Loading summary
Transcript108 lines
- [00:00]
Kevin Allison
Folks in my 40s and 50s, one of my biggest disappointments has been that no one ever really taught me about skin care. I just come from a generation of Midwestern men who were really out of the loop for decades. So in recent years I have experimented with a gazillion skincare products. But I found it's just so overwhelming. There's so many different things I've tried that left me saying, okay, is this doing anything? You know, there's a lot of wrinkles now and the dullness and looseness and the dark circles and bags under the eyes, it stresses me out. So I have to say I'm also genuinely grateful that that our sponsor, One Skin sent me their OS1 peptide products for the face and under eye treatment. I'm actually seeing and feeling an unmistakable difference. My skin is brighter and it's tighter, it's softer, it's not greasy. And even the under eye, the tired, dark, saggy stuff is fading away. The thing is, as we age, some skin cells stop functioning the way they should. Longevity scientists call them zombie cells. And One Skin's OS1 peptide was specifically engineered to address those doing something most skin care was never built to do. Their results are backed by four peer reviewed clinical studies, over 10,000 five star reviews. And it was all born from over a decade of longevity research. One Skin's OS1 peptide is proven to target the visible signs of aging, helping you unlock your healthiest skin now and as you age. For a limited time, try one skin with 15% off using the code R I S K at Oneskin co risk. That's 15% off OneSkin Co with the code Risk. After you purchase, they'll ask you where you heard about them. Please support our show and tell them we sent you. Hey sweetie. Your mother showed me this Carvana thing for selling the car. I'm gonna give it a try. Wish me luck.
- [02:49]
Chesley Calloway
Me again.
- [02:50]
Kevin Allison
I put in the license plate. It gave me an offer. Unbelievable. Okay, I accepted the offer. They're picking it up Tuesday from the driveway. I haven't even left my chair.
- [03:00]
Gretchen Menter
It's done.
- [03:01]
Kevin Allison
The car is gone. I'm holding a check anyway. Carvana, give it a whirl. Love ya.
- [03:06]
Dan Kennedy
So good you'll want to leave a voicemail about it. Sell your car today on Carvana. Pick up fees may apply.
- [03:13]
Chesley Calloway
Zootopia 2 has come home to Disney.
- [03:16]
Kevin Allison
Let's go get ready for a new case.
- [03:18]
Dan Kennedy
We're going to crack this case and prove work. According partners of all time. New friends, you are Gary the Snake and your last Name Desnake Dream Team.
- [03:28]
Chesley Calloway
The New habitats Zootopia has a secret reptile population. You can watch the record breaking phenomenon at home. You're clearly working at it.
- [03:38]
Ross Kennedy
Zootopia 2. Now available on Disney. Rated PG.
- [03:43]
Dan Kennedy
Morning Decisions. How about a creamy mocha Frappuccino drink? Or sweet vanilla smooth caramel maybe? Or a white chocolate mocha? Whichever you choose, delicious coffee awaits. Find Starbucks Frappuccino drinks wherever you buy your groceries.
- [04:05]
Kevin Allison
Hey, folks, this is Risk, the show where people tell true stories they never thought they'd dare to share. I'm Kevin Allison, and every Thursday we release these special episodes where we look back at content from our earlier years. This one is pretty appropriately timed for Father's Day this year, and this episode features the late, great Colleen Hindsley. And in 2024, we ran an episode called what a Vision where another hero of the New York storytelling scene, Robin Gelfenbein, shared stories about Colleen as a memorial. So if you love Colleen's story on this episode as much as we do, look up that what a Vision episode also. This week's episode premiered in August of 2013, and it's an episode we call My Old Man.
- [05:25]
Gretchen Menter
Waiting.
- [05:54]
Kevin Allison
Hello, kids. This is Risk, the show where people tell true stories they never thought they'd dare to share. I'm Kevin Allison. This is Boobamara Brass band behind me now. We're calling today's episode My Old Man. All four of these stories are about dads. And it just occurred to me that they're pretty cool dads. In this particular little roundup. I'm used to dads showing up in stories, kind of being on the more jackass y side, folks and undulating mob of bastards and bird brains. But the dads we bring you today are an okay bunch. You know, when I separated from my husband, I was 40 and I thought, oh my God, how am I gonna date again at this age? You know, like the Louis CK idea. But I didn't realize that there's a whole trendy genre of dudes in the gay community's eyes called daddies. We're appreciated simply for being, you know, a little bit schlubbier. And on the worn out end, there's even a New York magazine cover, rise of the Daddies, a sexy niche. So I spent my 20s when I was single, just completely uncomfortable in my own skin. And in my 40s. Now that I'm in this, like, hip demographic without, by the way, ever having to go through the very real work of being a daddy, I'm having a Whale of a time. In a little bit, we're going to hear from Gretchen Mentor, a writer here in New York City. But before that, we're going to hear from Chesley Calloway. Chesley Calloway, it's an amazing name and Chesley is an amazing guy. He is the host of, I would say, one of the very most important stand up comedy shows in New York City right now. Comedy as a second language is every third Thursday at Cabin, and it really is something to see. So without further ado, here he is at the risk Live show in New York City. This is Chesley Calloway with a story we call Eye on the Wind.
