Jeff Zimmerman (7:46)

For.

Jeff Zimmerman (7:47)

Several stops, just hating each other with our breath. But on the inside, thank you. You know? And then, ding. And she just stands up and looks at me and goes, have a blessed day, baby. And leaves. And the one person that understands me in this world, I never saw again. And that's why I hate this city, but I can never leave it because there are so many beautiful, beautiful blessings to be found in this town. If you scrape the patina of sheer rage off of everybody and just look underne. Thank you.

Jennifer Hickson (8:33)

That was Jeff Zimmerman. He grew up in Virginia but lives in Brooklyn now. I think you can hear the Virginia in his voice and hear the Brooklyn in his attitude. Jeff's a writer and comic and you can check out his website at the radio extras page@themost.org this next story is from Sofia Stefanovic. Sofia's story is set in the early 90s when the decade long wars in the Balkans were starting. When she starts talking, you'll notice that Sophia's accent doesn't exactly sound Serbian. That's because her family moved to Australia when she was a kid. Just a note that this story refers briefly to some very mild pressure pre adolescent sexual harassment. Just thought we'd let you know. Here's Sophia live at the Moth Grand Slam at the Williamsburg hall of Music in Brooklyn.

Sofia Stefanovic (9:32)

In 1991, I was nine and I lived in Belgrade, Yugoslavia, just as the civil war was starting. My parents, even though we were Serbs, were against the nationalist government. So they went to protests all the time and they were trying to work out how to get a visa for us to move to Australia. But all of that faded into the background for me because I didn't care about politics. I cared about romance. My auntie had this big stack of old video cassettes and while my friends from school watched communist kids tv, I used to watch things like Gone with the Wind and Wuthering Heights and Romeo and Juliet. More than anything, I wanted to be like a Hollywood heroine who makes grand gestures and fights for love. Now, my elementary school crush was a far cry from a Hollywood hero, but I still thought he was amazing. So his name was Nicola and he was tall and he had dark hair and one time he wrapped a string of chewing gum all around his head and had to get his hair cut off. And while I got my romantic education from old English language films, he got his romantic education from the adult themed video game Leisure Suit Larry. So his thing that he would do is he would come up, sort of sneak up behind girls and sort of like pretend hump them. So you'd be standing around, you know, a group of girls talking about something and Nicola would sneak up and then he would bump your butt with his pelvis. And that was like his move. And if you were the girl, you would jump back and say, oh, that's disgusting. And he would laugh like, crazy. And even though I, too, would jump back and say, oh, that's disgusting, secretly I kind of liked it. And I thought, you know, maybe Nicola is romantic like me. He's just not sophisticated enough to show it properly yet. So meanwhile, the war was sort of creeping into our lives more. And, you know, people were lining up for bread. And I wasn't allowed to go to the corner store anymore because a gang had, like, broken in there and put hand grenades in people's mouths. And my parents were going to these protests every night, and they were taking me with them. And we would go to these protests and light candles for the people who were dying in Croatia. And then one day at school, our teacher told us that Nicola wasn't coming to school that day because his dad had died in the war. And this was, like, really shocking to me because I knew that the war was going on in Croatia, but I didn't realize that it could affect us in that way. And I realize now that people's dads could die in war, and Nicola's dad had died, and maybe my dad could die as well. And our teacher told us that the next day after school, she would take our whole class to the funeral so that we could support our classmates. And secretly. And I couldn't help thinking this. I was like, oh, maybe I'll stand next to Nicola, and then maybe we'll hold hands or something, like, just to comfort him. And then something really strange happened, which is that my parents banned me from going. And I said, but Nicola's dad died in the war. And my dad said, yes, but Nicola's dad was a nationalist, and he went to the war as a volunteer. And I said, yeah, but we. We go and we light candles for people who died in the war. And my mom said, yeah, but the people who we light candles for were killed by people like Nicola's dad. And suddenly it hit me that Nicola was actually my enemy. And that I had, you know, dreamt about holding hands with the enemy. And I had secretly enjoyed having my butt bumped by the pelvis of the enemy. And everything that his family stood for was the opposite of what my family stood for. And I felt so ashamed. And the next week, Nicola came back to school, and I avoided eye contact with him because I knew he was the enemy now, even though he clearly didn't know that. So he just kind of kept acting like he always did, just maybe a little bit quieter. And that got me thinking. And I thought, is Nicola actually my enemy? Isn't he just like a kid at School. You know, it wasn't Nicolas idea for his dad to go to the war. Just like it wasn't actually my idea to go to the protests with my parents. This actually wasn't about us. This was all about our parents and their war. And then I realized that we were in a Montague Capulet situation and my heart did a little flat and I.

