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Risk.
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 week, it's an episode that premiered in April of 2013. It's an episode we call Parental Advisory. Hello kids, this is Risk, the show where people tell true stories they never thought they'd dare to share. I'm Kevin Allison and this is Fortet behind me now. We are calling today's episode Parental Advisory. Parents are so often great characters in stories because they've got a ton weighing on them. They're usually a little bit frayed at the edges, a condition that can lead to surprising behavior. In just a bit, we're going to hear from writer Julie Threlkeld performing at a storytelling workshop show. But before that, we're going to hear from comedian Andy Livinggood, who we met when we were first in Charleston, South Carolina, a couple months back. I was teaching storytelling down there, like I'll be doing again. Andy told this story in a workshop, and I decided to have him come to it on the podcast. So without further ado, this is Andy Livinggood with a story we call the Rift.
Andy Livinggood
So I was raised in a very conservative Christian household. We started out as Methodists when I was a real little kid. And then in second grade, we went to vacation Bible school and converted to Southern Baptists. And we were there all the time, like, three days a week minimum at church. Like, you had worship on Wednesday, you had church on Sunday, and Sunday night. Tuesdays were visitation night, where you'd go and visit the people that came to church for the first time. We were there all the time, and I was into it. I'd read my Bible every day. It was, you know, as Southern Baptist, it was very much like, you have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. So my parents would talk to me as if, like, he was a person that they knew from down the street. Oh, well, if you prayed about it, well, just give it up to Jesus and he'll take care of you and Jesus a little bit more than Jesus loves you. Like, it was like, no, he's a real person. He knows everything about you and he's your best friend. I'd go to church camp, like, every single summer, and I was the guy that was singing with his eyes shut and his hands lifted up. You know, I was the guy that would witness to his friends. Like, in fact, I got the reputation of, like, don't talk to Andy because he'll bring up God very, very quickly. I never had a doubt. In fact, it was like, well into my 20s, before I first met anybody that was like, no, I'm not a Christian. And it blew me away. I didn't. Like, that never occurred to me that there was ever an option to not be a Christian. The other thing that's really important to know is that I am my father's son. My dad and I, more than anybody else in my family, have a weird connection because we are basically the same person, similar sense of hum, and we like the same things. We like the same type of TV shows and movies and books and things like that. I think that I always look back that, like, my dad was excited that he had somebody to finally share this stuff with. I remember it was second grade. He's like, you're gonna watch the Star wars trilogy. And we went and rented them, and we watched all three of them. And the thing I do remember is I got in trouble. I did something. I don't even remember what it was. But I wasn't allowed to watch Return of the Jedi until the next week. And I was so ticked off. I mean, like, it would go to, like, all sorts of nerdy things like, oh, you should read Lord of the Rings and stuff like that. Which, again, looking back in such a Christian household, seems weird to me that, like, that would be okay. We would go see movies. We'd go see. We'd go to the midnight show for Star Wars. We drew the line at dressing up, but we would go and we would do it all the time. It would always. We'd make an evening out of it. So I was in my mid to late twenties when I started having my first kind of doubts with faith. And it started out simply of just like, well, all right, some of this doesn't make any sense. And we were raised that the Bible was the word of God. It's not. It wasn't allegorical. It was like, if the Bible said Noah had an ark with all the animals on it, Noah did. But as I got older, I started kind of. I don't think that's. There's a lot of species out there. I don't think that's possible. And, you know, that would lead to all these other, like, finding contradictions in the Bible and going like, well, if it's the word of God, he shouldn't have contradictions. He knows what he's talking about. And that sort of started the seed of doubt again. The first time in my entire life that, like, doubt would come up. And it was the book of Job that really was kind of like, well, wait a minute. Because in that story, Job's a righteous man, and the devil goes to God and says, well, look, he's righteous because he's got all this stuff. So God allows Satan to kill his family, take away his possessions, like, leave him with