The Moth Radio Hour: Curtain Call

Summary

The Moth Radio Hour: Curtain Call
Release Date: July 15, 2025
Host: Sarah Austin Janess

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Introduction

In this episode of The Moth Radio Hour: Curtain Call, host Sarah Austin Janess presents three captivating stories from renowned storytellers. The episode delves into themes of identity, acceptance, and personal growth, showcasing the transformative power of storytelling. Below is a detailed summary of each story, enriched with notable quotes and timestamps for a comprehensive understanding.

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1. Teek Milan: Embracing Identity and Motherhood (00:00 – 12:22)

Overview: Teek Milan shares a deeply personal narrative about his journey as a transgender man and his evolving relationship with his mother, Mary. His story is a poignant exploration of fear, courage, and unconditional love.

Key Points:

• Early Struggles and Concealment (02:05 – 05:30): Teek reveals the internal conflict he faced growing up, hiding his true self from his mother to avoid rejection. At 15, he confesses to his mother, "I'm not pregnant. I'm gay" (02:21), highlighting the fear of losing his mother's support.

• Growing Distance and Realization (05:31 – 08:00): As Teek transitions, he grapples with the strain it places on his relationship with his mother. He admits, "I risk losing everybody in this life that we thought loved us" (05:50), emphasizing the toll of secrecy on his personal life.

• Courage to Reveal True Self (08:01 – 10:45): Encouraged by his girlfriend, Teek decides to disclose his transgender identity and upcoming surgery to his mother. The initial reaction is harsh, with his mother expressing doubt: "I should have never accepted you" (09:15). However, this moment becomes a turning point.

• Reconciliation and Acceptance (10:46 – 12:22): Post-surgery, Teek's mother surprises him by supporting his transition, bringing chocolates and a teddy bear to the hospital (11:00). Their relationship evolves as his mother gradually learns to use his correct name and pronouns, culminating in heartfelt exchanges: "I'm always so proud of you" (12:10).

Notable Quotes:

• "I'm not Ellen, Ma. Okay?" (02:45) – Teek asserting his individuality.
• "I'm yours, and you're still mine." (11:50) – A declaration of enduring love and connection.

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2. Amelia Zirin Brown (Rizzo): Navigating Childhood and Self-Expression (16:27 – 31:38)

Overview: Amelia Zirin Brown, known as Rizzo, recounts her experiences growing up in an unconventional family environment and the challenges she faced integrating into mainstream social settings. Her story underscores the importance of authenticity and the impact of supportive relationships.

Key Points:

• Unconventional Upbringing (16:27 – 20:00): Rizzo describes being raised by "theater, dance and art hippies," emphasizing a childhood filled with creativity and non-conformity. She reminisces, "We were raised together, breastfed together" (17:15), highlighting the close-knit and unique family bonds.

• First Day at Brownies and Social Alienation (20:01 – 23:52): Her entry into the Girl Scouts' Brownies exposes her to conventional norms, leading to feelings of isolation. She vividly contrasts her homemade lunches with the store-bought meals of other girls, expressing disappointment: "I wanted nothing more than to taste whatever this rainbow was." (21:30)

• Middle School Confrontation and Self-Acceptance (23:53 – 28:41): In middle school, Rizzo endures bullying from peers Christy and Mindy, who mock her appearance and heritage. This experience forces her to confront her insecurities and ultimately embrace her true self. She narrates, "I stood back, I went and searched out Aurora. I hugged her as tight as I could." (27:00)

• Turning Adversity into Strength (28:42 – 31:38): Rizzo reflects on how these formative experiences propelled her into a life of artistic expression and advocacy. She emphasizes the significance of her friendships and how they sustained her: "Seriously, this is what happens when you tell a child they can be whatever they want to be." (30:30)

Notable Quotes:

• "Dirty girl. We were just wondering if you wanted to see Capri Sun." (22:15) – Illustrating the cruelty of exclusion.
• "I walked into high school wearing combat boots and a Goodwill dress with Aurora and Amber by my side." (28:50) – Symbolizing her embrace of individuality.

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3. Doug Wright: A Lifetime of Storytelling and Connection (34:47 – 50:45)

Overview: Doug Wright, a Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright, shares his journey from a young fan of The Waltons to a celebrated writer. His story intertwines personal passion with professional achievement, highlighting the enduring influence of meaningful connections.

Key Points:

• Childhood Obsession and Correspondence (34:47 – 40:00): Doug recounts his childhood fascination with John Boy Walton from The Waltons and his ambitious effort to become pen pals with the actor Richard Thomas. He describes, "I wrote him a letter... It was 22 pages long." (35:45), illustrating his deep yearning for connection and understanding.

• Creating a Personal Shrine and Familial Tensions (40:01 – 43:30): His dedication leads to creating a shrine with photos and letters, causing friction with his older brother. Doug reflects on the challenges of maintaining individuality within a restrictive family dynamic: "I was Selling myself out so hard. At the end of lunch, Mindy and Christy started picking up speed." (42:10)

• Adulthood and Professional Success (43:31 – 48:00): Fast forward decades, Doug becomes a successful writer, mirroring John Boy's path. He shares his transition into adulthood and the fulfillment of his childhood dreams, positioning his professional achievements as extensions of his early passions.