Sofia Stefanovic (14:46)

Thought.

Sofia Stefanovic (14:49)

This is my chance. This is my chance to make my move and to be like a Hollywood heroine. Make a grand gesture and fight for love. And I was thinking, what am I going to do? So it was lunchtime and Nicola was walking towards me to his locker and I was like, oh, okay. As he walks by, maybe I'll kiss him. Or maybe I'll say, you know, one of the things that was on my mind, like I'm sorry I didn't come to your dad's funeral or I'm sorry that our parents are dragging us into their wars, or I love you. And as he walked towards me, I didn't actually do any of those things. I just kind of turned and pretended to write something in my notebook and he snuck up behind me and bumped my butt with his pelvis. And you know, he laughed and he said, got you. And I rolled my eyes and pretended to be annoyed. But actually I was happy because we were kids again. And a few months later my family moved to Australia. And I don't know what happened with Nicola. I don't know if when he grew up he followed in the steps of his father and went to the war or if he got out of the country like so many young people of my generation. But I do still think about him. And I also think about that little nine year old me who was so passionately in love with her enemy. And sometimes when I see, you know, what the horrible things that happened to my region and what people did to each other and the things you see people doing to each other every day I feel a bit sad and cynical. And that's when I try and find that little part of myself. Because she is still there. That little me who dreams about peace and believes love conquers all. Thank you.

Jennifer Hickson (16:41)

That was hopeless romantic. Sofia Stefanovic, an immersion journalist. She wrote the book youk're Just Too Good to Be a Love Story about lonely hearts and Internet Scams. When you listen to the Moth Radio Hour, do you ever think, I got a story I want to do that? We would love to hear from you. Pitch us. You can record a two minute version of the tale you want to tell right on our website. Themost.org or if you are not technologically adept and I feel you on that, you can call 877-799-MOTH. That's 877-799-6684. We listen to all the pitches and have developed quite a few for our main stage shows. So pick up the phone, go to the website, go on, give it a try. When we come back, a brand new teacher faces his first intimidating job at a high school. And a recent widow goes on her first solo adventure after 35 years of marriage.

Tim Manley (17:58)

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

Tim Manley (18:07)

The Apple Watch Series 10 is here.

Jennifer Hickson (18:10)

It has the biggest display ever.

Tim Manley (18:12)

It's also the thinnest Apple watch ever.

Jennifer Hickson (18:14)

Making it even more comfortable on your.

Tim Manley (18:16)

Wrist whether you're running, swimming or sleeping. And it's the fastest charging Apple Watch, getting you eight hours of charge in just 15 minutes. The Apple Watch Series 10, available for the first time in glossy jet black aluminum. Compared to previous generations. IPhone Xs are later required. Charge time and actual results will vary.

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Jennifer Hickson (20:08)

From prx, this is the Moth Radio Hour and I'm Jennifer Hixon. This next story is from Tim Manley. Tim will tell you in his story that he looks 15. And I'm here to confirm it's absolutely true. My nickname for him is Baby Face Manley, but he probably doesn't want that to catch on. Here's Tim Manley live at the mall.

Tim Manley (20:33)

