Emily Richman (3:09)

I was very smart when I was very young. And on the first day of fourth grade, my teacher brought us all together and said we were going to take spelling tests all day, just sort of round robin until you got a spelling word wrong, and then we'd know what level you were at. And I was the only kid in my class that got no words wrong. And because I went to a less than mediocre public school, instead of giving me, like, 10th grade words or like 12th grade words, they were just like, you don't have to spell the rest of the year. You've done it fourth grade, You've mastered it. So needless to say, I was, like, feeling myself that day. And my teacher came around a little bit later and was like, we're going to do just like a little survey that the school is having us fill out. Got my pen ready, was ready to ace this thing. And the first thing I see on the sheet, which is like, if you look like me, the last thing you want to see on a sheet of paper, which is like, please choose your race. Select only one. And I am stumped. And I'm sitting there and I feel sick. And I call my teacher over because I can't answer this question. And she does, like, the very lovely canned answer and says, like, just choose whatever feels best, which is not helpful because I don't know if that's all. None, Any. So she leaves and I sit and I decide I'm going to approach this survey and read the questions first and see if I can, like, infer which race I should pick based on what the rest of the survey is asking. And it wants to know how many books I read. It wants to know how many hours I spent doing homework, how much junk food I eat. And I can't. It's fourth grade. I can't, like, connect these things back to race in any way. And so I'm like, surveying the room trying to find an answer. And to my left is my friend Ashley, and she's Asian, and we read the same books and we eat the same food, and we drink the same drinks and watch the same shows. And I look to my right and on my right is my Ashley, who is white and she's blonde, and she. And I read and eat and drink all the same things. And I look over my shoulder and behind me is my friend Ashley, and she's brunette and she's not white, but she's also not brown. Something's definitely mixed in there. But for the purposes of my hometown, she's white. And we're all sort of the same person. And I can't figure it out. So I fill out the survey just as it is, give all truthful answers, and I can't figure out the race thing. My teacher finally comes over and says, sort of like, we gotta wrap it up. You gotta just like choose one. And so I answer it truthfully. And I feel like if I can't answer black, because that feels like a lie, I don't wanna deny my. I can't deny my parent. I can't choose white. That feels like a lie. It kinda doesn't matter what I choose. So I just. I fill in a circle and I send it off. And I wait anxiously for someone to come in and say, you ruined the study, you failed it, you lied, your race was wrong. And nobody comes in, and my teacher doesn't scold me, and nothing happens. And so then the next time a survey comes along, I try my luck again. I pick another race. I lie about how many books I read, and I send that survey off and nobody comes in, nobody scolds me, and I realize it doesn't fucking matter. And so as I get a little bit older and my hometown is like, very white and kind of racist for being in New England. And I'm starting to understand how the world works. And I'm starting to resent these surveys because I feel like they're playing into some weird stereotypes that are coming back at me as one of the only brown people in my town. As those surveys start coming in, I start, like, pouring my, like, anger into these surveys, and I'm just like, you know what? I think I know what you want me to say. So today I'm black and I only read books and I never watch tv and I don't eat junk food because fuck you. And then the next time I get a survey, I say that I'm white and all I do is eat junk Food. And I smoke 12 packs of cigarettes a day, and I stare at the ceiling and I hang out with boys and I drink. That's all I do. Fuck you. Fuck you on these surveys. And so then as I get a little bit older and a little older, my dad sort of notices me and says to me, you are the most proud, mixed person I have ever met in my life. And I tell him it's true. I'm very excited to be black. I'm very excited to be white. I love being mixed. It's one occasion where one and one makes three. But I realized that as much as I hate checking those boxes, and I still do, even on that little release, even though we can check as many as apply, which is lovely. I don't like checking the boxes. But having to face that box over and over and over again really helped me to think outside of it.

R. Eric Thomas (8:06)

That was Emily Richman. Emily is a writer based in New Orleans, Louisiana. You can find her monthly at the Moth Story Slam, or telling jokes and stories into microphones at other shows around the NOLA area. Up next, we have Maxi Jones with a story that takes place in Harlem, New York, the night of the 2008 election. Here's Maxie.