• Meeting Richard Thomas and Full Circle (48:01 – 50:45): Doug's story culminates in his collaboration with Richard Thomas on a play. The emotional reunion underscores the profound impact of his childhood interactions on his adult life: "You're a passionate way to deal with your own frailties, my insecurities... it's how I find community." (49:30)

Notable Quotes:

• "I walked in, it's a sort of blonde rehearsal room." (34:50) – Setting the scene of his pivotal meeting with Richard Thomas.
• "Good night, John Boy. Thanks." (50:30) – A heartfelt closing to his story, symbolizing gratitude and closure.

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Conclusion

The Moth Radio Hour: Curtain Call masterfully weaves together stories of personal transformation and resilience. Through Teek Milan, Amelia Zirin Brown (Rizzo), and Doug Wright, listeners are invited to witness the profound journeys of self-discovery and the enduring power of love and acceptance. Each storyteller, with their unique experiences, underscores the universal quest for identity and connection, leaving listeners both moved and inspired.

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Additional Information:

• Notable Speakers:

  • Teek Milan: An advocate for equity and inclusion with a widely viewed TED Talk.
  • Amelia Zirin Brown (Rizzo): A Grammy-winning cabaret singer and performance artist.
  • Doug Wright: Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright known for I Am My Own Wife.

• Further Engagement: For more stories and to share your own, visit themost.org. Connect with The Moth on Facebook and Instagram under @mothstories.

Transcript

[Sarah Austin Janess]

Out here, it's not only the amazing.

[Teek Milan]

Views, but the way time stretches out a little longer and how the breeze.

[Sarah Austin Janess]

Hits just right at the summit.

[Teek Milan]

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[Sarah Austin Janess]

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[Teek Milan]

Pair them with sleek low profile sneakers.

[Sarah Austin Janess]

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[Teek Milan]

Try it with mesh flats, Feeling boho comfy sandals. Nail the whole free spirited thing. Find on trend shoes from the brands you love like Birkenstock, Nike, Adidas and more at dsw. This is the Moth Radio Hour. I'm Sarah Austin Genet at this point in the moth's history, we've featured over 60,000 stories on stages around the world. Moth storytellers come from all reaches of farmers, plumbers, astronauts, teachers, voodoo priestesses, firefighters, people who have never been on stage before the Moth, and people who are famous for their work on stage. The three storytellers in this episode all have recognition for their artistry on stage. Our first teller, Tik Milan, is known for speaking all around the world advocating for the most vulnerable of us, and his ted talk has 3 million views and counting. He told this new story with us on the Walter Kerr stage in New York City. When the Moth had its first night on Broadway, he Here's Teek Malone.

[Amelia Zirin Brown]

