Transcript
Rosetta Stone Advertiser (0:00)
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Dan Kennedy (1:08)
Welcome to the Moth Podcast. I'm Dan Kennedy and the Moth features true stories told live without notes. All stories from the podcast are taken from our ongoing storytelling series in New York, Los Angeles and from our tour shows across the country. Visit themoth.org this podcast is brought to you by audible.com which is a provider of audiobooks with more than 60,000 downloadable titles across all types of literature, including fiction, non fiction and periodicals. For listeners of the Moth podcast, Audible is offering a free audiobook to give you a chance to try out their service. One audiobook to consider is New York Times bestseller Not Without Hope. Written by Nick Scott Schuyler and New York Times sportswriter Jerry Longman. Not Without Hope tells the story of four friends who embark on a fishing trip from which only Nick returns. Oprah Winfrey recently called it the most harrowing story of survival that's Not Without Hope. Available from Audible. To download a free audiobook of your choice, go to audible.comthemost that's audible.comthemost the story you're about to hear by James Brawley was recorded live at the Moth Grand Slam in 2002. The theme of the night was fish out of water, and this was the winning story.
James Brawley (2:27)
So my father is a is a decorated bomber pilot, World War II, Korean War, shot down, parachuted to safety along with everybody else in his crew. And one time I asked him, dad, what was going on in the cockpit on the way Down. And he said, all the men were bellyaching and crying and screaming, captain Brawley, I don't want to die. I don't want to die. And I said, I can understand that, dad. What were you doing? And he said, solving the problem. Crying doesn't solve a goddamn thing. My dad's a man's man. Not a lot of room for weakness or frailty. Not a lot of understanding for differences. And one time I asked him to come see me in my high school band. I was going through my English glam rocker phase. I had Farah hair and a shiny red jacket cinched at the waist and open to the navel to frame my sunken English rocker chest. And at the end of the gig, he walked over and I said, dad, what'd you think? And he said, you don't have a shirt on, boy. So after 25 years of therapy and a week or two of inpatient crisis intervention, I decided I was going to be a very different kind of father. The kind of father who accepted the differences in his kids. And now I'm a dad. I have two boys, Owen, who's eight months old, and Oliver, who's three and a half, my firstborn. And Oliver's favorite color is pink. It's not my favorite color, but I'm okay with that because I'm a father who accepts differences in his son. And it started with the pink crayons and moved on to the pink open toed sandals, went on to my wife's pink nail polish, which I was OK with. And I actually started to think it was kind of cute. And I was even okay with the pink barrette, which Oliver kept in his pink purse when he wasn't wearing it. And then one day last summer, shortly before he turned three, he came to me and said, daddy, for my birthday, I want a pink bike. And even for me, this was a little too much pink. So I said, well, maybe thinking maybe not to give myself a little time to mull it over. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the real issue wasn't that pink is for girls or that Oliver shouldn't have a pink bike, but that he should have a red bike just like I'd had. And so I spent the next three months trying to make him come around to my point of view with a technique that I'd learned from my mother to make my thoughts seem like his. And so in the case of Oliver, that meant wandering around the park and noticing the shiny red objects and remarking what a wonderful color bike that would make, especially the fire engines, to which Oliver would respond. I want a fire engine and a pink bike. And after three months, I finally accepted that I had failed at converting Oliver and that, in fact, he was a different human being than I was, and that I was going to buy him a pink bike, which is not easy. You can get a Barbie 2000 in pink and you can get hello Kitty in pink and Little Miss Puddin and Jazz and the Charmer all in pink, but you can't get a pink bike without some looking. It took me 20 visits to virtually every bike shop in Manhattan between Canal and 125th street until I found what I was looking for. Two wheels, one color, no decals, in pink. And on the morning Oliver turned three, it was sitting in the playroom downstairs where we were going to be celebrating his birthday. And his friends came over and filled the room. It was decorated in pink. Pink streamers and purple streamers hanging from the chandelier. And a pink birthday cake with pink candles and Oliver's pink bike. And after a couple of his friends had arrived, parked right next to it, Jeremy's bike, the Mountain Cub, which was dark boy blue with paw prints all across it. And this was the moment of truth. I could accept Oliver's differences, but I didn't know whether the world could. And Jeremy parked his bike and looked at Oliver's pink bike and looked back at his and back at Oliver's. And then he looked to his mom and he started crying, mom, I want a pink bike just like Oliver has. And part of me had this malevolent glee, sticking it to the tough boy with a pink knife. But another part of me thought, you know what, Jeremy? So do I. Why does Oliver get a pink bike? We should get one, too. And at that point, I realized the gift that he had given me. It was his birthday, but he had shown me the beauty and the power really, of being yourself and letting other people be themselves. And it's not an easy lesson to learn. Currently, I'm mulling over Oliver's request for a pink dress, which, if I have the nerve to go to the contractor once again and ask him to change the paint color, will soon be hanging up in Oliver's new pink closet. Thank you.