nothing. And, you know, in the Bible, the moral story is he still praises God and God rewards him at the end. But for me, the thing that immediately stuck out was like, wait a minute. It wasn't that he just, like, took his cattle. Took, you know, Burnt down his house. Like, he allowed Job's family to die. They were the sacrificial bunt to prove a point. Like, if a person does that, they are a sociopath. And that was sort of the moment of, like, really starting to question this thing. And it just. Everything started adding up. I just stopped believing. And I remember the first time that I said it out loud that there is no God. I don't believe in God, and there's nobody else around. I was by myself, and I said it, and I was waiting for that moment of just, like, crushing guilt and shame. And I didn't feel that. I felt relief the first time I could say it out loud. I think one of the things that I really liked the most once I kind of came to grips with my lack of faith was that life is so beautifully complex and horrific and amazing, that existence is enough. I don't like the idea of this being a test for the next thing, I go outside and I see a beautiful sunset. That's awesome. And I don't have to see, like, oh, yeah, there's a guy that made this, and there's all this other stuff, and there's gonna be paradise beyond this, and you're gonna spend time with him for me to appreciate that sunset. And there was really. There was, like, this wedge kind of growing between me and my parents because I was going back and forth on, should I tell them or not. Sharing my lack of faith weighed on me more than sharing my faith ever did. But it really started to kind of fracture our relationship. I couldn't talk to them about anything. If I had something really amazing happen in my life and I told him about it. Oh, you know, you should thank God. That's awesome that he, you know, he provided for you, and, you know, praise God. It's like, well, you know, I'm the guy that decided to start working out and lose £100. Like, do I get none of that credit? So I couldn't talk about anything good. And what was even worse is I couldn't go to them for help or advice, because if I came to them with a problem, anything, their advice was always, did you pray about it? And I'm always kind of like, well, let's assume that I did, but what's the practical advice? And there was no practical advice, because it was all, just leave it up to God. He's got a plan, he wants the best for you, so just leave it up to him. So now I can't talk to them about good stuff. I can't talk to them about bad stuff. I have nothing to say to them. I live, like, 10 minutes from my parents, but I felt like I lived across the country. So then one day, my dad and I both noticed about the same time because we called each other and left. You know, we were. Oh, yeah, you saw it. You saw it, too. The local art house was showing Metropolis, which is a really cool, groundbreaking, black and white silent science fiction movie. Of course, I wanted to do like, we used to. Like, I always remember, like, let's go do dinner and then go see the movie. So we went to Outback, and my dad and I are eating dinner. And it is small talk. That's all I have to talk about with my dad. It was like we were strangers because there was nothing deeper to talk about. So the whole time this is going on, I'm having that internal debate again. You should tell him, you know. No, don't tell him. Don't tell him. Like, why? What do you have to gain? And I'm going back and forth, and I finally start kind of working up the courage of, like, no, I think I'm gonna tell him. So I take a deep breath and I swallow really hard, and I tell. I say, I'm an atheist. I don't believe in God anymore. And he is just, like, blindsided. He has no idea what to say. And we sit there in silence for a few seconds, and I realize I felt great. I really did. I was like, oh, this weight's off my chest. I feel so good. And then I looked at my dad and I could tell that I hurt him so much. And I feel horrible. Not because. Not because of the fact that I'm an atheist, but because I told him this is the moment that I could get disowned. It's. I mean, as much as they believe and as strongly as I believe, like, this is the moment my dad could, you know, I have no son. That's it. And just write me off. Like, he tells me that he would probably be able to accept this more if I told him that I was agnostic or that maybe I just was into a different religion. And I told him, like, well, I've been thinking about it for a year, and, no, I'm not either one of those things. I'm an atheist. And that's when I know. I heard him. Because now he knows that for a year I've been struggling with this and haven't told him. This was the first time in my entire life that I saw disappointment on his face. And this includes, like, stupid things. I did as a teenager when I'd get in trouble, there was always. There was never disappointment. It was always like, I'm upset with you, but I'm not