I was my mother's fourth daughter, the first she had when she was 15 years old. Years later, one of my sisters had a baby at 15 years old. So when I was 15 and I sat my mother down at the kitchen table, I knew exactly what she thought I was going to tell her. I said, mommy, I gotta tell you something. She said, aw shit. I said, wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute. I'm not pregnant. I'm gay. She was shocked. She was shocked. But she got over it quickly and she became one of my fiercest allies. I remember seeing her when I'd be marching in the Pride Parade in my hometown of Buffalo, New York. She'd be on the sidelines, her and her younger sister Stella, waving their rainbow flags, drinking their wine coolers, having a good time. We grew really close, particularly when I moved here to New York city in my 20s to start my adult life. I really needed her so much. I needed her for everything. I called her every day and twice on Saturdays to help me make decisions about decorating my apartment, to help me make decisions about school, about my beginnings of My career. I would tell her all about the beautiful women that I was meeting and I was dating, but I didn't tell her that I was their boyfriend. My mother was a nurse for over 40 years, so I caught a case of the sniffles. I'm calling her to ask her what tablets to take, but I didn't call and tell her that I was taking a half cc of testosterone every two weeks. I didn't tell her I was transgender, but she knew something was up. So one day I'm at work, and she calls me. She said, tikaboo. That was her pet name for me. She said, tikaboo. I hate to call you at work, but I just got to ask you this question. I just got to get this off my chest. I said, mommy, what's up? She said, why you got to be so mannish? Why can't you be a soft Butch like Ellen DeGeneres? I said, because I'm not Ellen, Ma. Okay? She says, you know what? I should have never allowed this. I should have never accepted you. I should have never accepted you. What would have happened if I had never accepted you? I said, well, Ma, I still would have been me. I just would have been me without a mother. And she thought about it for a minute, and she said, well, you ain't got enough good sense to do anything without me, so I guess I'll stick around. Thank you. So we laughed and went on about our conversation. But I didn't take that opportunity to tell her because I was scared. My mother had really had high expectations of me, and she used to say, I'm raising you to be better than me. And I thought that me being trans meant that I was failing at that. And as a transgender person, one of the things we risk is we risk losing everybody in this life that we thought loved us in order for us to find ourselves. And I was not ready to lose my mother. I just needed her too much, and I just loved her too much. So I kept it a secret. I didn't tell her for years, and our relationship definitely took a hit. It was a strain on our relationship because I'm from Buffalo. So I would just go back and forth to, like, four or five times a year. I stay for a week at a time. But during these years, I would only go home maybe once, just stay for a couple of days. And it wasn't sustainable. It wasn't sustainable, particularly because now my transition is progressing, and now it's time for me to have surgery, and I still had no plans to tell her. And my girlfriend at the time looked at me and she said, you are crazy. You and your mother are best friends. You talk to her every day. She's a nurse. She will never forgive you if you don't tell her that you are about to have major surgery. So I was like, all right, I'm going to tell her. So one day I call her. I said, mommy. She said, what's up? I said, I got something to tell you. She said, what is it? And this is exactly how it came out to her. I said, mom, I am having a double mastectomy. A chest reconstruction. I'm a man. She said, what the fuck? So she's like, hyperventilating on the phone, right? So I said, listen, Mommy, I'm having surgery, and I'm having surgery, surgery in three days, and I would love for you to be here for me, but if you can't, I understand. And she said, just get off my phone and let me think. Just get off my phone. Click. And she hung up on me. And she hung up, and I didn't hear from her. So the day of my surgery comes around, and I'm all prepped and ready for surgery, getting ready to get wheeled in. The door opens up, and guess who it is. It's my mom, Ms. Mary. And here she comes, and she has this plush Ralph Lauren robe, and she has a jar full of chocolates covered in blue foil. And she has a little. Blue plush, little teddy bear for me. And she was there with me the entire time I was in surgery and during recovery. So I got discharged, and we go back to her favorite hotel, which is the Marriott Marquis here in Times Square. And we're kind of just hanging out in the hotel room, and I look over, and she's crying, crying. And I said, mom, why are you crying? And she said, because it feels like my daughter died. And that was one of the hardest things I've ever heard. But I understood it. Because my transition wasn't just mine alone. I went from being a daughter to a son. I went from being the little sister to the baby brother, from the favorite auntie to the favorite uncle. So I grabbed my mother's hand and I looked in her eyes and I said, mommy, I'm yours, and you're still mine. And everything that you've taught me and all the memories that we have made as mother and daughter have informed me and fortified me as a man that I am today. And we laughed and we cried and we talked. And I think it was in that moment when she really started to Understand me and accept me as her son. But it wasn't necessarily a smooth transition. She kept messing up my name. She kept messing up my pronouns. And so one day, I called her. I said, mama, look, I'm not coming home anymore. I'm not coming home to visit if you can't get my pronouns right and you can't get my name right. Because not only is it humiliating, okay, it's unsafe. You could be putting me in a really unsafe position when you do this. She said, oh, my God, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll be better. I said, all right, get it together. So a few days later, she calls me and she said, oh, tikabu, you'd be so proud of your mother. You'd be so proud of me. I said, why, mommy? What's going on? She said, because I've been practicing. Me and Stella, been role playing, practicing your name and your pronouns. You'd be so proud of your mother. And I said, mama, I'm always so proud of you. And she said, oh, I just love you. And I said, I love you, too. And we went on in conversation the way we had always done. So June 2014, I get a phone call from my mom, and this time she is hysterical, crying, hysterical. And I said, mommy, what's going on? And she said, baby, you got to come home right now. You got to come home right now. And I said, mama, I'm coming home on the 19th. And she said, baby, I'm not going to be here on the 19th because the cancer has mushroom throughout my entire body. The tumors in my lungs and in my backs are bigger. The initial tumor in my breasts. You got to get home right now. Now, we knew mommy had a cancer diagnosis, but I don't think we knew it was that bad. So I got on the first thing smoking back home. Now, by the time I get home, my mother's in hospice, in and out of consciousness, and one of my sisters is there, and she sees me and she says, teeka's here. Here she is. Teeka's here. She finally made it. Here she is. Teeka's here. My mother slowly opened up her eyes, and she whispered he. And that was one of the last words she spoke. So over the next couple of days, the family, we had it set up so that she was never alone. We all took a shift, and I had the morning shift. So one morning I come in, and it's pretty obvious that we're reaching the end now. Every breath she take is so labored. Her whole body moves and there's this loud gurgle with every breath that just fills the room. So I come up to her hospital bed and I take the guardrail down and I get in bed with her just like I used to when I was a little kid. And I put my head on her shoulder and I put my lips to her ear and I said, mama, you could go. I said, it is okay. I promise you, I'm gonna be okay. You did such a good job raising me. You can go. And I fell asleep. Fell asleep right there. And when I woke up, the room was silent and my champion had died right there in my arms. Tell you, there are no words to express how devastating that was for me. The sun still doesn't shine as bright anymore. And I was really lost because my mother, she was my moral compass. She was my guiding light. She was the only person in this world who could check me. So I'm like, who's going to check me now? And as I processed my grief over time and really self reflected on this idea that she was raising me to be better than her, in actuality, it wasn't about me being better than her. She was raising me to live in this world without her. And not only am I living, but I am thriving because I am the man that she raised. Thank you.

