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- [00:00]
Sponsor Voice
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- [02:40]
Dan Kennedy
Welcome to the Moth Podcast. I'm Dan Kennedy. On the podcast this week we're going to the Northwest. We've got one story from our Story Slam series, Portland, and also one story from our Seattle Slam series. So those will be really fun. As you know, at the Moth Story Slam, we hand out audience participation slips where we ask the audience a question and they get to answer on the slip and we read it. So recently when I hosted in New York, we asked the question, tell us about a time you wished you had a second chance. And this person wrote in when I spelled the wrong word in a spelling bee on national tv. Okay, here's the thing. If you're listening to the podcast person who filled this out, I don't think you need to carry that weight around still. I think that's, you know, a, you were young, those were heady times. You made a mistake. You know, those were your TV days. You're probably like on your own trip. The other thing is, I kind of think the nation has forgotten about it by now. That's going to be my guess. It's not an exactly like, you know, where were you when, you know, Apollo 13 launched type of moment. Okay. Healing listeners one at a time. The first story we're going to hear today is from Mindy Netefe. She told this story in Portland at a Grand Slam back in February. The theme of the night was a fish out of water. Here's Mindy.
- [04:13]
Mindy Netefe
So I was still very young when my father came out of the closet. I was about 4 years old. So I knew my father was gay way before I knew what sex was. And I was, you know, like, little and adorable. So it was explained really simply to me that some men loved women and some men loved men, and some women loved men and some women loved women and a few things in between. And it all made perfect sense to me. And I never knew any different. So I grew up with child of divorce problems and some latchkey kid problems and maybe some, like, after school special problems. But I didn't grow up with any negative ideas or thoughts or problems with gayness. I mostly had my mother to thank for that. My father struggled a lot with his mental health after coming out. He was a Christian pastor from the Midwest and not an interior designer from San Francisco. So things were a little extra special crazy for him for a while, and he was pretty absent. And my mother, things were crazy for her, too. But she had three little girls, you know, and so she galvanized over and over, and she was very protective of us. And she became kind of an activist in the process and would, like, drag us out to gay pride parades, to march down the streets of Des Moines, Iowa with handmade signs that read, don't tell me the gay is bad, because I know one. He's my dad. Yeah. And she was firm and she just taught us to never ever be ashamed of who we were. And she did such a good job that my sisters and I really grew up in an opposite paradigm, which is really remarkable in retrospect because I was born only 10 years after the Stonewall riots and like in the heart of the Anita Bryant anti gay crusade and the Save our children campaign. And I had no idea that the world was not a queer loving, hippie hearted, rainbow flag waving world. So I was going to have to find that out. When I was about nine years old, we moved to California. And the very first day of the fourth grade at my new school, at recess, the kids in my class all decided to play AIDS tag. I had never heard of it, but AIDS tag is just like regular tag, except if you're it, you're gay, and if you tag someone, they get AIDS and die, which is an actual place by the drinking fountains. And I was shocked. AIDS was a very serious thing in my world. And I had known some men who had, gorgeous men who had rotted and died. And I ran home crying that day, sobbing because I thought we had moved to the most heartless, evil place in the entire world. Of course we hadn't. And it's not just that kids can be cruel. You know, back then most of everyone believed homosexuals were unnatural sinners, if not outright criminals. And that AIDS was a gay disease, possibly a plague sent by God. And it was really just the beginning, fourth grade of my sort of awful re education. And it was also the very first time that I felt ashamed. And I didn't feel ashamed of my father. I felt ashamed of myself for not standing up to those kids. Because I was different, you know, And I knew it now, but I didn't have to wear that difference on my skin. I could pass. And it made me feel dirty, you know, like a traitor to the people I loved the most. And it changed me. Slowly but surely. I became one of those really outspoken, bratty kids