In January of 2008, I started teaching 11th and 12th grade English at a public school here in the city. I was 22 when I started, but I looked like I was 15. The kids were 17, but they looked like they were 35. They did not believe I could possibly be their English teacher, but they liked that my name was Mr. Manley. The first day of the school year, I wake up before dawn and I put on my favorite green tie which I had pre knotted the night before. I get to school extra early so that I can and carefully arrange my handouts at the front of the room and pretend I am not about to have a panic attack. Norah Jones was playing quietly in the background. Then the kids came in and everything just exploded. There were 15 kids over here at this table. On the other side of the room, completely alone, was one guy in a dragon T shirt. Nobody brought a pen. There were two girls making out in the doorway. I was like, listen, I support you guys, but not here. Then my principal comes in and he is like, I'm just gonna sit in and observe this lesson. And I'm like, that seems like something that would happen in my life at this moment. I survived my first week bravely. And then on Friday at 6pm, the copy machine breaks down on me and I burst into tears and call my mom. This is basically how the first few months of teaching, I'm standing in front of the classroom and I'm like, Don't panic, Mr. Manley. This is a safe space. Then the principal walks in and he just frowns at me. And he used to be a drummer in a punk band. So he's like a big guy with full length sleeve tattoos. His face is like perpetually red and sweaty. So this isn't just your run of the mill frown. This guy's like a professional frowner. Every time he comes in the room, I just get so scared and I just wither right in front of my students. And then I come home one Friday and I got an email from a friend of mine from grad school. And she's saying she got an interview at my school for an 11th and 12th grade English teacher position. And I am like, that is so great. The kids are wonderful. Wait, I didn't tell her that it was probably my job that she was applying for because I didn't have enough respect for myself to tell her. Instead, I helped her prepare for the interview. I know. Did I mention you guys that I grew up Catholic? I feel like it's very relevant right now. I get to school on Monday, and the principal confirms for me, yes, they're thinking about someone else for my job, but, you know, they don't know. And I'm just so ashamed that I'm avoiding my colleagues in the hallway, because I know that everybody knows at lunch, I don't go out. I just sit in my room and eat Luna bars. I know they're for women, but I'm anemic, so I need the iron. And my students come back from lunch, and I'm just like, I love these kids so much. Look, there's the two girls making out in the doorway again. Why can't I be as confident as they claim clearly are? But then I think to myself, like, I used to be that confident. When I was 17, I used to do stand up comedy all the time. I grew up on Long island, and I would go to the comedy club behind the McDonald's across the street from the airport. Very classy place. Every day I was gonna be in a show. I was so nervous the whole day. I couldn't eat. And I'd get there. The host was this firefighter named Billy Bingo. All of his jokes were about the length of his hose. I'd get on stage looking like a member of Weezer. All my jokes are about getting beat up by girls. It was the craziest thing in the world, but I did it. And all I wanted at 22 was to be able to get back that part of me that could act like I was fearless even while I was terrified. And the next day, I get to school and one of my students tells me, there's going to be a teacher talent show coming up. I'm serious. And without even thinking, I just go, yeah, I'll do stand up comedy in it. And I am terrified, but I'm also, like, excited. And we're doing transcendentalism in art class, and I start standing on top of tables and shouting quotes from Thoreau. And then I start hiding Walt Whitman poems all over the school so the students will find them. And the night of the teacher talent show comes, and I'm standing backstage, and I'm like, I think I can do this. And then I get a phone call from my friend from grad school, and she says she got offered the job. And the voice in my head is just like, this is the proof I've been looking for. All of my fears about myself are correct. I am a failure. But then I think, what would 17 year old Tim do besides stay at home on a Friday and play Pokemon? And I get on stage and I start talking about when I was in high school, how I was the kid who had not one but two T shirts of the genie from Aladdin and how I was also known for my very realistic kitten meow. I talk about how I'm the epitome of masculinity. And then I guess I started getting like actually felt fearless because then I went, yeah, I got this teaching job by beating the principal in a street fight. And then I went, are you here right now? And from the back of the room I heard standing right here. And I went, I'll see you after the show cause I'm not done with you yet. And as I walk off the stage, the whole auditorium starts chanting manly, manly.

Jeff Zimmerman (26:42)

Manly, manly, manly, manly, manly, manly.

Tim Manley (26:50)

And I felt just as uncomfortable then as I do now. And all the 10th graders run up to the principal and they tell him they're so excited to be in my class in the fall. And on Monday he shakes my hand and he says, I got my job back. I had overcome my fears by using myself as inspiration. I became my own spirit animal.

Colin Ryan (27:15)

Thank you.