disappointed. And I saw disappointment. So we pay for the check and we go back to the car. We're driving to the movie theater. It's that, like, deafening, awkward silence where neither one. Because we didn't have much to say before, and now we really don't have anything to say. So I'm scrolling through the radio, just trying to find anything that'll just fill the sound. And it's on scan and it stops on a religious station. And I'm very quickly turning that to the next thing because we don't need that right now. So we go and we sit down in the movie and like, from the very first frame, it is clear this is not the original version of Metropolis. Because in the 80s they re released it. It's colorized. They got like, Bonnie Tyler and Queen to do the soundtrack. So it's less of this, like groundbreaking sci fi classic and more of like a rock opera that's also colorized. And my dad is a purist when it comes to old movies. I remember as a kid, anytime they'd have like, the, like, they're showing It's a Wonderful Life. If it was the colorized version, my dad would call it the Communist It's a Wonderful Life. And I lean over to my dad and I go, I think this is the colorized version. And I could feel him kind of tense up. He's not digging this. I'm kind of enjoying it because it's kind of fun. My dad is not. And like, you don't have to, like, really look that hard to see that he's not. So the movie finishes and we walk out and my dad marches over to where the poster was because the poster was for the black and white one. And he's like, this isn't what they advertised. And he's really like, he's upset legitimately. So, like. And he's just like, this is loud. Like, I can't believe this. Like, he wants to kind of complain, but my dad's not that type of guy. He's never gonna be the guy that's like, I want to see the manager. So we're just going out to the car. And before we get to the car, I just start laughing and I can't stop. I am like, just uncontrollably giggling and laughing. My dad stops and he goes, what's so funny? And I just look at him. And I go, you have had such a shitty night. And I don't. I try not to curse around my parents. I certainly didn't do it when I was a Christian. And even now I try not to curse around my parents just as a courtesy because I know they don't really like that, but I did that night. I just told them, you've had a shitty night. And my dad just kind of stares at me for a second and he starts laughing. And that's when I kind of knew that we would be okay.
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We're back. A lot of tortured teen stories this evening. So here's another one. So it's good. Just wait. So when I was 14 years old, I came home from school one day where my mother was waiting to ambush me. I found the letter you wrote to your father. My mother and I lived in California. My father was living in New York, where he lived since the divorce. And I'd written him a very long Very earnest letter that essentially it made an assertion and it asked a question. This is so ABC After School Special. But the assertion was I am gay. And the question was, are you going to be okay with that? And my dad was okay with it, which was a huge relief to me, but not really a surprise because I had a feeling that he'd be okay with it. And I'd had the same feeling about my older sister who was already away at college. She was fine, so dad's sister fine. Leaving my mother as the only member of my immediate family who hadn't found out about this. And that was because I didn't think she react well. This letter says that you want to have sex with a woman. Let me just make something perfectly clear. I never wrote a letter to my father that said I want to have sex with a woman. This was obviously a subtext that my mother had extracted and made concrete. And now she was completely, completely obsessed. And this is the only thing she picked up from the letter. You want to have sex with a woman. But why? This was a trick question. I wasn't expecting it and I didn't know how to answer it. But when I saw the way she was looking at me and heard the way she was speaking to me, it was really the first time it had occurred to me to feel shame about this. And when you talk, when you talk to your mother about sex when you're 14, I think it's extremely difficult under the best of circumstances. But when you're talking about sex that your mother can't even fathom, it's mortifying for both of you. So neither of us brought it up again. In my entire four year high school career, I graduated from high school, came east, ended up at a tiny liberal arts college in upstate New York. And I like to think of myself as being a fairly resourceful person. But for my entire first year of college, I could not locate any other gay people. So at the end of my freshman year, I thought I need to do something drastic. So I applied for a summer internship at the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force in Manhattan. There were not gonna be any half