- [08:47]
Chesley Calloway
I grew up in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and this story is about my dad who grew up in rural Mississippi. I'm talking about like the Gulf Coast Mississippi. And like most people around his age in that place and time, he is a huge redneck, that guy. But unlike most rednecks, though, he has something a little special. He's actually like redneck mixed with a hippie, if that makes any sense. He showed me this photograph one time and it was a picture of him leaning against a motorcycle. His motorcycle with long flowing hair, cowboy boots. And in one hand he's like showing the peace sign and the other hand he's holding up like a big fat pistol. It's like, oh, my God, that's What a sight. I mean, I appreciated his hippie side for sure because he had a lot of friends that would like, drop the N word because they were rednecks and they were racist. But he always made it a point to tell us, look, that word is wrong, don't use it under any circumstances, which I appreciated. That was his hippie side, his love and equality. That having been said, he just wasn't really around much when I was growing up. He did refrigeration work in South Louisiana, where we grew up, which there's no shortage of down there. It's very, very hot. If you've never been down there, he's always doing that. He was hunting and fishing all the time. He's always in the outdoors. So my mom basically raised me and my two younger brothers and she worked full time, then also worked like extra jobs like sold Tupperware and stuff to keep us in private schools because the public schools in Louisiana are just abysmal. So, yeah, my dad, like most of my childhood, he was just in the woods. Like, that's just. Yup, dad, he's in the woods this weekend again, either hunting season or deer season or there's Always some season going on, preparing for the season. Every once in a while, he would bring me out into the woods, and I hated it because I always was so inept at outdoorsman stuff. Like, his friends would make fun of me, and it was so annoying. My dad, who went by Sonny, his name is Chesley Calloway as well. But my grandfather, he went by Chess. So no one told me I could just make up a nickname. I wish someone would have told me that before. I'd have stuck with Chesley. It's pretty annoying. I probably would have been like a Ninja Turtle or something. Ridiculous. They'd have told me. They were like. His friends would be like, oh, Sonny's kid. He can't put a cricket on a hook, man. How's he gonna catch a fish if he can't bite a hook? You know, like, it's like, I don't know. He's like, you can't kill a deer if you can't tell the direction of the wind. Come on. They would just laugh at me all the time. I'm just like, man. And I hated it. Cause I was embarrassed. I felt like a burden. And, you know, I would rather be at home playing Super Nintendo anyway. So, like, I didn't want to be there. So, you know, there's always this gulf, this disconnect between me and my dad. And I never thought it would really ever be bridged. Until one day when I was 15 years old, I was at my friend Ryan's house, and we were sitting down on his back patio, and he busted out this little tiny bag of marijuana. A little dime bag, little tiny thing. And I was like. And I was too scared. I was like, oh, like, drugs. Like, I was from, you know, the DARE program. I was like, oh, all drugs lead to, like, immediate certain death. You know, that's what I was taught. And so I was, you know, pretty terrified. But as soon as he opened it up and the scent hit my nose, I was just like, oh, my God. I was transported back to being a little kid. I had this total flashback, and I was just like a toddler. And I walked into, like, my parents room. And I don't know if he didn't see me, but my dad was in there with his, like, shaggy beard and his long hair, like, flannel shirt. And I'm walking in, you know, a little scrawny me, a little he man, you know, haircut, stumbling. And he has a Tupperware container that he was peeling open. And we always were well stocked in Tupperware because of My mom's job. So he peeled back this Tupperware container and that smell filled the room. And I'd forgotten that just entirely. Wow. And then he saw me. I get. And he saw me. He's like, well, get. He, like, talked to me like a dog. He's like, get, get out of here.
- [12:55]
Gretchen Menter
Get, get.
- [12:56]
Chesley Calloway
Like. He's like, okay. But it wasn't until, you know, flash forward back to when I was 15. I was just sitting there and my friend's like, are you okay? And I'm just kind of like, oh, my God. I think my dad smokes pot. Oh my God. Oh, no. But he's alive. I thought all those people died that smoked pot, you know, it was like pot and heroin, the same thing. That's what they taught us. And so I was like, oh. My dad was obviously still very much alive and I wanted to find out as quickly as possible what the hell was going on. And later that evening, I was bugging him to take me to McDonald's, give me some McNuggets. And he'd only had three beers, so he's like, all right, I'll drive you there. So we're in his old beat up pickup truck. And I remember being like, so, dad, one of my friends, I'm not telling you who, he had a little bit of weed today. And it reminded me back when we were at our old house. The Tupperware container. What do you think about drugs? He was just like, well, I gotta say, in moderation, there are some drugs that just. If it doesn't affect the way you do your job or live your life or treat your friends, in moderation, they're all right. You know what, Smoking a little grass now and then, I think it's all right. And I burnt down a whole bunch of it. He's like, no. You know, but then, you know, drinking a six pack after work, and I work hard, you know, all day, I could drink a few beers and. But now be careful. There are life ruining drugs. Never do anything with needles. I've got friends that have died from weird diseases and overdoses and just never, never touched needles. I found out later he just actually was afraid of needles. But that probably, probably also happened. He would pass out at the doctor's office. You know, it's like. And cocaine, I do not recommend cocaine now. In the 80s, I did a bunch of cocaine. You know, it was a goddamn snowstorm. I mean, I've seen people lose their jobs and their house and their families because they couldn't control it. They couldn't snort cocaine in moderation. I don't recommend doing that. But, you know, if you drink a six pack and smoke a little grass, I don't think there's anything wrong with that. I was like, you know, I was stunned. I was just kind of like, oh, that's like the exact opposite of what the DARE people told me. And it was like the most antithetical thing. Like, all the authority figures in my life, you know, the pastor, my mom, the teachers, like, they were all. They would have, like, just reeled in horror at this. My dad just being like, oh, yeah, drugs. Come on, man. Half a Valium every once in a while, whatever. Like, it would have been so and so. Like, you know, it was a secret. Like, it would still be another year before I ended up smoking because I was terrified. Religious guilt. So I had to work up the courage. So it was another year that went by. But I kept our secret, our conversation. I always had it in mind. And when I finally did start smoking weed, everything changed. I got invited to go on the hunting and fishing trips again. I hadn't gone for years, but I started to get invited again. Not because I was good at any of that stuff. I still was terrible, but I was fun to hang out with. All the guys used to make fun of me. All of a sudden, they're making sure I had a cold beer. And I was always like, I got passed out drunk and high with those guys so many times. Those guys are ridiculous. And I asked him, you guys were always so mean to me when I was little. Like, what was that about? You guys always laughed at me. They're like, oh, we weren't trying to be mean. We were just real high. We laughed at everything. Like, I had a complex. Thanks a lot. And so, you know, I learned to bait the hook and read the wind. And I killed a couple deer. My dad helped me get a pickup truck. And a true sign of redneckery. Like, it was built 10 years before I was born. And it broke down all the time, big