[Teek Milan]

That was Teek Millan. Teek says he's a die hard Buffalo Bills fan and a mama's boy. He told this story with us all over the world and it's also included in the Moth's best selling anthology, A Point of Beauty. Teek is an advocate for equity and inclusion and he credits the Moth for being an integral part of his development as an artist and a speaker.

[Amelia Zirin Brown]

Every time I get off stage, people come to me in tears, with hugs, in celebration and in mourning of my dear sweet mother. I've been able to cement her legacy and give thousands of people an example of unconditional love. And I know she shined it down and is so proud of her baby boy.

[Teek Milan]

To see photos of Teek and his mother, Miss Mary, after they saw the Broadway show Fences and in Times Square hanging out with the naked cowgirl, go to our radio extras [e-mail] if this story makes you think of some of your own, tell us. You can find information on how to pitch [e-mail] after our break. A teenager on the coast of Oregon gets thrown into the world of mean girls when the Moth Radio Hour continues.

[Doug Wright]

The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts.

[Teek Milan]

Hi I'm Kristen Bell and if you know my husband Dax, then you also know he loves shopping for a car. Selling a car, not so much.

[Kristen Bell]

We're really doing this, huh?

[Teek Milan]

Thankfully, Carvana makes it easy. Answer a few questions, put in your van or license and done. We sold ours in minutes this morning and they'll come pick it up and pay us this afternoon.

[Kristen Bell]

Goodbye Truckee.

[Teek Milan]

Of course, we kept the favorite.

[Kristen Bell]

Hello other Truckee.

[Teek Milan]

Sell your car with Carvana today. Terms and conditions apply. Ready to level up? Chumba Casino is your playbook to fun. It's free to play with no purchase necessary. Enjoy hundreds of online social games like blackjack, slots and solitaire anytime, anywhere, with fresh releases every week. Whether you're at home or on the go, let Chumba Casino bring the excitement to you. Plus, get free daily login bonuses and a free welcome bonus. Join now for your chance to redeem some serious prizes. Play Chumba Casino today. No purchase necessary. VGW Group void board prohibited by law 21/TNCs apply on WhatsApp no one can see or hear your personal messages. Whether it's a voice call message or sending a password to WhatsApp, it's all just this. So whether you're sharing the streaming password in the family chat or trading those late night voice messages that could basically become a podcast, your personal messages stay between you, your friends and your family. No one else, not even us. WhatsApp message privately with everyone. This is the Moth Radio Hour. I'm Sarah Austin Janess and this episode features three artists famous for their work on stage. Our next storyteller is Amelia Zirin Brown. She goes by Rizzo. She's a world renowned cabaret singer. The New York Times calls her shows, quote, a fierce but kind hearted fusion of comedy, burlesque, performance art and rock and roll. Rizzo told this story at a Moth Main Stage in Portland, Oregon where we partner with Literary Arts and Oregon Public Broadcasting. Here's rza.

[Sarah Austin Janess]