Maxie Jones (8:33)

My father, Maxie Jones Sr. Came to Harlem in the 1950s from Prentice, Mississippi. And I remember one time when he took me down there for a visit. We were driving down the main street in Prentice, and up ahead, we saw at the traffic light, the Ku Klux Klan were handing out flyers to the drivers. They were handing the flyers only to the white drivers. They were in full KKK garb. They had the hoods, the gowns, everything. As we drew closer to them, the better you could see their eyes rolling around in those little holes in the hoods. I had only seen them on TV prior to that. It's a lot different in person. They gave a flyer to the driver in front of us and said, here you go, ma'am. White power. Then they looked at us, and I was scared because I was wondering what they were going to say to us. But they didn't say anything. They just walked right past, went to the car behind us and said, here you go, sir. White power. And as we drove off, I asked my father, dad, how could they do that in broad daylight just like that, right in front of us? My father said, maxie, just sit still and keep quiet. And I felt that he should be angry, like I was angry, but for him, it was just normal. My father never talked about politics to me, and I don't Even know if he ever voted. The only thing he ever said to me about politics was shit. Because that's how he started off. Everything he said, sh. It don't matter who the president is. They ain't gonna do nothing for us, no way. And I understood why he felt that way, because he grew up in a world where, in politics, black folks just didn't matter. When I was a kid, my mother used to tell me, maxie, you could be anything you want to be. She said, shoot, you could be the president of the United States if you want to. And I never really believed it. I thought that what she was really saying was, you could try to be the president and you'll land somewhere. When I was about 10 years old, I remember when Nixon beat McGovern in the presidential election by what seemed like just a few votes. And the next day, my social studies teacher came in and she said, I can't believe he won. I just can't believe it. If more people had come out to vote, he wouldn't have won that election. And it was from her that I learned that people don't show up to vote just to put someone into office. You show up to vote also to keep somebody out. The year I turned 18 just happened to be an election year. And I voted that year because I was excited, even though my candidate didn't win. And ever since then, I've never missed an opportunity. In 2007, my father passed away. And right about that time, I started hearing about this senator from Illinois named Barack Obama who threw his hat in the ring for the presidency. Now, my first thought was, that was one of those situations where I know I'm not going to win, but at least we could get people used to the idea of a black man being president. Now I know what my father would say. He would go, shoot, you ain't gonna see no black president in your lifetime. And based on that, I thought, ain't no way this guy's gonna win. On election day 2008, I had to be to work at 8:00 that morning, and I heard the polls opened up at 6:00. So I got up early so I could be the first one down there. It was at Gladys Hampton Houses right there on St. Nicholas Avenue. So I got up and I went there, and I was shocked to find the place was crowded already. People had been lined up from early to vote. And it's not like any other election where you're just standing in line waiting to vote. People were celebrating, and everybody was talking like they Knew each other. One guy had his kids with him. He was like, I brought my kids for this historic moment. And there was this other lady who said, this is one time I made sure to. To get out to vote. But for me, it was just business. The reason I was voting was to make sure that if Barack Obama didn't win, it wasn't going to be because I didn't vote. It took me about an hour and 15 minutes, and then I was on my way to work and I called my friend Cheryl because it was her birthday. And when I called her, she said, maxi, guess what? I just had the best birthday gift ever. I said, what is that? She says, I just voted for a black man for the presidency on my birthday. I said, well, good. Then when I hung up the phone, I said, well, at least she got to vote for him. Then I went to work, and while I was at work, all my co workers were talking about making sure they got out to vote. And people were actually asking for time off so that they could make sure that they had time to vote before they going home. And everywhere I turned, people were talking about voting. And after a while, I actually started to feel some hope. I said, hmm, maybe this guy Obama could win this election. So when I got home that evening, the first thing I did was turn on my tv. And I looked and I was like, oh, shoot, this dude is winning. So I stayed glued to my set after that. Now, normally, whenever I vote, I just wait till the next morning to find out what the results are. But this time, I wanted to know right away. So I called my friend Martin. I said, martin, when do we find out who won the election? He laughed at me and said, Dude, 11 o'clock. So I said, all right. I. I was sitting and watching, and then I dozed off to sleep, and I woke up to chants of yes, we can. Yes we can. And I was looking at the TV and they were showing this huge crowd in Washington, D.C. then they showed this huge crowd in Chicago, Illinois. And then they showed this huge crowd in Harlem. And I was like, harlem? I ain't seen no crowd in Harlem. Where's that crowd now? Two doors from my apartment, there was a Barack Obama campaign office. So I said, well, maybe they're out there. So