mud tires. But when it broke down, like, my dad and I, you know, we would fix it together, you know, like, we were friends, we were buddies, and we had a. It was good times. He would tell me, like, good ways, like, you know, some good stuff to, like, smoke weed, to, like, avoid the law. He's like, what I do when I smoke on the go, I take a joint and I break into thirds, little tiny pieces. I smoke them down and I toss them out because I don't want the light. You smoke a Whole joint and it smells up your car. Little roaches lying around. No, I smoke a third. Toss it out. I call it a bullet. It looks like a.22 caliber bullet. Smoke down a bullet. It's good advice. It works like now, if you're smoking on the go. Like, one time we were in Florida, a family vacation. We were in the minivan. He's like, all right, we're smoking on the go. You can't smoke up the car at all. You just gotta stop at one of these. Do it yourself car washes. Get out. Like you're checking the air pressure on your tire. Get down. He has the air pressure thing and everything is like. Gets down. Little gauge, like, check the air in your tire. Smoke down a bullet and toss it out. Yeah, and be sure to watch the wind, though, because you don't want the smoke to blow out towards the highway. That's where the police are. Be careful. He had always great, you know, great advice, practical advice, but the good times would not last. We eventually grew back apart, but more because of ideology more than anything else. You know, in a very stereotypical fashion, I went off to college and became like a firebrand, like, mean radical leftist, which in Baton Rouge is just like a moderate Democrat, but ridiculous. But so, you know, when my dad, for sophomore year, I came home and I was just like, all right, well, I'm not eating meat anymore. I'm not doing that any. I'm not. I'm a vegetarian. And he was just like. It was like a poison tipped arrow, like, in my dad's heart. It was just like, what? Oh, man, no son of mine's gonna be vegetarian. Oh, my God. It was like, you know, he was like treason. You know, it was like. And the gulf widened again. It was just. And he would always poke fun at me anytime I was around, like, where he's like, oh, I hope that salad's good when I'm eating. Had a face. And it was delicious. And it was just. And it continued to get worse, like, with the invasion of Iraq. I was outspoken about the invasion. And he was just like, oh, you gotta support them troops, man. That's the hot, you know, USA patriotism. I'm like, they're sending those kids over there to die for oil. It's a sham. It's terrible. Like, you know, and we. It was tense. It was a very tense time to fall in. Like, very radically different, you know, ends of the spectrum. And so finally 2005, I was like, I'm out of here. I'm moving to New York. I'm sick of conservatism. I want to pursue, you know, my dream of being a professional standup comedian. I'm out of here. And he's like, can't you just live somewhere, like, within, you know, a day's drive? Goddamn Austin, Texas, or Atlanta, Georgia. I don't know, somewhere he wanted me to be at least close enough to, like, you know, have access to me. I didn't realize it then, but he just wanted to be near me. But I was locked and loaded to nyc. And so the Gulf widened even more. But then time passes, and living in New York, you're not surrounded by the insane religious right and everything else. I mellowed out over time, and he did, too. And it got to the point where we kind of started being able to come together again. And he would go on conservative rants. But now we could just smoke a joint and have a few beers and it'd be okay. He'd be like, I don't know if Obama is definitely a Muslim, but he's certainly a communist. I'm just like, dad, the joint's not a microphone. Pass your shit over here. I even got him a vaporizer for Christmas. So, you know, he's getting too old to smoke. That's the. You gotta, you know, vaporize. So it's one of the things I'm still trying to get him to visit here. After seven years as a vegetarian, I actually started eating meat again. So that's when I fully became his son again. Whenever he was like, I could eat some of the meat from one of the deer that here. One of my brothers killed, you know, I'm like, oh, he's my son again. And we came back together. We come back together on those things, on drugs and eating meat. True Southerners. And I wanted to visit New York, but he's, like, terrified. He's just like, no, I don't think it's safe. And I'm just like, dad, you have to come visit. They deliver amazing weed right to our door. It's amazing. And, you know, we can go out to Prospect park out in Brooklyn. We can get super high. But don't worry, I'm always looking out for cops out there when I go out there. We can go out there and smoke, and we'll do just like you always taught me. We're gonna keep an eye on the win. Always, always keep an eye on the wind. Thank you. What you doing? Jesus, dad. You almost made me crap. Did you get your homework done?
- [21:44]
Ross Kennedy
Yeah, a long time ago.
- [21:49]
Kevin Allison
What are you, stone?
- [21:51]
Chesley Calloway
No, Seriously, you smell like pot.
- [21:53]
Ross Kennedy
Are you smoking pot?
- [21:55]
Chesley Calloway
You can tell me.
- [21:56]
Ross Kennedy
No, I'm not using grass.
- [21:59]
Chesley Calloway
No. You don't use grass?
- [22:00]
Gretchen Menter
No.
- [22:01]
Chesley Calloway
Then what's that smell? What smell? It's probably a skunk outside something.
- [22:08]
Gretchen Menter
Oh, yeah, sure.
- [22:09]
Kevin Allison
Skunk, Yeah.
- [22:25]
Gretchen Menter
I have what I would describe as a pretty crazy fear of death. And I think the reason, if I had to pinpoint something, why I have a fear of death, is because I was raised by a family who ran a combination ambulance, hearse and embalming service from our family garages. It was started by my grandparents in the 50s, and my dad took it over in the 80s. He was, and still is an embalmer. Before that, he was a medic and has driven an ambulance since he was 13 years old. So by the time my brother and I were born, we were surrounded by ambulances and hearses and cots full of dead bodies. But there was a normalcy to it because my dad would go to work across the driveway and he would come back at night or in the middle of the day, and he was sort of always around our dinner table. Conversations were probably a little bit different. We would talk about how someone had sneezed in the morning and had an aneurysm, or how a roofer had fallen off during a job and cracked his skull open and his brain had rolled out of his head, but he had lived. So we were, you know, always sort of presented with this information that I think made my brother and I understand that life is this huge navigation between life and death. How, you know, the craziest things that you think will for sure kill you, don't kill you. You can live through them. You can be, you know, you're fine. You have a normal life after that. And things that you think would never get you can kill you in an instant. When we were little, if we needed money or anything from my dad, we'd think nothing of walking into the embalming room and he would raise his hands over his head and we would reach into his pocket for money. Or, you know, we would go and talk to him and sit in the corner in this big yellow chair that he had while he embalmed. But as I got older, I did less and less of that just because I really hated it. And, you know, it was something that we all sort of shared. My brother even hated it. He's now an embalmer himself and he still hates it. But it was how we lived, and it worked really well until I was about 22. When I was 22, I would say that things really started to unravel. And I think they really started to unravel, beginning with a conversation that my father and I had in a local bar. I had come home for Christmas and he asked me if I wanted to meet him for a beer before I went home. So I agreed. You know, we were talking about nothing particularly exciting until he said, what would you say if I told you that I had a girlfriend? Which is just sort of one of those things that you never ever, ever expect your father to say. So I was pretty taken aback. I didn't. I didn't really know what I felt or what I thought. I didn't know. I knew it wasn't a joke because