I'm five years old and we pull into Ona Beach State park and I dust off the sesame seeds from my halva snack off of my favorite brown corduroy romper. It had patches and kind of an Elizabethan flair to it and I'm trying to get some knots out of my hair. I decided to just cover it up with my favorite raspberry beret, put it on a jaunty angle and I go out into the clearing and the moment I see these other five year old girls, I realize that they're really different from me. They were clean number one And I guess their hair was, what do you call it, brushed and pulled back in these tight ponytails with lots of plastic clips. And they were wearing shoes. And I felt like I should turn around. I didn't have my A team by my side, Amber, Star and Aurora. I was all alone, but I soldiered through and got through the first day of the Brownies. I was raised by a group commonly referred to as hippies. But these weren't just any hippies. These were theater, dance and art hippies who raced me, you know, with basically with trust falls in mime. And it's not a great idea to be caught in a trust fall by a mime, by the way, but it was a really great idea to be raised by these people. They taught me I could be whatever I wanted to be. And my parents made, you know, Shakespeare and Barnes and Chekhov in basements. And my father made a life size puppet of the Elephant man that sat in our living room for too long and still frightens me. And I had my sisters who were not my actual blood sisters, but my sisters Amber, Starr and Aurora by my side. We were raised together, breastfed together. We started modern dance when we were three. You know, it's important to do contractions at that age. And I had them by my side. But this summer they were off traveling and my parents thought it might be a good idea to socialize me with kids outside the community. And so there I was with the thing underneath the Girl Scouts, which is called the Brownies. And I clocked Christy and Mindy right away. They looked so shiny. And the differences really unfolded when lunchtime came, as all the other girls opened these space age plastic cases with cartoon ponies and Care Bears on them and pulled out these sandwiches made from bread as white as clouds, just spongy and uniform in shape. It looked like a drawn piece of bread and on it condiments that looked like primary paint colors. So bright. A luncheon meat of indiscriminate animal. It must have been a stone snake because it was so round. But the piece de resistance was the beverage. You see, they had this Mylar pouch with a picture of paradise on it. I watched as they peeled some sort of instrument of destruction off the back of the pouch. It must have been a spear of sorts because they stabbed the belly of that beast and they drank it from blood and glory. I wanted nothing more than to taste whatever this rainbow was. I saw their lunches and I thought it looked so fun, like a vacation made for kids. And for the first time, I looked at my own lunch, with disappointment as I pulled out my sprouted flaxseed and millet bread out of a. A bag hand sewn by my father, made from Guatemalan fabric. And the bread had hummus on it. Hummus. You had to say that because it was. It was so granular. It had been hand pestiled. Hand pestiled by loud New York Jewish women. And I pulled out my beverage, which was a rusted mason jar filled with cloudy apple juice that had separated during the day, so it was interactive. At the end of lunch, Christy and Mindy, we had already decided, wordlessly, that they were the leaders of the group. They had came over to me with, like the girls in the Shining, only more frightening. Hands held. They said, dirty girl. They didn't know my name yet. Dirty girl. We were just wondering if you wanted to see Capri Sun. Capri Sun? Capri Sun. It had a name. How did they know? They read my mind. I said, thank you so much. I bowed professionally. I grabbed it from their hands. I took the straw in my mouth. I jutted it to the left and right. I couldn't. Deeper. I should try deeper. Nothing. Only Christie's expelled air. She had puffed it up to make it seem like there was a drink. And then Christy laughed and Mindy laughed, and then all the brownies laughed and I laughed, too. But when my mom picked me up, I cried. And I got through that week of brownies somehow with my head down and quieter than I'd ever been. And then I got through elementary school with Breeze. I had Amber and Aurora by my side, you know, and still we had this wild life where we would make this art and our parents would have cast parties where all of a sudden they would disappear in the middle of the party to have a meeting in the laundry room about herbs. And we had this life, but then we had each other and we had this kind of secret life. But then I made it through elementary school, and then middle school came. And the first day of middle school, I was at my locker and then down the hall, who do I see but the Capri sun duo, Christy and Mindy. For the first time since then, they were walking, it seemed, as if in slow motion, with their flaxen hair blowing. They were wearing guest jeans with zippers at the ankles, Keds, an Esprit sweatshirt, a Benetton sweatshirt, and Swatch watches on east wrist. I was bowled over by their cookie cutter glamour. And that week, also, a DARE officer had come into our classroom, a police officer who said, you know, kids, it'd be a great idea if you told me if you knew anyone who did drugs. And I remember so distinctly my mom sitting me down and saying, amelia. She said, amelia, we don't lie, but sometimes we admit or bend the truth, like when we order you something off the children's menu. And could you please stop correcting us and letting them know you're 12.

[Amelia Zirin Brown]

When.

[Sarah Austin Janess]

You'Re on an airplane, if you're ever on an airplane and someone asks you if you're Jewish, I want you to lie. And the third time is if an officer asks you if we or our friends smoke marijuana. By this time, you know we do. We just don't agree with the rest of the country. They think it should be illegal, and we use it to relax, just like they do their whiskey. So I had already learned that I had to hide parts of myself to pick and choose what to expose to fit in, to survive. And I was picking and choosing some things off of the wardrobe of Christy and Mindy. Please, mom, please can I buy some Guess jeans, please? I begged. I begged for each little bit. And slowly through through the year, even though Amber's mom, Nancy, suggested that perhaps we just buy one pair and cut off the little triangle and put a piece of Velcro and just share it. I collected all the pieces of clothing, and by seventh grade, I decided I was quitting dance and I was quitting theater because I was going to join the basketball team with Mindy and Christy. And midway through seventh grade, Mindy and Christy, at lunchtime, send one of their minions to me, Katie or Danny. You can see what kind of names you had to be to be a leader here. And they said they want you to sit at lunch with them. Oh, my God. My moment had come. I was them. I sat down and I realized really quickly the order of the day was to make fun of the other girls that were in seventh grade with us. And Christy said, ah, did you see what she's wearing? Oh, my God. I mean, what is it? Has splatters of paint on it intentionally. I knew exactly who they were talking about. Aurora had been wearing this jacket made by a family friend named Becky, whose art was to throw paint at vintage clothing. I loved that jacket. It had puffy sleeves, a snatched waist. Mindy said, yeah, she's so weird. Did you see her glasses? What do you think, Amelia? I took a sip of my milk. Yeah, she looks like she cuts her own bangs with craft scissors. They laughed, and I died inside. I had cut my own hair with her with craft scissors. And I was Selling myself out so hard. At the end of lunch, Mindy and Christy and Danny and whatever her freaking name was, they started picking up speed. They were, like, running fast through the breezeway. We were running from some boys, but then they picked up some intentional speed. And then they took a quick, quick right into the library and a quick left through the computer room. And I was just trying to catch up. I wasn't as athletic as they were. And I just saw out the window of the computer room that they had gone into the girl's bathroom. And I took a breath and I slowly, as quietly as I could, entered the bathroom. And I heard them. They were huddled in the disabled toilet, and they were saying, did we ditch her? Do you think we finally ditched her? They were talking about me and oh, my God, what a gift. What a gift to be given so clearly and so young that I had built this house on sand. And I stood back, I went and searched out Aurora. I found her. I hugged her as tight as I could. I didn't tell her this story, and I still haven't told her the story until now. And. And then I, for the first time, really felt the joy and the gift that all these adults that had raised me had given by modeling their genuine and expressive selves. And I walked into high school wearing combat boots and a Goodwill dress with Aurora and Amber by my side. The A team was back, and I carried on that joy. And seriously, this is what happens when you tell a child they can be whatever they want to be. I went into a life of a niche world of cabaret, where I meld songs and stories through the portal of glamour with the greatest wish that somebody in the audience is going to be inspired to let their light shine through whatever normative cracks have held them back. Thank you.