measures. For me, this problem was so pressing that it required a task force. So people I hit a bangin summer. I met basically I met every lesbian in New York. I cut all my hair off. I basically looked the same 30 years later. Oh, actually thematic tie in. That was the summer of 1984, the summer of Wham. So I had everything I wanted. I was doing stuff in the city. And by the end of the Summer I had a steady girlfriend. And so as the fall semester approached, I just thought, well, fuck this. I don't want to go back to school. I have everything I want here. So I dropped out of college. I took a full time job at the task force, and I moved in with my girlfriend. And Susan wants me to tell this joke I'm about to tell you the greatest lesbian joke ever written. Gay people. If you know the punchline, which I'm sure you will, don't shout it out and ruin it for all the straight people. Like your doing with marriage. What does a lesbian bring on the first date? Anyone? Flowers, obviously. What does a lesbian bring on the second date? A U Haul. It's funny because it's true. Lesbians are exercising experts in animal rescue, buying brown furniture and moving in together immediately. So I moved in with my girlfriend after knowing her for about three weeks. Not recommended, especially if you're 19. So anyway, so here I was, 19 years old. I was. I was working at this. I was basically a teenager working in an office full of adult gay activists. And they were all really interesting people. But one of them was fascinating to me. Brad was like me, a low level peon in the organization. But unlike me, Brad was heavily into S and M. And Brad spent his nights. They're all closed now, but they were all up the road from here. There are men's clubs, S and M clubs with names like the Ramrod and the Mine Shaft and the Manhole. And he would come to my desk the next morning and tell me all the details of what he'd done and seen there the night before. Because he knew I loved hearing about it. Julie. Oh my God. So last night, this guy goes out in the middle of the room and he lies down on a table, he sticks his ass straight up in the air. And this other guy comes over and he's got a staple gun and he starts stapling the guy's ass. Oh, my God. That's so amazing. Brad. Yeah. Do you know what's even more amazing than it. I don't know. Why don't you tell me? Watching another guy come over and pound the stables in with a ping pong paddle. So my mother knew that I was doing this internship. But what I didn't know was that she had been busy at work planning a trip to come visit me at college in the fall. And I had to break the news to her that not only had I dropped out of college, I was now working in an office full of the kind of women who wanted to have Sex with other women, but she wanted to come visit anyway. So I said okay. And my mother flew out. And the moment that she arrived, it was abundantly clear that virtually everything about my life made my mother intensely uncomfortable. How I looked, which was very different from how she'd remembered where I lived, horrible apartment, who I was living with, girlfriend who wasn't very nice to me, and especially where I worked. But she was a mother. She wanted to check things out, see how I was doing, so she wanted to see where I worked. And as reluctant as I was for these two worlds to further collide, I thought, well, it's a peace offering, so I'll take her up on it. So I said okay. So the morning that she was set to arrive, we had a staff meeting at the task force. And it was like Barbara Bush visits the island of misfit toys. It was like, okay, everybody, my mom's going to be here. She's going to be really uncomfortable. So for the 15 minutes or so that she's here, can we just turn down the gay a little bit? So my mother arrived and not 30 seconds after she arrives, I get called off to do some minion duty. And I think, well, okay, I've got to leave her with someone who isn't going to make her completely squirrely. So I pick Margot, my boss, who's really not gay seeming and she's about my mother's age and she's very friendly. So leave mom with Margot. I go off and I'm doing something and about five minutes later, Margot appears at my side and she's a little and she's really upset and I said, margot, where is my mother right now? Julie, never mind that. Margot, where's Brad? Julie, never mind. We have to evacuate the office immediately. We've just had a bomb threat, so I'm not thinking about a bomb right now. The biggest threat to me, the most explosive image I'm thinking of is my mother in a quiet corner with Brad, regaling her with the details of last night's basement crisco fisting. So I locate my mother. She's not with Brad. We evacuate the office and I said to my mother, why don't we go to lunch? So we're sitting at lunch and I'm sitting there thinking, okay, now my mother not only associates where I work with homosex, but now she's associated with violence and terrorism and maiming. This isn't good. But we don't talk