it was just too strange to be a joke. Probably my very first thought was, mom is gonna, she's gonna kill you. She's gonna murder you and then we'll have to find another embalmer to take care of you. But what I ended up saying to him was, you know, I would say, I just want you to be happy. And I think, because I think a couple things, I think, you know, I was living in New York and I thought of myself as a grown up and I thought that I didn't need any sort of semblance of family or order because I hadn't really thought through the steps of what that would look like for our family. My dad in the recent years before that had been diagnosed with cancer. He had been through radiation a couple times, it hadn't fixed the cancer. He had seen a 57 year old man, which is how old he was at the time, die of cancer, who had a son and a daughter. They were the same ages as my brother and I. And I think it sort of changed his perspective and his values and his understanding of how he should be leading his life. The woman who he had fallen in love with was actually the woman who ran the local morgue. So it was a match made in heaven, I suppose in a lot of ways. We found out more and more details about her when my mom hired a private investigator and, you know, sort of our normalcy was redefined at that point. And we became this modern day family of an embalmer and his girlfriend and his wife and his kids. One who lives in New York and one who is taking over the business from him. And I think through the years I started to see how much this would change our family. I started to see that I would come home for Christmas and he would not be at Christmas. His girlfriend, he and his girlfriend were not obviously welcome at My mom's dinner table and they shouldn't have been, you know, and we would divide holidays and we would try to go see my dad in this little apartment that he and his girlfriend rented at the edge of town. And he had one of those little mini Christmas trees that he set up that was sort of at a 45 degree angle on his kitchen table. And I think as time passed more and more, I just, I sort of missed that order. And I missed my family and I missed my dad. I think you could describe my dad in general as this sort of really jovial, magical guy. You know, if you wanted to do fireworks on August 15th, because you wanted to do fireworks on August 15th, my dad would get up in the middle of the night and set fireworks off. He was just one of those guys who always was willing to listen and he would raise one eyebrow and have something maybe totally unrelated to say in response. But you appreciated it anyway. Feeling that absence of him in my 20s felt bigger than I ever thought that it would. So I found myself starting to think about things that I hadn't thought that I would do. I started to find myself thinking, well, maybe to spend some time with him, I could spend some time in the embalming room. And that especially seemed like a viable option because it was really the only time that you could get him away from the girlfriend. It was the only time that you could get an organic conversation like you used to have with him when you were a kid. So when I came home, I started to make that part of my routine. But the time that really, really stands out in my head as a moment that we really shared was the time that we embalmed Tiny. You know, normally I wouldn't embalm with him. I might just sit in the corner and, you know, sort of silently panic. But at this specific time, it really felt like something that I needed to do because I just, I felt like I needed to have some sort of connection with my dad that I hadn't had in a very, very long time. Tiny was a 94 year old woman who was probably about 5ft tall, hence the nickname Tiny. Her real name was Virginia, but my dad said that Virginia was a tall person's name, so she couldn't go by Virginia. And the day that we embalmed her, I can still remember his embalming room, which looked the same all the time anyway, but it's sort of filled with rosary beads and glass eyes and tongue rings and he's got a menu for the local fish fry hung by his phone. So I was sitting there with my dad and I wanted to know why Tiny died. Because part of my whole thing about navigating life and death is being able to understand, you know, why did this 94 year old die? And even though she's 94, I can't come to terms with why she had to die. So I looked at her death certificate and it said that she had died of heart failure. Which my dad at that point was like, well, everybody dies of heart failure. You know, you have to. Your heart has to stop before you can die. But we carried on and I helped him. I stood on the side of the table and helped him hold her head as he nailed her mouth shut so that it would be closed when she had calling hours. I helped him find the carotid artery he cut into the sides of Tiny's neck, and then he cut into the sides of her legs to flow chemicals in through her neck and in through her groin. And that, I think, is what I was really struck by, was after Tiny's blood was gone and after he connected her to the machine and flowed the chemical through her, you could see her body change from gray to peach. And I was so aware of how fine that line is between life and death and how she went from appearing almost not human to looking like my grandma. And it was very strange. And I felt a lot of fear and a lot of anxiety and like, I really wanted to cry and like, I wasn't sure why I was doing. Doing this. And then he asked me if I wanted to stitch up her femoral cuts, which I did not really want to stitch up her femoral cuts, if we're being honest, because I was having enough of a hard time just standing next to her, let alone touching her. But I did it because he gave me a needle and he took another needle himself and he stood across from me. And it was one of those times in your life where you will never forget while you are standing across from your father, who is 57 years old, has survived cancer, but still has some in his blood and has a girlfriend and lives in this weird apartment at the edge of town and has a shitty, like, half Christmas tree. And we are stitching together, I'm watching how he does it, and I'm holding Tiny's skin and it feels like cold rubber. And every time the needle pops through, I think about, will this happen to me someday? Will I be dead like this someday? Did Tiny know that she'd be here? That this would be. You know, it's just this whole sort of like, rush of emotion that I can't really understand. But when I walked away at the end of the day, I think my big takeaway was that I cannot spend my life avoiding the idea of death or avoiding the idea of sickness because there's so much that I'll miss. And this moment with my dad meant so much to me that I would face these things that I'm absolutely horrified of because the idea of losing him, or the idea of him dying, or the idea of not seeing him in an embalming room or otherwise when I come home for a holiday is much greater than my fear of sneezing and dying of an aneurysm in the morning. So I think I decided on that day that I can manage my own fears of death so that I can more appropriately live my life.
- [34:13]
Kevin Allison
Folks, if you love Risk, one way you can support us for free is by writing us reviews and giving us five star ratings on Apple Podcasts or or podchaser or Spotify. A five star rating can be so helpful to bringing new listeners to the show. Thank you so much. We are so grateful.
- [34:41]
Chesley Calloway
This episode is brought to you by Google Chrome.
- [34:43]
Kevin Allison
You think you know a browser, but Gemini and Chrome?
- [34:46]
Gretchen Menter
That's new.
- [34:46]
Dan Kennedy
It can help you with practically anything
- [34:48]
Chesley Calloway
on the web, like restoring a vintage
- [34:50]
Kevin Allison
motorcycle from a 50 page restoration block,
- [34:52]
Chesley Calloway
or finally break down that long article you've had open for weeks. Gemini and Chrome is here for it, ready to make anything online make sense. There's no place like Chrome. Check responses set up Required compatibility and
- [35:03]
Dan Kennedy
availability various 18 plus what happens when two people who grew up in a very strange corner of Los Angeles look back and realize just how bizarre their upbringings really were?