I decided to go outside and see. Now, by this time, I had on a pair of sweats that I only wear to bed. But I figured no one's going to notice, so I just threw on the leather jacket and went outside. When I got outside, there was nobody there. So I Said, well, nobody's here. Maybe they're on 125th Street. So I started walking down to 125th Street. When I got to 125th Street, I looked west. I saw nothing. Then I looked east towards 7th Avenue, and I saw these bright lights and. And this huge crowd. So I said, I wonder if that's the crowd on tv. So I went over there to see. And As I approached 7th Avenue, there was this huge stage set up right there on the corner of 125th street and 7th Avenue. And celebrities were on the stage talking to the crowd. And they had the crowd chanting, yes, we can. Yes, we can. And when I got there, I saw this huge jumbotron set up, and they were showing up to the minute coverage of the election. And every time it showed Barack winning in another state, the crowd cheered, yes, we can. Yes, we can. The police were trying to keep the traffic moving on 125th street, but it was almost impossible because people were jumping out of their cars screaming, Obama. I saw one of my neighbors, Lisa, and I went over to say hi, and she just started crying. She said, I can't believe this. I can't believe it. And I said, what? She said, a black man is about to be president of the United States. And the moment she said that, the crowd just erupted. And I turned around to see what was going on, and the Jumbotron said, Barack Obama elected 44th president of the United States. And right then, a total stranger just hugged me, saying, we did it, we did it, we did it. And then next thing you know, another stranger hugged me, and we were jumping up, down, going, we did it, we did it, we did it. And then suddenly I thought, we did it. I wonder what my father would think about this. And at that moment, a tear started rolling down my face and had to step aside outside of the crowd. And I said, well, dad, I'm sorry it didn't happen in your lifetime, but thank goodness it's happening in mine. Just then, my cell phone rang, and it was my friend Kelly. She said, maxie, where you at? I said, I'm on 125th Street. Come here. Let's have a drink. And she came and met me, and she said, okay, where are we going? And I said, let's go to Lennox Lounge. And what better place to be at this moment than a Lennox Lounge? And we started walking to the Lennox Lounge. And we passed by the Lennox Avenue subway station, and people were coming up in droves off the subway onto 125th street, and they were just hugging people. Everybody was just hugging each other. I must have hugged about 50 more strangers. Then we got to the Lenox Lounge, and as soon as I stepped in the door, a man pushed me in and slammed the door behind me and said, that's it. We're at capacity. And I felt lucky to be inside. The place was packed. It had young people, old people, black people, white people, rich and poor. Everybody was in there just celebrating, having a great time. People were dressed up in formal wear, and I had on my pajama sweats, and the place was boisterous, and people were celebrating. All of a sudden, a hush came over the whole room when Obama came out to make his acceptance speech. And even though I was listening to the speech, I was looking around the room, and everybody was just captivated and hanging onto his every word. And then suddenly when he said, change has come, the whole room erupted again, and people started celebrating some more. And then when all the celebration was over, I stepped back out onto Lenox Avenue, and people were still all in the streets. Cars were blowing their horns, trying to get through. I turned and I saw a Dixieland band coming toward me. I said, is that a Dixieland band? Somebody said, yeah. I was like, okay, this is just a dream. So I started walking home across 125th Street. The sun was coming up. A crew was dismantling the stage, taking down a jumbotron. I stepped into a bodega and picked up the newspaper, tucked it under my arm, and went on home. When I got home, I found I had left my door unlocked. The TV was still on, the lights were still on. And I sat down and I said, did this really just happen? Is a black man really the President of the United States? Was that a Dixieland ban? I took the newspaper and went to set it down on the coffee table, and I read the headline for the very first time. And it said, change has come. And I said, yes, it has. Thank you.

R. Eric Thomas (21:57)

Maxie Jones discovered the moth when he moved from New York City to Michigan in 2012. Since then, he has told over 60 stories on moth stages in Detroit, Ann Arbor, and New York. Maxey says he has plenty more stories to tell and doesn't plan on stopping until he's told them all. Thinking back on this particular story, he tells us, quote, many of my fondest memories are of living in Harlem and being so close to all the action centering around African American people making history. That's going to do it this time around. But we'll be back again soon with more stories until then have a story worthy week.

Groons Representative (22:30)

Our Eric Thomas is a playwright and longtime host and storyteller with the Moth. He's also a senior staff writer for ELLE.com where he writes Eric Reads the News, a daily current events and culture column. His debut memoir and essays entitled Here for It, will be published by Ballantine books in early 2020.

R. Eric Thomas (22:50)

Podcast production by Julia Purcell A special thanks to Sam Hacker, Gavin Allen and the team at Sundance TV for making this episode possible. The Moth podcast is presented by prx, the Public Radio Exchange, helping make public radio more public@prx.org.