about that because that's how we roll. But she has lots of questions for Me? Are you learning a lot of new skills there, honey? Do you think you'll work there a long time? Have you thought of working anywhere else? And underneath these surface questions, there was a deeper one that I had started to ask myself. And that was, what the hell are you doing with your life? So I went back to work that day. There was no bomb. My mother went back to California. And a few months later, I quit that job. I stayed in the city. I re enrolled in school. And I got a phone call from my mother one day. And it was a normal phone call. She was very excited about a new friend that she just made. She just kept talking about this person and kept saying, oh, you know, well, Jan and I went to an art gallery. And then afterwards, Jan showed me this great restaurant in Tiburon where I think we should go next time you come out. And then I think next weekend, Jan and I are going to a folk festival together. You know, this just all sort of washed over me. I hung up the phone and didn't give it another thought. And then a couple weeks later, I got a call from my sister. Have you talked to mom lately? Yeah, why? Well, she's got this new friend, Jan. That's all she talks about. I just think it's a little weird. So about a month later, I get a call from my mother. And she says, julie, I have something I have to tell you. You know my new friend Jan? I said, yeah, Jan and I are. We're involved. I said, hang on. You're having sex? Sex with a woman? I didn't say that. I really wanted to, but I didn't. Instead, I had this rapid fire series of emotions that I wasn't expecting. The first was anger. It was like, God damn it, where were you 10 years ago when I really needed this? And then I was eclipsed by empathy because I knew how hard this was. And I could hear how she was struggling to say this to me. And then that gave way to shock. I don't care who you are, if your mother comes out of the closet without warning, you are going to be shocked. And then finally, I had this weird territorialism. It's like, no, I'm the interesting person in the family. I'm the gay. There's not room for two of us. So a couple years later, my mother was settled into her new lifestyle with Jam. And I'd broken up with my girlfriend, and I was seeing somebody new, quite seriously. I mentioned this to my father and he said, oh, that's great, honey. What's your name? I said, oh, well, his name's Jonathan. So I slept with a friend because I like to try new things and enjoyed it. And I ended up falling for him. And this completely surprised me. But it apparently took people who knew me by much bigger surprise. And as I was sitting there looking at the expressions on my father's face as he tried to figure this out, I thought, oh fuck, I have to do this all over again. I have to come at his bi now. My sister had the best reaction though. She said, you know what? I am so sick of explaining things to people. My mother was straight and now she's an equal. Gay relationship. My sister was gay. Now she's in a straight relationship. Why can't anyone in this family make up their mind? Thanks, guys.
Julie Threlkeld
Sam drifting in on see who rolled you on it came rolling down your chin Stay just touch your neighbor in.
Andy Livinggood
Between.
Julie Threlkeld
It'S never as it seems Help.
Andy Livinggood
Me to make.
Julie Threlkeld
Help me to make it.
Kevin Allison
This is Risk. That beach house. Excuse me, that's Beach House behind me now. And before that, we had Julie Threlkeld. Now Julie was telling that story not at the Risk live show, but at another wonderful storytelling show in New York City called Ask Me, which is curated by David Crabb and Kami Klamako. Wonderful show and a wonderful podcast. Go to itunes and look up Ask Me stories. You can find Julie's blog@modern stories.com. but folks, you know we're always featuring exciting new indie music. We wanted to be the first to debut this extraordinary new track by what I think is just the hottest new act in all the land. This is the new single the Quick Way, by the way, the postman. Oh, a trip to the post office is hardly ever quick. Driving there, finding parking, it's a hassle. So do what I do. Use stamps.com instead. Stamps.com is the quick and easy way to get postage on demand. Buy and print us. Post it for any letter or pack using your own computer and printer plus a digital scanner. Oh, you'll never waste time at the post office again. I use stamps.com and I'm obviously cool. Use the promo code risk for a no risk trial. The $110 bonus offer. That's the digital scale and $55 free PO. Go to stamps.com before anything else, click the mic on the homepage and type in Risk that stamps dot com.
Julie Threlkeld
Enter risk.
Kevin Allison
Wow, such a hot track. I'm gonna be playing that over and over on my ipod this summer. And now, up next, another recent story. Studio workshopper. The oh so wonderful in oh, so many ways. Gene lebeck with a story we call America for.