- [35:15]
Kevin Allison
They start a podcast, of course.
- [35:17]
Dan Kennedy
I'm Ashley Johnson.
- [35:18]
Kevin Allison
And I'm Taliesin Jaffe.
- [35:19]
Ross Kennedy
Before we became the Internet people we are today, we spent our childhoods as working actors, appearing in shows like Growing Pains and films like Mr.
- [35:27]
Gretchen Menter
Mom.
- [35:27]
Dan Kennedy
In our podcast Weird Kids, we're diving deep into our unique upbringings, our friendship with each other, and all the delightfully odd interests we still carry with us today.
- [35:38]
Ross Kennedy
In each episode, we get to share stories of our youth, the things that bring us joy, the problems that we face face, and occasionally, the friends we've collected along the way.
- [35:47]
Dan Kennedy
If you're a misfit, an outcast, or just a weirdo who loves all things nostalgic and unconventional, come take a seat at our table.
- [35:54]
Ross Kennedy
Each week we'll be releasing previously members only episodes on YouTube and all major podcast platforms, with new episodes dropping exclusively and ad free on Beacon TV.
- [36:05]
Chesley Calloway
Study and play come together on a Windows 11 PC. And for a limited time, college students
- [36:12]
Kevin Allison
get the best of both worlds.
- [36:15]
Chesley Calloway
Get the Unreal college deal. Everything you need to study and play with select Windows 11 PCs. Eligible students get a year of Microsoft 365 Premium and a year of Xbox Game Pass ultimate with a custom color Xbox wireless controller. Learn more@windows.com studentoffer while supplies last ends June 30th terms at aka Ms. CollegePC.
- [36:35]
Gretchen Menter
Mom, can you tell me a story?
- [36:37]
Dan Kennedy
Sure. Once upon a time, a mom needed a new car. Was she brave? She was tired mostly. But she went to Carvana.com and found a great car at a great price. No secret treasure map required.
- [36:47]
Gretchen Menter
Did you have to fight a dragon?
- [36:48]
Dan Kennedy
Nope. She bought it 100% online from her bed, actually.
- [36:52]
Chesley Calloway
Was it scary?
- [36:53]
Dan Kennedy
Honey, it was as unscary as car buying could be.
- [36:56]
Gretchen Menter
Did the car have a sunroof?
- [36:57]
Dan Kennedy
It did actually. Okay, good story. Car buying. You'll want to tell stories about Buy your car today on Carvana. Delivery fees may apply.
- [37:40]
Ross Kennedy
Can't you help me see.
- [37:46]
Chesley Calloway
Loving every minute cause you make me feel so alive alive Loving every minute cause you make me feel so alive Alive alive alive
- [38:08]
Kevin Allison
this is Risk. This is Empire of the sun behind me now. And we just heard from writer Gretchen Menter, who took a class with us at the Story Studio recently. And in fact, the next story you're going to hear will be by Colleen Hindsley, who also took a workshop with us at the Story Studio. There's a lot going on with the school right now, so for all our workshop offerings, our one on one coaching over Skype, our business consultation, our custom tailor workshops for staffs of businesses, our video course online. Go to thestorystudio.org in just a bit, we're going to hear from one of the original hosts of the moth, a beloved man in the storytelling world, Mr. Dan Kennedy. But before that, like I said, another of our students from the Story Studio, she's a singer and an actress. And she is Colleen Hindsley with a story we call the Voice.
- [39:11]
Chesley Calloway
Freedom is within you. Giving makes us feel good. Hello to my people. Say hello to the future.
- [39:27]
Dan Kennedy
Freedom is within you. My dad and I were sitting together in the waiting room of the clinic where he was receiving radiation treatments for his lung cancer. And he was really quiet that day, which was unusual for him because he was typically a very gregarious guy. But that day he was really quiet and seemed very sad. So I of course was doing my best to try to distract him and making small talk and teasing him and trying to get him to laugh, and he was having none of it. He. He wouldn't even look at me, let alone smile. So we just sat quietly for a few minutes and finally he started to move around a little bit and he. He made this gesture with his hand toward his throat. And he said, I can't sing anymore. And that was the only time I ever saw him cry. It's understandable that he'd be upset. He was so sick and he was weak. But really, because he had always had a beautiful booming baritone voice, especially his singing voice. And at that point, his voice had become a ghost of what it once was. It was thinner and bonier even than his body was becoming. And I had the feeling that he knew before then that his singing voice was disappearing. But I think it was the first time he ever said it out loud. And I know that I was the only one that he ever confided that to. My dad was a classically trained opera singer. He loved Pavarotti and all the opera singers, but he also loved popular music like Frank Sinatra. He loved, you know, whatever was on the radio, kind of in the 60s, the Rat Pack. He just loved it all. And he was always singing in the house. He had a huge record collection. And all of us were always singing too. We had this big three story house. We were all just yelling up and down the stairs and singing. And my dad would say, hey, listen to this. And he'd put a record on the high five and there would be some new song that he'd want us to listen to.
- [42:12]
Chesley Calloway
When the world is cold
- [42:15]
Kevin Allison
I will
- [42:16]
Ross Kennedy
feel a glow Just thinking of you.
- [42:23]
Dan Kennedy
So the house was always alive with music all the time. And my dad, he was the guy who could work a tune into any situation. He was known for just busting into song in the middle of a conversation. Or if you had a name, he could musicalize, he would do it. So if I brought a girlfriend home from school and she'd say, hi, I'm Katie, he would say, oh, Katie, beautiful Katie, you're the only guka girl that I adore. He was just so charming, and he loved an audience. My parents owned this great big Irish pub in the suburbs of Philadelphia, which was back in the days when the Irish bar was not America's favorite franchise. It was really a unique thing. The name of the place was Fiddler's Green, but we all just called it the Place.
- [43:15]
Chesley Calloway
Well, in the merry month of May not from me home I started left
- [43:19]
Dan Kennedy
the girls and Two and nearly broken
- [43:21]
Chesley Calloway
hearted Saluted father dear Kissed me darling mother Drank a pint of bear me
- [43:25]
Ross Kennedy
grief and tis the same More than
- [43:26]
Chesley Calloway
enough to reap a corn and leaf Where I was born Got a stout
- [43:30]
Dan Kennedy
mix hard upon his ghost and garrets
- [43:31]
Ross Kennedy
A brand new pair of rogues to rub with the bugs and frighten all
- [43:35]
Kevin Allison
the dogs and the rocky row It's
- [43:37]
Chesley Calloway
a double of 1 to 3 for 5.