[Teek Milan]

Amelia Zirin Brown, AKA Rizzo. She's a performance artist, comedienne, singer, composer, and actor. She also has a Grammy for her collaboration with Yo Yo Ma. She travels the world with her original pieces that fuse storytelling, audience experiments, and powerful vocals. And she lives in a bungalow of love and glitter with her partner Nicholas and son Tennyson. Rizzo is still friends with Aurora. She told her a version of this story before it went on stage, and they both cried on the phone. Rizzo says it's such a beautiful gift to have friends that you shared your early years with. It also lends a vulnerability that's a little frightening, too. Our shared childhood was idyllic in so many ways, but it was definitely not perfect. It's amazing to have these women who I traveled through every stage of my life with still in my orbit. Rizzo was the last to tell her story at this Moth main stage in Portland, Oregon. And as our host, John Good wrapped up the night, Rizzo stepped off stage, did a quick change into a sequined onesie. The stage lights dimmed and changed color, and she came back out and sang Leonard Cohen, how the Light Gets in, which was our show's theme for the night. It was perfect. And here's a little of that now.

[Sarah Austin Janess]

All the wars they will be fought again the holy dove she will be caught again she will be bought and sold and bought again the dove is never free so ring the bells that still can ring Forget your perfect offerings There is a crack a crack in everything is how the light gets in we asked for signs the signs were sent the birth betrayed the marriage spent oh, the widowhood of every government A sign for all to see.

[Amelia Zirin Brown]

I won't.

[Sarah Austin Janess]

Run no more with that fallen crowd While the killers in high places say their prayers out loud oh, but they've summoned us They've summoned up a thundercloud and they're gonna hear from me Ring the bells that still can ring to.

[Teek Milan]

See the video of this closing act and to find where Rizzo is performing Next, go to themoth.org and look for the extras for this episode. After our break. A boy in Texas gets himself a famous television pen pal when the Moth Radio Hour continues.

[Sarah Austin Janess]

Strike up the drum. There will be no march to every heart Every heart love will come but like a refugee Ring the bells that still can ring Forget your power Perfect offerings There's a crack, a crack in everything is how the light gets in.

[Doug Wright]

The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts.

[Amelia Zirin Brown]

The McDonald's snack wrap is back. You brought it back.

[Kristen Bell]

Ranch Snack Wrap.

[Amelia Zirin Brown]

Spicy snack wrap.

[Kristen Bell]

You broke the Internet for a snack?

[Sarah Austin Janess]

Snack Wrap is back.

[Kristen Bell]

Hey, it's Ryan Reynolds here from Mint Mobile. Now I was looking for fun ways to tell you that Mint's offer of unlimited Premium Wireless for $15 a month is back. So I thought it would be fun if we made $15 bills. But it turns out that's very illegal. So there goes my big idea for the commercial. Give it a [e-mail] Upfront payment of.

[Teek Milan]

$45 for three month plan equivalent to $15 per month required new customer offer for first three months only. Speed slow after 35 gigabytes of networks busy taxes and fees extra. Cmintmobile.com youm're listening to the Moth Radio Hour. I'm Sarah Austin. Janess. Doug Wright, our final storyteller, won a Pulitzer Prize in drama for writing I Am My Own Wife. I remember seeing this on Broadway in 2003 and it remains one of my favorite pieces of theater ever. The show also won the Tony for best play. Turns out Doug is a listener of the Moth and he's wanted to share a story with us for some time. How cool. I though found it a little daunting to give story notes to a famed story writer, but Doug loved the process. I talked with Doug in the green room before he took the stage in Easthampton. Doug, how do you feel before going on?

[Kristen Bell]

A little anxious. It's always a little nerve wracking.

[Teek Milan]

Is it fun to tell? I mean, it's just a little piece of you.

[Kristen Bell]

It's great fun to tell. And as someone who writes as my profession and it's such a solitary activity, you can get jealous of the actors on stage. And so it's my little 10 minutes when I get to do a tiny play and that's kind of thrilling for me. So it's a pleasure.

[Teek Milan]

Looking forward to hearing it. And with that, here's Doug Wright live at the Moth in Easthampton, New York when we partnered with Guild Hall.