Julie Threlkeld
Sam. Every evening, my sister, brother and I would wait on the stoop of our apartment building for my dad to come home from work. My dad was about 5 foot 8. He had black, curly hair, a big, beautiful, infectious smile, twinkly blue eyes. And he would kind of look and search for us as he was walking up the block. Mary, Johnny and I would go charging down. He'd be scooped up into his arms, Johnny on one hip, me on the other hip, my sister on his shoulders, searching for raspberry chocolate candies, which he always hidden, wanting us to find them. My mother was about 5 foot 8. She had brown hair. She had big bosoms, long legs, and was always, always on a diet. And every evening they would have a half an avocado with Italian dressing in the middle and gin and tonics. And that was their hour. We were left on our own outside. We could fight, we could scream, we could do anything we wanted, but we were never able to interrupt them. My father hated Frank Sinatra and my mother loved Frank Sinatra. And in those years, this was their major argument. It was 1953. We were the only Jewish family living in a white, Irish, hard working, Catholic neighborhood. And I never really knew the difference. I had a best friend, Kathleen Halligan, and she went to St. Teresa's she was in kindergarten. I went to PS9 public school and I was also in kindergarten. We always used to play together. Until one day she came running home from school, straight to me, crying. She said, you killed Jesus Christ. You did. You killed Jesus Christ. I was horrified. I didn't even know the man. I was crying. I didn't kill Jesus Christ. I didn't kill Jesus Christ. I went running inside to my mother and I said, mom, Kathleen said, I killed Jesus Christ. She looked at me and she said, you turn around now, you go straight out there. You tell her you didn't kill Mr. Christ. You didn't even know the man. So I went out, I knocked on Kathleen halligan's door and Mrs. Halligan answered. And I said, I didn't know Mr. Christ and I didn't kill him. And that seemed to solve it. Every Friday evening, their friends came over. And it was the same group of friends every Friday night. They were so close to my family that we were calling them aunts and uncles. We had Uncle Irving and we had Uncle Joe. We had Aunt Bee. We really did have an Aunt Bee, but. And we would have. My mother would work all day making pineapple upside down. Cake with maraschino cherries and deviled eggs. And we loved those deviled eggs. And we would wait till they were drinking a lot and dancing around, listening to music until we would sneak into the kitchen and eat all the maraschino cherries off the cake and grab as many deviled eggs as we could. Saturday mornings, my parents loved going into the city. And when we went into the city, our first stop was always to Aunt Ethel and Uncle Jules. They lived on the Lower east side and very close to the Henry Street Settlement house. And we would walk over because on Saturday mornings, Aunt Ethel would sing and play the piano. And I just loved when she would put different colored scarves on my wrists and on my ankles, and I would just dance around. I was a butterfly. I was the wind. I was everything. And she just encouraged it. And those mornings were always a lot of fun. In 1953, towards the middle, things began to change. And Friday evenings became hushed times. We would listen through a swinging kitchen door, and there was no more music and there was no more dancing. And my mother didn't even make the pineapple upside down cake. And there were no deviled eggs. And it was writing. They would write letters and they would make phone calls and there hushed whispers about Jules, my Uncle Jules, the one I used to visit Saturday mornings, and Aunt Ethel. And we weren't visiting them, and everything was very secret. And at night, Miss Duffy upstairs would come and watch us while my parents just snuck out doing something. I never knew really what they were doing. It was during that time also that we stayed with my Uncle Irving, who never had kids. And we loved the week with Uncle Irving because we ate strawberry shortcake day in and day out. And he would say, your parents are in Washington. Your parents are in Washington. We had no idea what my parents were in Washington. My sister said it was because they were visiting the president, that they were important and the President wanted to see them. Soon after that Washington trip, it was a Saturday morning, and my father was vacuuming and my mother was taking a nap, and Mary Janney and I were torturing each other by jumping on the bed. Well, the doorbell rang, and the doorbell kept ringing loud, and Mary looked to see if my father was going to answer it, but she opened it up, and there were two men dressed there, very dressed up. They were holding a briefcase and they were wearing suits. And they looked at Marion, said, little girl, where are your parents? Is your mom and dad here? And Mary said, dad. And my father came running down the hallway, smacking us with one hand against the side of the hall and trying to push these two men out. And they were saying, we