- [43:40]
Dan Kennedy
Every Friday and Saturday night at the place, he would put on a show. He would have a piano player and a drummer, sometimes a singing partner. And people would come from all over to hear him sing.
- [43:53]
Gretchen Menter
They really would.
- [43:53]
Dan Kennedy
And he had this knack for remembering people, especially their names. And if you didn't have an Irish last name, he would have to give you one. So he'd be on the stage and a guy would walk in and he would yell out from the stage, dave O. Goldstein, thank God you're here. We've been waiting for you. Have a seat, have a seat. And he just included everybody in the show. Everybody felt like they were part of the family. And because it was, of course, an Irish place, the repertoire was mostly Irish music. And there were a million songs. There were fighting songs and drinking songs. There were love songs. There were songs about the famine and the troubles. There were these gut wrenching sad songs about wrongful imprisonment and long separations from your family. But there were also these songs about petty crimes, like who threw the overalls in Mrs. Murphy's chowder. And these were the songs. The crowd loved, the sing along songs. But my dad, his favorite, his passion was Broadway show tunes.
- [45:00]
Ross Kennedy
They couldn't pick a better time to start in life.
- [45:04]
Kevin Allison
It ain't too early and it ain't
- [45:06]
Gretchen Menter
too late Starting as a farmer with
- [45:09]
Kevin Allison
a brand new soon be living in a brand new state Brand new state
- [45:15]
Dan Kennedy
Going creature grave Loved them all. He loved everything from Cats to Camelot, the King and I, Carousel, you name it, he loved it. He would always try to work as many as he could into his show. And in fact, the big crowd pleaser was usually the Oklahoma medley, which you can imagine you're doing fine. Oklahoma, Oklahoma O K L A H O M A. Killed every time. Seriously, the crowd just loved it. He would also do a patriotic medley which would have songs like God Bless America and Yankee Doodle Dandy. And he would just get the crowd on their feet and we'd be marching around the place. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord the whole bar on their feet parading around the bar. He just had everybody, like I said, everybody was part of the show. As for me, I was the only one of his six kids that he could ever coax up onto the stage with him to sing. And when I was little, all he needed to say was, here's our Colleen. And I would come running eagerly up to the stage just to sing a few bars with whatever he was singing. But usually he would just start singing the Sun Will Come Out. And I would run up and just sing Tomorrow because that was my favorite song from my favorite musical, Annie. And it was very cute, and we loved to sing together. And I was so little. I was maybe five or six. And as I got a little older, I started to get shyer, partially because I started to recognize that my dad had this beautiful singing voice. And maybe I wasn't such a great singer because I was eight, but also, I kind of started to realize at that time that I wasn't the cutest kid on the block. I was kind of unfortunate looking as a kid, and I started to be really shy about that. So if my dad realized that I was being resistant to coming up on the stage, he would just look at me and say, sing out, kid. Sing out. And I would. I would get up and I would sing out, because that's what he told me to do. And that's what we did. So over the years, we continued to sing together, and when I was finally old enough to legally work in the bar, we really started to sing all the time together. And we started to settle into what would become our signature duet. And it was called you're never Fully Dressed Without a Smile. And it was also from the musical Annie. Every Friday and Saturday night, we would sing this song. He would start, hey Hoboman, hey, Dapper Dan. Then I'd join in. You've both got your styles together but, brother, you're never fully dressed without a smile. Every weekend we sang the song, we must have done that song together more than 200 times in my life. And we knew it all down pat. We knew every point where we could riff and wink at each other and smile and do our little patter. And it was really great. The audience loved it. They asked for it every week. And I had mixed feelings about it, though. I really remember having mixed feelings, because on the one hand, I idolized my dad. I loved singing with him, and I also loved the idea that he wanted to sing with me, and he was proud of me and he liked to sing with me. But on the other hand, by the time I got into my 20s, I was really into rock and roll and pop music. I really was not into Broadway tunes. And so secretly I thought the song was a little lame. And I had that feeling going in. And the other thing is that I was a waitress and a bartender at the place. By the time my dad would get around to saying, here's our Colleen and we could do our duet, the dinner rush would be over. I would be sweating and disheveled, wearing a dirty apron, reeking of cigarette smoke and French dressing and old dollar bills. And I'd have to go up there and sing with my six foot tall, dapper dad and his sports, with his baritone. And I just felt a little out of place. And sometimes I was embarrassed, but I always did it. I always sang out, because that's what we did. Eventually I left Philadelphia and I moved to New York. New York, New York, a hell of a town, the Bronx is up and the batteries down, which my father would sing to me every time I saw him. Him, I continued to sing on my own, not professionally, but for myself. And although I was very happy, sort of secretly happy, that the opportunities to sing our signature song became fewer and farther between. But now I can't remember the last time we sang together. I can't remember the time when we sang, you're never fully dressed without a smile. I mean, obviously it was before my parents retired and sold the bar. It was before the place became a sports bar called Screwballs, before my dad's cancer. And thinking about that day in the waiting room, I had been thinking that my father was feeling so terrible because the treatments that were meant to make him better were actually making him feel worse. But really the absolute worst thing for him about being so sick was losing his voice, was not being able to sing. Our whole family at that time, we were all still optimistic. We really believed that he was going to beat the cancer, that he was going to get past this. And we were encouraging him to keep up with his treatments. We were taking him to the clinic. We were trying to keep his spirits up. But that day, to me, he said, it's gone and it's never coming back. And I wish that I could say that that day, in that moment that I sang to him, that I sang for him, but I couldn't. All I could do was sit there and hold his hand silently. And in the weeks to come, which would be his last weeks, I still couldn't sing. Right when my father was losing his voice, at a time when I could have, and probably should have filled the house with music and singing. I lost my voice, too. In fact, we all did. Music left our home entirely. We didn't have a wake. We didn't sing at the funeral. There wasn't a band at the lunch after the funeral, which for an Irish funeral is completely unheard of. And even for a Hindsley party, not having a band, not having even someone burst into a round of on the Way to Cape May or Take Me Back to Manny, Unk or Danny Boy. We just lost it all. After my father passed away, in those next months, that next year, all I can remember is quiet. I can't remember a moment where I felt happy, where I felt music, where I felt like singing. It was completely silent in my memory, almost like someone hit the mute button on my life. And it took me a long time to get back to. Took me probably more than a year before I was able to even sing in the shower or in the car. But finally I did. I started to sing again, little by little, with friends, finally in a band. And that felt amazing. That felt like I had found music again, like I had found my voice. And I was so happy and so relieved that that had happened. And now it's been about four years since dad passed away and the musical Annie came back to Broadway. I went to see it recently with some friends, and honestly, I was dreading it because I had this fear that hearing that music again, hearing our song would bring back all of that regret and that guilt that I'd been carrying about sending my father so silently into his death. I was afraid that it would reach up and steal my voice again. But sitting in the theater from the time that the opening strains of the music started all the way through to when those orphans were singing. You're never fully dressed without an smile. I just felt nothing but joy and happiness. And it was as if finally I understood that even though I didn't get to send my father off, I didn't get to sing him out of this life. He would be so thrilled and proud to know that I continue to sing through my own, that I continue to sing out. And I am. I am singing out.