Jennifer Hickson (27:27)

As you know by now, that was Tim Manley. These days Tim is writing and performing full time, which he loves. But he says that he really does miss his students. Lucky for us and for the kids in our programs, Tim sometimes moonlights with the Moth education team here in New York. Tim is the author and illustrator of Alice in Tumblrland and Other Fairy Tales for a New Generation, as well as the co creator of the 10 Letters project. If you want to see a picture of Tim at the Teacher Talent show, go to our Radio extras page@themost.org we'll also include a picture of him wearing a shirt he made for that class's graduation. It includes every student's name. If you want to share Tim's story with someone, or any of the stories you hear on the Moth Radio Hour, you can do it through our website@themost.org or by using the Moth app, which is available for iOS or Android. We're also on Facebook and Twitter Hemoth. Next up, a story from a grand slammer in San Francisco. Neshama Franklin works at her local Library. She was 74 years old when she started showing up at our story slams and telling stories, which makes her one of our most life experienced slammers. Every time I've seen Neshama, she's wearing this handmade belt. When you look up close, it's made up of little metal picture frames. Inside all the frames are photos of her family and friends, kids and grandkids. She said that earlier in life she'd think, who would wear a picture of someone else? But then she had grandkids. Neshama says the belt is worn close to her power center and that it keeps her warm. Before playing her full length grand slam story, I thought it would be fun to listen to a one minute version of one of her other stories. This one also happened to win a grand slam. She told this condensed version for us at our annual gala, the mothball. Here's neshama with a one minute story.

Colin Ryan (29:11)

I'm standing on a stage. Stage almost stark naked. They start to laugh. This is not a bad dream. This is real life. It's 1969 and I am about to do the hippie dance of love in a San Francisco nightclub so that tourists can have that wild experience in a safe place with drinks in hand. Now, I had two toddlers at home and far from a showgirl's body, short legs, wide hips, wide hair. And my partner, the dance teacher who came up with this gig, he looked more like a grumpy botanist than a hippie. But for four glorious weeks, I got paid for what I love to do. Improvising with an ironic twist. Hence the laughs. Now you to look at me. You might not think naked hippie dance of love these days I'm a librarian. But when you see an old lady with frizzy gray hair, you have no idea what she's been up to too. I believe this is the manifesto. I believe we are like Russian nesting dolls. Everything we've done is still inside us. Twist off the top and there it is.

Jennifer Hickson (30:55)

Now that you have a sense of Neshama, our Russian doll of storytelling. Here is a full length grand slam story. She told this one in San Francisco where we partner with radio stations KQED and kalw. Here she is live at the Castro theater.

Colin Ryan (31:17)

There I was in the bottom of the Grand Canyon and I was really sick. How did this happen? How did this happen? Nine months after my husband John of 35 years had died, we had two grown children. We had a new granddaughter. What was I doing down there? Well, my sister Catherine, who had seen me through his death, loves the Grand Canyon. And she arranged this trip and she said, come on, Neshama, it's a trip in a lifetime and you couldn't Go down with John because it was too far from medical help, so come. And I said, do you think I'll be ready? She said, well, it's a gestational period, nine months. And so there I