who called everybody out, who used the word faggot and dared everyone to fight. And there were plenty of fights to be had. And I adjusted slowly to sort of an increasingly hostile world. And there were some big battles, but they were mostly really small personal battles, like defending myself against peers who thought I was the spawn of Satan or something satanic anyway. And I'll never Forget this one kid, he was really tall and skinny, this evangelical kid with all this acne who right before he was about to like assault me with a bunch of hate speech, turned to me and said, now don't take this personally, Mindy. Right. And it wasn't all bad, you know, my father ended up being able to continue his career as a pastor, and he turned out to be kind of a good looking bear. And there was, you know, like musicals in my life and Sondheim and Ace of Bass. And he joined the Gay Men's Chorus of Los Angeles, which like triples the number of amazing mustaches in my life. And I had to learn, you know, like, how to take things personally with style and grace, or not take them personally at all. But I never had to learn how to not hate myself, which it turns out is not nothing in this world. And the tide has definitely shifted in the last 10 years. I think in 18 states now it's legal for same sex couple couples to get married, which blows my mind. And, you know, we have the Ellens and steamy, dreamy Frank Ocean. And I've met teenagers now, queer and trans teenagers who are living completely normal lives, you know, so they're like really unhappy and tortured and angst filled, but it's normal. And whenever I meet them, I just burst, you know, with pride and joy. And then it is immediately followed by this wave of profound sadness that my father never got to have that. And then that's followed by this thought, which is that in that world, the better world, the one I'm fighting for, where my father could have loved anyone he wanted, I wouldn't exist. And sometimes I'm not sure I do belong, you know, but then I think maybe it's not that different from everyone else, you know, and like all the crazy series of impossible chances that led to any of us being born, you know, like existential crisis party, and everyone's invited, you know, and, you know, maybe we all do belong, because here we are. Maybe it's that simple.
- [11:48]
Dan Kennedy
Mindy Netefi is a writer living in Portland, Oregon. She's one of our hosts out there, actually. She also produces for Backfence PDX and she performs monthly at the New Shit Show. Her most recent book is a collection of essays on writing called Glitter in the Blood. Now for our second story, we're going to head up Interstate 5 to Seattle, which if you're doing that drive the way I did it in the 90s, should take you about half a decade. Scott M. Herman told this story back in 2012. The theme of the night was unintended.
- [12:29]
Scott M. Herman
So my senior year of college, I was living out a dream of mine and I was studying theater in Dublin, Ireland. It was the week before Halloween and I had a long weekend to kill. So I thought it would be really fun to go and climb Mount Arigal, which is the highest peak in County Donegal, which is up in the north of Ireland. And it was on this weekend that I felt I had finally discovered my Ireland and what it meant to me. But it was also a weekend where absolutely nothing went as planned. I had a backpack, I had a borrowed tent, and I had a steadfast determination. And I had zero idea of what I was doing. After a very long bus ride, I was dropped in the middle of a tiny village called Dunlooie at the base of the mountain. And Dunlooie consisted of a pub, a gas station, and the backpacking hostel, which I soon found out was closed for the season. I suddenly found myself with no place to stay for the night, no information how to get up the mountain, and the last bus to or from town had just dropped me off and driven away. So I panicked for about half a second and then I did the only reasonable thing I could think of to do. I went to the pub. While I was there, I learned that the path up the mountain was literally just beyond the gas station. It was a small town, so I thought, well, hey, I have a sleeping bag. I have it to. I have a tent. I'll just camp on the trail. I mean, it wasn't perfect, but I was determined. So I stocked up on supplies. A gas station sandwich and a six pack of fruit scones for breakfast, and I headed up the mountain. Now, for those of you who don't know, the weather in Ireland is almost identical to here in the Pacific Northwest. And so most of you will probably have no problem imagining why the hostel was closed for the season and why no one in their right mind would possibly consider climbing a mountain in the north of Ireland in the