- [55:48]
Ross Kennedy
Oh, man. So I'm 16 years old. This is in Northern California. Very, very, very rural town. I'm at home and it's maybe like a Tuesday night doing some homework with my friend Joe. This is really just like the end of the innocence. This is probably the one night in my high school career that I did homework at this age. I still haven't, like, started drinking. I still haven't started having sex. I Haven't started doing anything. So it's really like, I'm actually just sad that I was ever like that. And I've wound up like this just sort of hit me. So I was like, jesus, I really was innocent once. So anyway, Joe and I finished, like, doing this. And the one thing I will tell you about Joe in this rural community, he's the only friend, to this day I've ever had that had a pet bobcat named Maison Lextron. This is mostly because his mom would, God bless her, take in any. Any animal that was abandoned or injured or anything like that. And one of them happened to be a bobcat. So after school, he would go into his backyard. There would be no, you know, bobcat in sight. And then he would. He would yell the name Maison Lextron, and a bobcat would come out of hiding and just jump on him. So anyway, that's a small aside about Joe and about where I was living. So I wasn't really supposed to be living there. I had been living in Southern California with my parents when they got the idea to move up there wasn't going super hot for me. It was in Southern California finally. We wore, like, cool necklaces and cool bracelets and clothes that we thought were cool, and we had hair that we thought was cool. And now that I was living in Northern California, I was being asked why I dress like a girl pretty much daily in the eighth grade, usually while being physically struck. So Joe and I are done doing homework. Things are really kind of starting to look up in my life because I'm 16 and I can drive now. So I walk out of the living room and I go, hey, dad, I'm going to give Joe a ride home. We're, like, done doing homework, and why don't you give me the keys if you could, sir? And he said, joe lives five doors down, you know. And I was like, yeah, but it's been raining, so I should probably give him a ride. I mean, you know. And he was like, it's not raining now. And I was like, that's just it, though. It's, like, been off and on and, you know, showers, intermittent showers or whatever. So why don't I drive him? And just looking for any excuse to drive. So my dad goes, okay, fine. Here's the keys. Like, just be careful, you know, Like, I can't afford for anything to happen to that car right now. And I was like, yeah, like, obviously, you know, a little indignant as you are at 16. I'm, like, tired of being treated like a second class citizen dad. But obviously I'll be fine. So I drive up the road and I drop Joe off, and everything goes just fine with that. And then I make a decision, which is, instead of going going back home five doors down, why don't I take the long way? Why don't I take the loop that goes around back through the new houses, along the ledge of the canyon back there, and then back up the highway to my road where my parents live? And then I'll be done. So that all starts off just fine. I'm going down the new road. I'm going kind of fast. I'm like. I am kind of getting. I'm like, I'm going 50. This is a residential street. And then I was like, no, I'm might be going 55. And I'm, like, staring at the speedometer, trying to figure out how fast I'm going. And I'm like, yeah, that definitely says, like, 55, because there's a little mark in between 50 and 60. And I realize I'm not really looking at the road. And the other thing is, I can't figure out how to work a defroster. So I just have a little porthole, like, cleared out that I'm sort of staring through while staring at the speedometer. Something runs out in front of me. Now there's something turned out to be a rabbit. What I do now, here's my technique for when a rabbit runs out in front of me. If I'm driving a car, I keep going straight. And if the rabbit lives and gets off of the road, everything's fine. And if I hit it, then I suppose that would be terrible. But going straight has worked in adulthood. Back then, my technique was grab the wheel and jerk it violently to the left, like, as far as it'll go. Car goes sideways. I get thrown out of the driver's seat because I wasn't wearing a seatbelt. Hope my parents don't listen to this podcast. And then the back end goes up on this guy's yard, starts ripping out all these pipes and stuff. Everything's crazy. Things come off the car. All the windows are, like, about to break because I flip the back end, flips over the front end. I'm now upside down. All the windows shatter in. I'm now going to down the road upside down on the roof of the car. And all I can think, really at this moment was like, this is so embarrassing. Like, it totally feels like when you bite it on your BMX bike. But, you know, like, this shit's gonna have to be answered to. Like, there's no way you can just, like, push it home and, like, see if anyone noticed and, like, put the chain back on. When you get to the garage, you're like, there's, like, car parts and wheels and glass and shit all over. Over. So I'm, like, looking at the ground, and I remember thinking, as soon as the ground stops racing past, climb out through one of the broken windows, like, through the windshield or something. So as soon as it does, I do. I crawl out through the broken windshield, and everybody's lights are coming on, and I'm like, oh, man. And I don't know why, but I just walk into this older couple's home. They were sort of out on their porch at the moment, or the neighbors were out on the porch. They had just turned on their lights. I just. Their door looked ajar. I walked in and I just saw it. And I honestly think, looking back, I think what I was trying to do was just, like, convince any onlookers that I was just going home and everything was fine, you know, like, that's how I intended to park on their street. And I got inside, and they had a piano, and I just sort of walked over and sat down at their piano and started playing. I don't know how to play piano, but I was just like. I almost wonder if I thought, like, maybe I've hit my head hard enough to learn how to play piano, but I just start playing it, and one of them says to me, did you see what just happened out here? Whoever was driving that is dead. Like, I guarantee you they've been killed. And I'm, like, sort of trying to figure out chords on the piano, and I, like, turn and I go, they're not dead. It was me. Which with the piano music, even not being an accomplished player, it's pretty fucking cool right now, I have to say. It was very, like. It was the only Nick Cave moment I've had in my life. He's not dead. It was