was on the plane going to Arizona, and my voice had dropped to baritone. So, you know, it was a cold, or so I thought. But into the canyon it became acute bronchitis. It was bad. And my sister, who's a nurse, was worried, so she tried to rustle up some antibiotics from various people on the trip. There were a lot of medical personnel, and they weren't going to give us any of their drugs. So she came to me, she opened her palm, and on it were peeled garlic cloves. She said, italian penicillin. And I swallowed them. And then she said, you know, so you don't get airlifted out, you're going to have to drink more than you ever thought you could hold, and you're going to have to get that gunk out of your lungs. Therefore, I was not the person you want sitting next to you on the raft. I was hawking and spitting, and I was reeking of garlic, and I was often crouching over a pecan. Now, on the river, you're supposed to just hold onto the side of the boat and kind of hang on out and let the river take your deposit. But I couldn't do that. I was too weak. And everybody else went through the rapids with terrified, screaming joy. And I just went through terrified, holding on for dear life. And then we would come to the shore, and I would wobble out and lie down and let the activity of the camp swirl around me. And I felt very weak and very alone. Usually I'd be the person handing the stuff from boat to shore and then looking for the perfect campsite and then helping with the food. But I just lay there. And I especially felt alone when they went off on those side trips, those side hikes. And there I was under the shade, what shade there was. And then I realized what was really going on. In this deep crack in the earth, under the pitiless blue sky, I could finally feel what had actually happened. I mean, I thought I had done my grieving, but I had gone on with my life. And I needed to feel the weight of presence and the weight of absence. And one strange thing that happened is that John died of a lung disease. And there I was, struggling for breath. It was as if he was right inside me, and I didn't have any distractions. It was silent except for the crows and the gurgle. Of the river. I couldn't even read, which is my solace because I was so sick. So I lay there and I felt it. And then I got better. Let's hear it for Italian penicillin. And it was time, because nobody but my sister and I knew that we had brought John down on the river with us in whatever form we could. A bag of ashes. And that's what I was going to do. I was going to scatter his ashes. And we decided the place he'd love most was the Little Colorado, a playful side stream. And so while everyone else on the trip was kind of going down this little carnival ride, Catherine and I sloshed upstream and we found a kind of a quiet glen. And I got ready to scatter the ashes. I imagined they would swirl and mix and go down the Colorado. Anyone who knows anything about ashes know knows this doesn't happen, especially when there's a wind. So I dumped out the bag and the ashes coated me. I was covered with John, and all I could do was dunk and weep and dunk and weep. And you should know that I do not cry readily. And when he was washed off, to the best of my ability, I went back to where they were going down the Little Colorado. I put on my life jacket upside down like a diaper. That's how you protect your rump from rocks on the bottom. I stuck my feet out and down the Little Colorado. I floated three times. And when I crawled out the last time, a guide looked at me and he said, neshama, what was going on? I never saw such a beatific expression on anyone going down the Little Colorado. I said I was traveling with my husband John, and I was learning to let him go. Thank you.