are the FBI, sir. We are the FBI, sir. And he said, you are murderers. You get the hell out of my house. And we were against the wall and they were being pushed out and the door was being closed on them. And he slammed the door and he turned to us and said, you are never ever to open the door to answer questions for the FBI. And he didn't look like my dad. And I think about it now, and in that moment, in that moment, I knew for the first time that we were different, that we weren't on the right side, we weren't on the side of the FBI. We were on the other side. What was the other side? In 1953, Jews in Ethel Rosenberg were executed as Russian spies. They were the only American citizens to be arrested and executed in the United States. Years later, my brother, sister and I have tried to make sense out of a puzzle that we lived with outside. I always thought we were a normal family, but we weren't. And I had to make peace with, are we bad? My sister, being older, began to really put the pieces together before I did and before my brother did. And in our conversations, I began to learn that for my parents, being members of the Communist Party was about working class people, about putting unions in place and the rights of people in place, about gay rights, about black rights, about being able to be an interracial couple, about being able to say what you want, about not having your books burnt because they express other ideologies. It was about America that they believed in and not one that they were living in. For my father, it was a difficult time, the years following the execution of the Rosenbergs, because he began to understand that Stalin was doing horrible atrocities. And it really, he couldn't come to grips with it. And he, in finding that out, left the party immediately. And my mother couldn't face it. It was really difficult for her to give up the ideology of this utopian world. And it caused tremendous grief between them. So my family after the Rosenbergs was one where we lived in confusion and we lived in a up and down sense of what life was all about. Many years later, my sister called me up and she said, hey, Jean, guess what we're called? I said, what? And she said, we're called Red Diaper Babies. I just met a whole bunch of us. I said, you did? She said, yeah. She said, there are so many, so many, so many families. Remember all those picnics we went on? They went on them too. Remember World Fellowship? They were there, too. And as we were having this conversation, I think it was the first time my sister and I were able to even laugh at the whole notion of what our childhood was. And I think about my parents, how young they were. I think about that they were in their 30s, that they were struggling and fighting for what they felt thought was fair and right and just an ideal. And it wasn't that they wanted to have us become Russia. It was that they wanted the ideals of America to truly be in place and to be in place for us. Us. And I fell in love with them. I think I had lost my footing with them in that moment when he slammed the door. But I understand them now. And I can see that they just wanted to embrace what all of us here today want to embrace. The ideals of being an American citizen.
Andy Livinggood
There's a time to remember Time to forget the one bad day you should have done no time for request There's.
Julie Threlkeld
A place I want to go the.
Andy Livinggood
Girl I want to see she's leaving in a big black yard Leaving without me it's all right.
Kevin Allison
It's okay.
Andy Livinggood
You can do just what you want to. Take your time. Walk away. You can't come back if you're supposed to.
Julie Threlkeld
I don't care.
Kevin Allison
Well, that is all for this week's episode, folks. We just heard from Gene lebeck, and this is Primal Scream behind me now. Folks, today's the day. Take a risk.
Julie Threlkeld
It's all. It's all it. Sam.
Podcast Summary: RISK! Episode "Parental Advisory"
Release Date: June 26, 2025
Introduction
In the "Parental Advisory" episode of RISK!, host Kevin Allison delves into deeply personal and transformative stories that explore the complexities of family relationships, belief systems, and personal identity. This episode features poignant narratives from two storytellers, Andy Livinggood and Julie Threlkeld, who courageously share experiences that challenged their familial bonds and shaped their understanding of themselves.
Andy Livinggood opens his story by painting a vivid picture of his upbringing in a "very conservative Christian household." Raised as a Methodist and later as a Southern Baptist, Andy's early life was deeply intertwined with religious practices. He recounts how his parents fostered a "personal relationship with Jesus Christ," portraying God as an ever-present friend who knew every detail of their lives.
Key Points:
Religious Upbringing: Andy was deeply involved in church activities from a young age, attending worship services multiple times a week and actively participating in church camps.
Initial Faith: His unwavering belief in Christianity persisted well into his twenties until he encountered significant doubts.