me. So they go, we're gonna have to call your dad. And I'm like, ah. You know. Or you're a parent or whatever. And I'm like, okay. They get the phone number out of me. Kind of in a haze as I continue to play and just think, this is the last night of my life. I'm just gonna play dark songs on a piano. So my dad is. He was not. He's growing up. He wasn't a mean dad. He was a very fair dad. He wasn't a scary dad, but he was an uptight dad of the Eisenhower sort of era type of dad, you know, like, if you were eating, like, walnuts in the kitchen because you saw a bag of walnuts, he'd go, what the hell are you eating those for? And you'd go, I'm just. I'm hungry, so I'm having some walnuts, you know. And he'd go, no, those aren't. Those aren't to eat like a damn meal. Those are, like, for a special snack or something. You don't just eat those because you're hungry. And I think that's kind of exactly why you eat food. But I'd say, like, oh, okay, sorry about that. And then, like, if you were taking out the trash, he would go, is that full? And then you go, well, yeah, it seems full to me. You knew this was going to be a debate. He'd go, that's not full. There's still room in there. Don't waste half a trash bag when you got one out there that's already half full, Wait till that one's filled up. So he's this sort of dad. I can only imagine what his position on me flattening his car and leaving it upside down in the street behind his house is going to be. I don't think it's going to be a great position. They call, he answers, he comes over. I walk out of the house and just sort of stand by the car, which it just seems embarrassing, but it seems like I should stand here because this is my car. It's upside down. It's wheels and shit are all over your street. I'm just going to stand next to this and. And he comes up and says, are you okay? And I'm like, yeah. And he goes, I don't care about the car. Are you okay? And I go, yeah. He goes, you were holding your head. Did you hit your head? And I said, no, I was just stressed out. So I was going like this because I didn't want to talk to you. I couldn't imagine when you got here. He's like, it's fine. Come on, we just got to take you to the hospital, get checked out, make sure you don't have a concussion or anything. I was like, okay, maybe the other shoe is going to drop, you know, once I'm like, I don't know how this is going to go down. The next day I wake up and I think I'm just going to go to the country store and get a Coke and some, like, candy, like, maybe some sweet tarts or Something and, like, chill out today. So I'm leaving. He goes, where are you going? And I said, I'm just gonna go up to the country store and get a Coke and some candy, I think, and hang out. And he goes, well, why don't you take the. Take the truck? And I said, it's literally, dad. It's like one house past Joe's house. It's like six doors away. I don't need to drive. And he goes, just take. Take the truck. And he goes, if you don't take it now, it's going to be too easy to never drive again. And I was like, what the fuck? Like, when did you become Yoda? Like, when did you become, like. Like, how did you go from, like, don't eat the damn walnuts, it's just some kind of snack or some kind of meal into, like, we have to get right back into what we're afraid of most, you know, like, how did you become the Zen master? But I was like this. Maybe I did hit my head, or maybe I died and this is heaven. Anyway, so I was like, all right. So I take the keys for the truck, and I totaled his truck, too. So you really shouldn't know. But wouldn't that be awesome if, like, that's the flip, like, right now? The master became the student because guess what? I totaled all of his cars. So it's time for Ross Kennedy to learn a little lesson. That night that didn't happen, but I. I just drove up the store, I got a Coke, I had some candy, came home, everything was fine. And still to this day, sometimes as a grown man, I'll be laying in bed and I'll try to figure out why did that amazing, compassionate turn of just. It was the biggest forgiveness anyone has granted me in this life. It was amazing. How did that come to my dad? Or why did it come to. To my dad? And I'll still think after, like, tough things or long things, like, after writing a book and it comes out, I'll start on one right away because I know, like, man, it would be so easy to never do this again. Thanks. There are no men left in the village tonight. All the babies burn trash for it
- [67:25]
Chesley Calloway
keeps them alive
- [67:29]
Ross Kennedy
and our stock have grown weak to there barely
- [67:36]
Chesley Calloway
here My
- [67:37]
Ross Kennedy
father, he's gone to the hills he's
- [67:39]
Gretchen Menter
looking for grain
- [67:44]
Ross Kennedy
Mama lets the fire
- [67:47]
Chesley Calloway
grow low
- [67:50]
Ross Kennedy
and she sings us a song It's a prayer that she knows
- [67:56]
Kevin Allison
she sings there's a light
- [68:01]
Chesley Calloway
that's coming
- [68:04]
Ross Kennedy
There is a light
- [68:09]
Chesley Calloway
almost here
- [68:12]
Ross Kennedy
and there is a light I.
- [68:20]
Kevin Allison
We have no need to fear. Well, that was Dan Kennedy, who. His latest book is the novel American Spirit. And we always absolutely love having Dan on the show. This is Trevor Borden. It's Trevor Borden behind me now. Now, listen up, peanut butter butt. Sorry for calling you guys peanut butter butt back there, but this is important. It calls for such strong language. Don't forget to friend us on Facebook and Twitter. Keep up with us. On both places we're riskshow. And on Twitter, I'm hekevinalison. And that leaves just one thing left to say, folks. Today's the day. Take a risk.
- [69:58]
Gretchen Menter
Light,
- [70:02]
Chesley Calloway
There is light. A little darkness and the rain that drops. Hey, dad, look at me now. Look at me now, dad. I'm at a drug deal. Hey, dad, look at me now. Can you see me, dad? I'm trapped in a trunk. Hey, dad, look at me now. Look at me now, dad. In the woods with some men. Hey, dad, pick up your phone, dad.
- [71:38]
Dan Kennedy
Pick up your phone.
- [71:38]
Chesley Calloway
Please, dad, or I'm dead.
- [71:40]
Ross Kennedy
Foreign.
- [71:46]
Chesley Calloway
Reynolds here from Mint Mobile with a message for everyone paying Big wireless way too much. Please, for the love of everything good in this world, stop. With Mint, you can get premium wireless for just $15 a month. Of course, if you enjoy overpaying. No judgments. But that's weird. Okay, one judgment anyway.
- [72:04]
Ross Kennedy
Give it a try.
- [72:05]
Dan Kennedy
@mintmobile.com Switch upfront payment of $45 for 3 month plan, equivalent to $15 per month required. Intro rate first 3 months only, then full price plan options available, taxes and fees extra. See full terms@mintmobile.com.