Jennifer Hickson (36:35)

Neshama Franklin. Besides working at the library, Neshama writes a weekly blog and hosts a local TV show that features poetry. You can find a link to them both on the Moth Radio Extra page. And while you're there, you can also see a picture of Neshama and her late husband John. When we come back. Two stories very different in tone, one light and one dark.

Tim Manley (37:17)

The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by the Public Radio Exchange. PRX.org.

Jennifer Hickson (37:29)

You'Re listening to the Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Jennifer Hickson. Our next story was told at the Flynn Theatre in Burlington, where we partner with Vermont Public Radio. I'll tell you more about the storyteller Colin Ryan after his story, but I will share one random detail from his bio I was so intrigued. And this is completely unrelated to his story, by the way, but here it is. Colin is currently the only male on the Vermont Commission on Women. Now, how did he swing that? I don't know. Here's Colin Ryan live at the Moth.

Jeff Zimmerman (38:05)

Do you remember the first moment that the approval of your peers mattered more than the approval of your parents? I know that it hadn't happened yet when I was in fifth grade. Because as fifth graders, we were the undisputed kings of Francis Stevens Elementary School. And there was no questioning our choices. You could have told me, colin, it's not cool to wear the same pair of sweatpants every single day of school. But I was comfortable. And you could have told me, colin, it's not cool to go to the school dance and do the Macarena for the entire duration of Guns N Roses. November Rain. I would not have stopped. You could have told me, Colin, it's not cool to be an active member of your local church's clown troupe. All right, I knew that one wasn't cool. Fifth grade was the last year I can remember believing that the world needed more of two. Juggling and Jesus. Yeah, you can laugh. That's. That's the most fun way to describe being raised fundamentalist. I'm better now. It's fine. Thank you. And then I went to sixth grade. I went to middle school. And all of a sudden, to survive, it was clear there were only two. I could somehow be cool or I could somehow be invisible. And I gotta say, I was doing pretty well at option two until third period on the first day of school when a teacher had us fill out a questionnaire with a series of get to know you questions. And I assumed that she would be reading them privately, so I felt safe to share from the perspective of a sweatpants wearing, Macarena dancing, Christian clowning, little snowflake that I was. The teacher collected the sheets, shuffled them up, and then redistributed them to the class where we went one by one and read the student's name. And then we would read our three favorite answers that they gave. My sheet ended up in the hands of a kid. I don't remember his name, but he was one of the coolest and meanest kids I'd ever met. And by coincidence, his three favorite answers were the three worst possible questions I could have had read out loud in front of my peers. The first question was, what is your favorite movie? And the other kids had said, scream Universal Soldier. And I remember thinking, we're 11. How are you seeing R rated movies. My answer was Beauty and the Beast, which I maintain has held up better than those other two movies. But I could not make that argument effectively at the time. And this laugh erupted from the room and I felt my cheeks burn because I knew we were just getting started. The next question he chose to read was, where would you like to travel? And the other kids had said, Australia, Japan, Paris. And I said, wherever a book takes me, I can hear in some of you a sort of maternal instinct kick in. And I could have used you on that day because the laughter this time had an explosive quality to it. The kids were high fiving in front of my face. The final question this kid chose to read was what do you like to do on the weekends? The other kids that said, hang out with friends, go to the mall where I'm assuming they were sneaking into R rated movies. My answer was performing with clowns for Christ. Love to. Love to pull that one back if I could. Those who weren't laughing at me were sort of staring at me in disgust at this point. Yeah, those are two very intense things together. I agree that's a lot to process. And I remember that I felt about an inch tall. I remember staring at my Trapper Keeper and trying to figure out if I could somehow disappear inside of it. And I wanted to stand up and yell out, I get it. I'm gonna quit clowns. I'm gonna watch R rated movies. I'm gonna do whatever it takes to be invisible. But right then, something amazing happened. A voice from the back of the room said, guys, cut it out. And the room went silent. The voice belonged to Michelle Seaver. And Michelle Seaver was popular and cool. Michelle Seaver had sway. And the room was quiet. But Michelle wasn't done. She turned to the teacher and said, why are you letting this happen? What is the point of this if we're just going to make fun of each other? And to this day, I don't remember the teacher, the class, the names of any of the kids in that class. But I remember Michelle Sievers first and last name. I remember how it felt when she spoke up for me. Because on that day, she showed me that we actually have three options. You can be cool, you might be remembered for a little while. You can be invisible and you won't be remembered at all. But if you stand up for somebody when they need you most, then you will be remembered as their hero for the rest of their life. Thank you.

Jennifer Hickson (45:03)

That was Colin Ryan. He calls himself a comedic financial author and speaker in other words. He teaches financial literacy and he makes it fun. He's worked with all sorts of companies, banks, credit unions, even the Girl Scouts. This next story takes a very sharp and intense turn in tone. We've never heard anything like it at a grand slam before. It involves a tragedy and may not be suitable for children. You may recognize some of the details from the story if you were paying attention to the News in early 2015. When all of us hear these stories on the news, which is all too often, our hearts sink. We're about to hear from Suzanne Barakat, whose connection to the story is much deeper. Here's Suzanne live in San Francisco.

Sofia Stefanovic (46:04)