[Kristen Bell]

So it's 1974, Dallas, Texas. I'm 11 years old and I'm sitting on this mustard colored couch and my eyes are glued to a 19 inch Sony Trinitron. Good night, grandpa. Goodnight, Mary Ellen. Good night, Jim Bob. Good night, John Boy. My siblings and I are each allowed one hour of television per week because my staunch Presbyterian mother thinks that if we watch too much we'll have brain rot or go sterile. My older brother has chosen Star Trek. My younger sister Donnie and Marie. But Thursdays are my big night because I've chosen the Waltons, the tale of a Depression era family eking it out in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. In truth, I'm a little obsessed with the Waltons eldest child, John Boyd. He's got this shock of blond hair and this really sensitive face and this sexy mole on his cheek, almost like a beauty mark. And he's not very good at farming. He does not like to hunt. He's a writer. In fact, the entire series the Waltons was based on a bunch of books by a man named Earl Hamner. And as a kid I tore through those books and one of them even contained the recipe for John Boy's favorite cake. It was an applesauce spice cake with whiskey frosting. And for years I insisted to My mother, that that was my definitive birthday cake. I knew that I had to get in touch with John Boy, or at least the actor who played him. So I went to the dime store and I got one of those big chief writing pads like the one he had on the show. And I sat down to write him a letter. And in it I told him everything. I told him about my theater classes, and I told him that I wrote stories, too, but they were secret for my eyes only, because in them I wrote about all of my failings, that I was probably too sensitive for a boy, that the other kids at school called me sissy, and that most days ended getting beaten up at the bike racks or at the lockers. And I thought he might understand because he was sensitive, too. Maybe he even wrote for the same reason. That letter was 22 pages long. I finally found a manila envelope large enough for it, but I still needed stamps. Now, my dad was a retired Marine, and I wasn't sure he'd be too thrilled if he knew his son was writing mash notes to a male ingenue on television. So I snuck into his study, which was strictly off limits, and I went to his stamp dispenser, and I just start pulling roll after roll after roll. I plaster this manila envelope with him, and on the way to school, I put it in the mailbox. And then I wait. And a week passes. Then two weeks, a month. I get during that time, maybe a copy of Boy's Life, a birthday invitation. And then one day, curled up in the mailbox like a scroll, an envelope with the return address Laura Marr Studios, Burbank. I tore it open. Dear Doug, thank you for your letter. I'm grateful you are a fan of the show. Please keep watching. Best, Richard Thomas. Terse, I know. But to me it was poetry. Best of all, he had included a photograph. He's wearing this sort of jaunty knit cap, and I can still see that blonde hair and that sensitive face and that signature mole. And I know I have to do something really special with this picture. So this time, I sneak into my dad's dresser and I pull open a drawer, and there are all his business shirts, crisp and white, lined up in perfect formation. And I reach in and I pull out the cardboard that the dry cleaner uses to keep them from wrinkling. And I take a bunch of that and I run back to my room and I cut it in the shape of a frame and I build a little stand for the frame. And then with watercolors, I paint all these little Model T Fords all around the edge of the frame like the Waltons used to drive. And I put John Boy's picture right in it. And I put it on my nightstand. And the next morning at breakfast, my dad is like, what the hell is going on? Why are my shirts wrinkled? Where are the. Are my stamps? But I keep mum because John Boy and I are really, I figure, friends now. We're pen pals. And I keep writing him. And even more remarkably, he writes me back. Now it's true, the letters become shorter. Dear Doug, Thanks, Richard. But he keeps enclosing a new and different photo. So more photos mean more cardboard frames. And pretty soon, my bedroom is becoming a shrine to John Boy Walton. He's on the windowsill. He's on the dresser. He's on my nightstand. Now, this doesn't thrill my older brother, with whom I actually share the room. So he says to me one day, what's the matter with you? Are you in love with him or something? And I say, no, he's my hero. And a lot of people put their heroes on the wall. And my brother says, yeah, maybe Farrah Fawcett or Joe Namath, but John Boy Walton? And I'm like, you don't understand. And pretty soon he starts waging passive aggressive war. And he takes his model planes and he hangs them from the ceiling of our bedroom. So our room becomes this blizzard of Hellcats and B52s, all aiming right for John Boy, like they want to take him out. So finally, a couple years pass and I'm no longer feeling quite so freakish. And I'm actually starting to make friends in the drama club and on the literary magazine. And I decide I want to invite them over to my house like they invite me to theirs. And a little voice in me says that this photo montage of mine might spell social suicide. More than anything, I think I worried that it revealed more about me than I had yet admitted to myself. So one day, impulsively, I tore down all the pictures of John Boy. I put them in a shoebox, and I shoved it far under my bed. It was a burial of sorts, a kind of denial, I think. So four decades pass, and I actually become a writer just like John Boy. And I'm a very fortunate one. I've had plays on Broadway and I've written some movies, so it's going pretty well. And I'm about as far out of the closet as you can be. I live in the ultimate gayborhood, Chelsea. See? And I have two cats, and I have a Husband and my husband David and I got married in 2008 at the very height of the culture wars. And like a lot of people at the time, we got sucked into a wildly unproductive debate on Facebook with this anti gay marriage zealot named Diane. Diane would write, do what you want, but please don't call it marriage. And whatever you do, it doesn't belong in the church. And I'd hear that and I'd write in a fury, diane, your opinion is mean spirited and ill informed. And she'd write, well, all my gay friends know that's how I feel and they still love me. And I'd write, well, that's, that's because they're a bunch of self hating assholes. So this went on and on and my friend said, stop it, it's not going anywhere useful. But I kept egging her on. So not long after that, this producer friend calls me and she says, so I'm commissioning gay playwrights to write short plays on the theme of gay marriage. And we're going to put them up commercially at the Minetta Lane Theater in the West Village. And would you be interested in contributing one? And I thought, oh, this is perfect. I don't have to write a new play. I'm just going to adapt this Facebook thread. And the way I figure, the characters are going to be me, my husband David, and our nemesis, Diane. So I adapt the thread as a dialogue and I sent it to the producer and she quite likes it. So it goes into the evening. I'm delighted. The casting director calls me and says, you're going to be thrilled. For the role of Diane. We have this Broadway Tony winner, Beth Leavel. She's going to be simply amazing. And your boyfriend, your husband, he's going to be really thrilled because he's being played by a true hunk, Kelly Ripa's husband, Mark Consuelos. And in the role of Doug, how would you feel about Richard Thomas? You probably know him best as John Boy Walton. Oh, I say, I think he might be very good. So the first rehearsal is coming up. The night before, I cannot sleep at all. I'm planning it in my mind how I'm going to walk in there, so cool, so relaxed, every inch the professional playwright. I'm going to greet each and every actor and then take my seat and listen to the read through. I walk in, it's a sort of blonde rehearsal room. There's a circle of chairs for the cast. There's this craft services table in the middle with morning pastries and Coffee. And there is Richard Thomas. He's older, his hair is gray now, but he still has that really sensitive face and that mole and. And I walk up to him and I had barely gotten my name out before the entire story pours out of me like an avalanche. So I'm standing there, beet red, waiting for his response, and he says, doug, I really wish I could tell you that I remember that 22 page letter, but I don't. And the reason I don't is a lot of young men wrote me asking for reassurance because it was the 70s, the era of Kojak and the Million Dollar man, and I was the only male lead in a primetime TV show who didn't carry a gun. I held a pen and used it to express my feelings and I had no notable love interests on the show and people often accused me of being sensitive. So your voice was one of many reaching out to me at the time. And I want you to know why I chose to do your play. My son is gay and I want him to grow up in a better world where he doesn't have to reach out to strangers on the television for approval. And I said, stop it, Richard. I'm going to fall in love with you all over again. So it's been almost four decades now, and as a writer, I've sort of found a niche for myself writing about outsiders, those people who don't readily fit into society's confines. I wrote about a trans person in Germany and I wrote about a comedian struggling with mental illness. And more often than not, I'm writing to kind of exercise my own perceived frailties, my insecurities, my self doubts, my darkest fears, all those things that I think alienate me from the rest of the species. And ironically I find by naming those, it's how I find community. In a lot of ways I think I'm still that 11 year old kid crying out in the dark, eager for approval and reassurance that he has a rightful place in the human sphere. So good night, John Boy. Thanks.