Seeds of Doubt: The pivotal moment for Andy was grappling with the story of Job in the Bible. He questioned the morality depicted, particularly the idea of God allowing suffering to test faith:
"The thing that immediately stuck out was like, wait a minute. It wasn't that he just, like, took his cattle... But he allowed Job's family to die. They were the sacrificial bait to prove a point." [09:30]
Embracing Atheism: After confronting his doubts privately, Andy found relief in admitting his disbelief in God, despite fearing rejection from his family:
"The first time in my entire life that I saw disappointment on his face." [14:20]
Strained Relationship: Coming out as an atheist created an emotional distance between Andy and his parents. Conversations became superficial, and seeking advice became challenging as his parents defaulted to religious explanations:
"I can't talk to them about anything. I have nothing to say to them." [12:45]
Reconciliation: A turning point came during a shared experience at a movie theater where both Andy and his father expressed disappointment—Andy over the unexpected change in the film's version and his father over its poor quality. This moment of shared vulnerability led to laughter and a subtle reconnection:
"I told them, you've had such a shitty night." [15:10]
Insights and Conclusions: Andy’s narrative underscores the profound impact that personal belief systems can have on familial relationships. His journey from devout faith to atheism highlights the struggle between personal authenticity and the desire for parental acceptance. The story culminates in a fragile reconciliation, suggesting that shared human experiences can bridge even the deepest ideological divides.
Julie Threlkeld takes listeners back to 1953, sharing her upbringing in a Jewish family residing in a predominantly white, Irish Catholic neighborhood. Her story delves into themes of identity, political ideology, and the strain of secret lives on family dynamics.
Key Points:
Childhood Innocence: Julie describes idyllic childhood moments, such as waiting eagerly for her parents to return home and enjoying simple pleasures like her father hiding raspberry chocolate candies:
"We would go charging down. He'd be scooped up into his arms... searching for raspberry chocolate candies." [38:00]
Early Signs of Conflict: The family's harmony is disrupted when Julie's best friend, Kathleen, accuses her of killing Jesus Christ—a metaphorical incident that leaves Julie confused and seeking guidance from her mother:
"I didn't know the man. I was crying. I didn't kill Jesus Christ." [40:15]
Secret Lives: As the years progress, Julie reveals the family's covert involvement with the Communist Party, driven by a desire to advocate for workers' rights, racial equality, and other progressive ideals:
"For my parents, being members of the Communist Party was about working-class people, about putting unions in place and the rights of people in place." [45:50]
FBI Intrusion: The tension reaches a peak when the FBI intervenes, leading to a profound shift in the family's dynamic. Her father's vehement rejection of the FBI agents signals the beginning of the family's unraveling:
"We were against the wall and they were being pushed out and the door was being closed on them." [43:30]
Identity Realization: Growing up as "Red Diaper Babies," Julie and her siblings grapple with understanding their family's place in a broader socio-political context. Conversations with her sister later in life allow for reflection and acceptance:
"I can see that they just wanted to embrace what all of us here today want to embrace. The ideals of being an American citizen." [49:10]
Insights and Conclusions: Julie's account sheds light on the complexities of maintaining political beliefs within a familial setting, especially during a time of intense scrutiny and societal pressure. Her story emphasizes the personal costs of ideological commitment, including familial estrangement and internal conflict. Ultimately, Julie finds a sense of pride and understanding toward her parents' intentions, recognizing their struggle to align their ideals with their American identity.
Conclusion
The "Parental Advisory" episode of RISK! masterfully captures the intricate dance between personal beliefs and familial expectations. Through Andy Livinggood and Julie Threlkeld's compelling narratives, listeners are invited to reflect on the resilience required to navigate and reconcile differing ideologies within close relationships. These stories serve as a testament to the human capacity for growth, understanding, and the enduring quest for authenticity.
Notable Quotes:
Andy Livinggood:
"I just stopped believing. And I remember the first time that I said it out loud that there is no God. I don't believe in God, and there's nobody else around. I was by myself, and I said it, and I was waiting for that moment of just, like, crushing guilt and shame. And I didn't feel that. I felt relief." [14:00]
Julie Threlkeld:
"I always thought we were a normal family, but we weren't. And I had to make peace with, are we bad?" [48:35]
Final Thoughts
This episode of RISK! not only entertains but also provokes meaningful conversations about faith, identity, and the bonds that hold—or sometimes break—families together. By sharing these raw and honest stories, the podcast provides a platform for listeners to find solace and perhaps recognize their own experiences mirrored in Andy and Julie's journeys.