late October. The path was less of a path and more of a bog. I hadn't gone half a mile before. My boots were caked in mud, my pants were absolutely soaked, and the wind had blown away any hopes of camping for the night. I was determined, but I wasn't stupid. So I returned to the gas station to find any place I could spend the night and get back to Dublin as quickly as possible and forget the whole weekend ever happened. I ended up taking a taxi to Bunbeg, which is a small town about 20 minutes away, maybe 25 if you route through Houston. And it was the closest town with regular bus service. So I got there just after dark. I was soaking wet. I was nearly broke and extremely depressed. I found a room in the nearest inn. And while I was wallowing in the bathtub, eating my gas station sandwich and three of my fruit scones, I decided to venture down to the hotel pub to drown my disappointments in a couple pints before going to sleep. Now, I'd had notions about Irish pubs before I left and you know, they're warm and welcome with roaring fires and lively music and rowdy locals. And this hotel publishing was none of these things. It was plain and drab and dead quiet. And I was the only person there besides the bartender. So I ordered a pint of Guinness and I sat at the end of the bar and settled in for a very long night. And so before too long, people did actually start showing up that were obviously locals, very local, besides myself and the bartender. The average age was approximately 102 and they would switch mid sentence between English and Irish without breaking their stride, like it was nothing. So I was way out of my league. And I tried to just sit at the end of the bar and drink my pint and remain. Remain inconspicuous. But I forgot that it's impossible to remain inconspicuously American in a foreign country. So I was the most interesting thing happening in town that night, apparently. And I very quickly became the center of conversation. After about three pints of Guinness, I actually started to understand that conversation. I was really uncomfortable at first and just wanted to be by myself, but my hosts were so welcoming and pulled me in and drew me out. And before long, despite my best efforts, I was enjoying myself. They had this delightful habit of embellishing everything I said in a way that really only the Irish can get away with. They made everything grander, like, oh, I'm studying playwriting in Dublin for the semester. Became, oh, come meet the American. He's going to put us all in a book. Turns out, even in a small town like Bunburg, everyone has a story to tell and everyone wants to share. So we talked long into the night, and by the time I stumbled up to my room, it felt like I'd met half the town and I'd heard stories about the other half. At 7am the next morning, I was back on a bus to Dublin. I was still in my dirty clothes. I was very hungover and operating on extremely little sleep. But I had completely forgotten about the mountain that I failed to climb the whole ride. When I wasn't sleeping, I was thinking about the pub and the locals that took me in. And through my idiotic and random series of missteps, I actually had had one of the most memorable experiences I would have in Ireland. So I guess goes to show that just because things don't go to plan doesn't necessarily mean they go wrong.
- [18:21]
Dan Kennedy
Thank Scott M. Herman is a playwright and storyteller based in Seattle. His plays have been presented around the country and he's currently co editor of Lowercase lit, an online magazine focusing on literary nonfiction.
- [18:42]
Sponsor Voice
This podcast is brought to you by squarespace.com Squarespace gives you an all in one platform to create a professional website or online portfolio in just a few minutes. For a free trial and 10% off your first purchase on new accounts, head to squarespace.com and use the offer code themoth. Thanks again to squarespace.com for supporting the Moth.
- [19:03]
Dan Kennedy
The Moth main Stage is returning to Santa Barbara. That's going to be Wednesday, November 5th, and I'm going to have to remember that one because I'm going to jump on a plane and head out there and host it. If you want to know about tickets or anywhere else that we're going while we're on tour, just Visit the site.
- [19:19]
Sponsor Voice
Themoth.Org Our podcast host, Dan Kennedy is a writer and performer living in New York and author of the new novel American Spirit. Available now.
- [19:29]
Dan Kennedy
Thanks to all of you for listening and we hope you have a story worthy week. Podcast audio production by Paul Ruest at the Argo Studios in New York. The Moth Podcast and the Radio Hour are presented by prx, the Public Radio Exchange helping make public radio more public@prx.org.