10 months ago to the day on December 27th, my brother Dlia got married. 23 at 6 foot 3. A basketball fanatic, he was a second year dental student at a top dental school in the country at UNC Chapel Hill. His bride, Yusur Abu Sadha, who had turned 21 the day prior, had just gotten into UNC Dental School and they were excited on this new journey that they were going to be taking together, remodeling their new apartment. I mean, it's pretty awesome that a spouse and their couple, whatever, can get into the same school, right? The morning of his wedding, he's his typical happy, go lucky self. He's so chill that he's taking a dip in the hotel pool while everyone else is figuring out what to do on the day of the wedding and he asks me for the honor of combing his hair. Pretty sensitive thing I think, for a guy on his wedding day. Anyways, I was honored. By the end of this evening, I'm sobbing uncontrollably. The mothering big sister in me, half proud, half. I don't really know how to explain it. I was just sobbing just a couple years ago. He was an obsessed basketball kid and I couldn't get him to focus on his studies and now he found this lovely, amazing local hometown girl to call his life partner. He found his love in the field of dentistry. Him and Yusad were planning to go on a trip to the Syrian Turkish border to provide dental relief to Syrian refugees. They were committed to projects locally feeding the homeless, you name it. As I was crying, I had kind of excused myself to a corner of the ballroom. I didn't want to upset anyone and people were dancing on the dance floor floor. But DIA caught my eye and he rushed over to me, opened up his wide arm span and he buries me into his chest and he rubs my back and he kind of rocks me back and forth and he calms me down. And in that moment I realized just how proud I was of him. I let him off to go back to the dance floor, do his thing, and a family friend comes up to me and says, hey, relax. Like, why are you crying? Like, this is the last time you're ever going to see him. Fast forward six weeks later. It's February 10th. I'm on call at UCSF San Francisco General Hospital writing a prescription for Clinda and my phone starts blowing up with text messages from God knows who. Very General. I have no idea what they're saying, thinking that maybe it's related to family members in Syria because of the ongoing conflict there. And I have tons of extended family there. A couple hours later that entail many frantic phone calls, more times than I can count of vasovagaling onto the hospital floor and wiping it clean. This is SF General. You don't want to do that. And I'm at the gate and I get the confirmatory call from my brother Faris saying that they have confirmed that dia, his bride Yusuf of six weeks and her baby sister who was keeping her company in their apartment, were murdered and confirmed dead on the scene. There's no WI FI on the plane. By the time I'm boarding the plane, my brother tells me they're thinking it's a hate crime, but we have no idea what the heck is going on right now. By the time I land in North Carolina at 9 or 10am the suspect had turned himself in and the police had released released a statement saying that the murders were stemming out of a parking dispute. It's never easy talking about that. Several police investigations later, autopsy reports that eventually come out and we learn kind of more about the sequence of events. Dia had just gotten home from UNC. He was a 10 minute bus ride from school. He'd gotten off the bus, taken a picture with his classmate wearing the same jacket, came home and Yusur and Razan had made dinner. They were eating dinner and the neighbor knocked on their door, proceeded to fire at dliat. Multiple shots went back towards the kitchen area. One shot immobilizing Yusor by shooting her in the hip, coming back into the back of her head, lacerating her midbrain. Not my words. The autopsy report, the single shot to the back of the head goes on to Razan, who is screaming for her life. An execution style single bullet into the back of her head. On his way out, finishes Lia off with one more bullet to the mouth for a total of eight bullets. Two lodged in his head, two in his chest and the rest in his extremities. To perform something so vile, so gruesome, so wicked, requires acute dehumanization at the minimum hatred that is deep and well rooted. And as the days passed by and interviews went on, I realized looking around me, despite having been born and raised in this country, that the climate that we're in, one that allows public figures no matter where they are in the political spectrum, from Ben Carson to Bill Maher to sweepingly bash Muslims, undoubtedly played a role in fueling this hatred. I can't stand here in front of you today and say this is never going to happen again. History repeats itself. The only nevers I have in relation to this experience are with Lia Yosen Andrazen. I will never know his warm embrace again. The last time I ever touched him was in his casket, taking my fingers and combing his hair the way he liked them and kissing his cold, lifeless forehead.

Jennifer Hickson (52:29)

That was Suzanne Barakat. The theme for the Grand Slam that night was Never Again. Her bio for the program was very simple and I'm just going to read it. Suzanne Barakat, North Carolinian Syrian doctor, TSA magnet, wife hugger family medicine resident at San Francisco General Hospital, believes in love and kindness and works for social justice for her patients at the hospital, for her family in Syria, for her fellow American Muslims, and for her brother who is no longer with us today. To see a picture of Suzanne and Daya as they got ready for Daya's wedding, visit our Radio Extras page. That's it for this episode of the Moth Radio Hour. We hope you'll join us next time.

Tim Manley (53:38)

Your host this hour was Jennifer Hickson. Jennifer also directed the stories in the show. The rest of the Moss directorial staff includes Kathryn Burns, Sarah Haberman, Sarah Austin, Janess and Meg Bowles. Production support from Whitney Jones. Moth stories are true as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Moth events are recorded by Argo Studios in New York City, supervised by Paul River West. Our theme music is by the Drift. All the other music in this hour is from Chandler Travis in various incarnations like the Philharmonic, the catbirds, the 3O. You can find links to all the music we use at our website. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by me, Jay Allison with Vicki Merrick at Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. This hour was produced with funds from the Queen Corporation for Public Broadcasting, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the John D. And Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation. Committed to building a more just, verdant and peaceful world. The Moth Radio Hour is presented by the public radio exchange prx.org Remember, you can find the moth on Twitter and Facebook Hemoth and we have apps available for both iOS and Android. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching your own story and everything else, go to our website themoth.org.