[Teek Milan]

That was Doug Wright. Doug is an award winning playwright and screenwriter. He's a recovering Texan and currently lives in New York City with his husband, singer songwriter David Clement, and their two felines, Glennis and Murray. Doug occasionally runs into Richard Thomas in New York theater circles. He says I visited him backstage post show and we gossip together in the aisle of our neighborhood Home Depot to see photos of Doug and his husband David around the world and at the Mothball, our annual gala. GoToThehemoth.org these stories are all from artists, but Moth stories come from everyone. Nurses, pilots, arborists, hot dog eating champions, scientists, dog walkers, introverts, dreamers. Really everyone Consider telling your story at the Moth. We want to hear from you. Find an open mic story slam through our website themoth.org and please share this episode with a friend you think would love the Moth and these stories. You can find us on social media too. We're on Facebook the Moth and on Instagram Mothstories. That's it for this episode of the Moth Radio Hour. We hope you'll join us next time.

[Doug Wright]

This episode of the Moth Radio Hour was produced by me, Jay Allison and Sarah Austin Janess, who also hosted and directed the stories and the show. An extended interview with Sarah and Rizzo is [e-mail] on the radio Extras page. Our co producer is Vicki Merrick, Associate Producer Emily Couch. The rest of the Moth's leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Christina Norman, Jennifer Hickson, Kate Tellers, Maureen Cluce, Leanne Gulley, Suzanne Rust, Sarah Jane Johnson and Patricia Urenia. Moth stories are true as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. For extras related to all of these stories, just go to themoth.org our theme music is by the Drift. Other music in this hour from Tom McDermott and Evan Christopher, Yo Yo Ma and Dave Brubeck, Erasmo Petringa, Jerry, Larry Goldsmith, and Geek Music. We receive funding from the National Endowment for the Arts. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. Special thanks to our friends at Odyssey, including Executive producer Leah Rhys Dennis. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching us your own story and to learn more about the Moth, go to our website the moth dot org.