've written songs in secret since they were the age that these kids are, that they're writing about. And there's just something in the intentional roughness and sincerity of what they're doing. It kind of matches the rawness of these kids and their feelings and of Milo's reactions to them. When a girl from Queens named Dana, who's better at math than Milo and probably should be a scientist or engineer someday, tells Milo that if she does end up in college, she wants to study theater.

Milo, who's broke and struggling and wanting to do theater, sings... I want to tell her not to. I want to tell her not to. You cannot study theater. You have to study math. You're good at math. You're failing math. You want to study theater? Theater doesn't matter. There's a pandemic. Lots of the songs in the show are about the kids' anxieties about school and this test and all the pressure they feel from their parents.

And they're about Milo trying to figure out not just how to teach them, but what they possibly could say to comfort them. Faith, for example, is a terrible reader. Faith says, I think I'm stupid. I can't read, I guess I'm stupid. I get B's, I must be stupid. I say, I don't think you're stupid. Faith repeats, I'm sure I'm stupid. If you think I'm smart, please prove it. ♪

I tell her intelligence is unmeasurable and different in every individual. Faith just looks at me and says, "No." I say, "Yes." She says, "No." She says, "No, no, no, no." I say, "When I was your age, my mom hid all my report cards from me.

When I asked her what my grades were, she always told me, you're right where you should be. You're right where you should be. I read your show today is about questions. And to close out the show, I'm just going to play you one more thing. This is one full song from Milo's show about a question that a student faced. It's an essay question.

Divya has to respond to the question, "Is Shakespeare's Othello racist?" in a five-paragraph essay for her white teacher by Monday. And she says, "Just tell me the answer, please. I have so much homework this week. I need to get this done as fast as possible. Is Othello racist? Yes or no?"

I'm like, have you read the play? She's like, yes, and I watched the Laurence Fishburne movie. I'm like, great, so what do you think? She's like, I don't know. I'm 15. I'm afraid to say the wrong thing. I'm like, same.

This stuff is hard to talk about, but you've got to trust yourself, even though you've also got to constantly question and interrogate yourself. Either way, you've got to try. You've got to try. You've got to try, try, try, try, try.

I'm desperate to do a good job Divya's Indian American mom can hear us in the next room I do not know what to do Divya looks at the assignment rubric to see how she'll be graded She needs a clear defensible thesis followed by three unique body paragraphs I can tell she's overwhelmed

I say, remember, grades don't matter, Divya. Learning can't be measured. Just trust how you feel you did. She says, maybe grades don't matter if you're rich, but in my family, grades are so important.

I think I thought at first that Divya didn't have the words to talk about the play in any nuanced way. But now I start to think that her understanding is deeper than my own. And she might never talk to me about Othello honestly and shouldn't have to. Finally, I decide she just wants me to provide her with some easy answer to satisfy her teacher and get her through the semester unscathed.

So I'm like, okay. Your teacher is either looking for an essay that's like, yes, Othello is very racist. The story of the play is there's this super professionally and romantically successful black man all of these white guys are jealous of and cannot handle. That tension is resolved.

When the white guys tricked Othello into murdering his wife, thereby turning him into the brutish stereotype they wanted him to be all along. That the title role was performed in blackface for centuries underscores this. Moreover, that's a good, that's kind of a transition word, Divya. Moreover, I mean, my next body paragraph will be about, moreover, Desdemona's whiteness, in contrast, is repeatedly presented as innately good, innocent, and desirable.

That's one essay you could write that would get an A. The other essay you could write that would also get an A goes, no, Othello is not super racist. Othello is a flawed attempt at anti-racism in that it's Shakespeare's only play to center a dynamic black protagonist. The play was banned in apartheid South Africa for depicting an interracial relationship.

Moreover, the play's most prejudiced characters are always presented as either stupid, Rodrigo, or evil, Iago. It would be a mistake to conflate the perspectives of these characters with the meanings of the work as a whole. Either of those essays would get A's, Divya, but what your teacher's reductive yes or no prompt does not allow for is an essay that's like what I think I think, which is something like, "Othello is a product and reflection of another culture, Elizabethan England,

400 years old, written at a time when race was just being invented as a system of power. The play later became a cultural export of the British Empire, which colonized black and brown people around the world. The play remains a bestseller of the Shakespeare industrial complex. In other words, Divya, Othello and racism are so indelibly linked that the question, is Othello racist, seems to confuse both what racism is and what artworks are.

In my opinion, what's really racist, Divya, is that we are required to read Othello for the billionth time that it's on the curriculum at your Brooklyn public high school even though the play is boring. When we could be reading any number of contemporary black playwrights.

Divya responds, "Don't hate me, but I kinda liked reading Othello. The story is really crazy and the language is really pretty."

Milo Kramer and the one person show School Pictures, recorded at Playwrights Horizons in New York. To hear more songs for the show or to book them to come to your town, go to milokramer.com. That's Kramer with a C, milokramer.com.

Well, our program was produced today by Zoe Chase. The people who put together today's show include Jendayi Banz, Sean Cole, Michael Comete, Bethel Hapti, Khanna Jaffe, Walt, Catherine Raimondo, Stone Nelson, Safia Riddle, Lily Sullivan, Frances Swanson, Christopher Sertala, Marisa Robertson-Textra, Matt Tierney, Nancy Updike, Julie Whitaker, and Diane Wu. I'm your host,

Our managing editor is Sara Abdurrahman. Our senior editor is David Kestenbaum. Our executive editor is Emmanuel Berry. Original music for The Comedian's Story by Ryan Rumery, who also helped mix the show. Special thanks today to Lauren Kessler. Her book is Finding Life in the Land of Alzheimer's. Also thanks to Galia Walt, Michael Rosenthal, Diana Taylor-William, Mike Taylor, Pat Taylor, David Johnson, Rachel Jackson, Tom O'Keefe, and Jolie Myers.

Who cares? Who cares? Who cares?

I'm Eric Glass. Back next week, there's more stories of This American Life.