The Moth - The Moth Radio Hour: Gestures Great and Small

Episode Date: July 28, 2021

A man serves up cocktails with extra flavor; a young ballerina fills a delicate role with force; food helps to bridge a cultural gap; a woman makes a surprise announcement on stage, and more from Moth GrandSLAMs all across the country. Hosted by The Moth’s Senior Producer, Jenifer Hixson. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by The Moth and Jay Allison of Atlantic Public Media. Storytellers: Tim Lopez, Pilar Siman, Tom Nimen, Susan Wolman, Jon Cayton, and Deedee Lundberg.

Attention Houston! You have listened to our podcast and our radio hour, but did you know the Moth has live storytelling events at Wearhouse Live? The Moth has opened Mike's storytelling competitions called Story Slams that are open to anyone with a five-minute story to share on the night's theme. Upcoming themes include love hurts, stakes, clean, and pride. GoodLamoth.org forward slash Houston to experience a live show near you. That's from PRX. This is the Moth Radio Hour, I'm Jennifer Hickson. In this hour, we'll transport you to Grand Slam's around the country. We'll hear stories from and about Minnesota, Miami, San Francisco, New York, LA, and Ohio.

The Grand Slam's are a competition, but the judging is subjective. I always like to stress that everyone in Grand Slam is already a winner. They have to qualify with a previous slam win to get in. For the most part, the people who judge Grand Slam's are chosen from the audience. They don't have fancy degrees or credentials. And anyway, storytelling isn't algebra, so there's never one correct answer. I'm saying the system is imperfect, and in that imperfection there's some beauty, because here's the thing.

After any math show, if you pull the audience and say which was your favorite tonight everyone has a different answer. Each teller is a winner for somebody. You're about to hear six grand slam stories and here's something a little different. The last story in this hour we didn't allow it to be judged. You'll understand when we get there. This first story is by Tim Lopez. It involves a not-so-ancient niche art form. I think it's an art form. I guess so.

You can be the judge. Here's Tim Lopez, live at the mall. All right, so about 10 years ago, I was working as a bartender at a TGI Friday's in the Valley, just north of Los Angeles. And Friday's was a pioneer in what is known as Flair Bartending, which is an aggressively flamboyant style of bartending. Immortalized by Tom Cruise in the 1988 film Cocktail,

in which he plays a young hot shot bartender who uses his bottle flipping shenanigans at a TGI Friday's location in Manhattan. Now, after this peak, Flair bartending went into a bit of a decline, as did Flair's overall cachet, reaching rock bottom in the 1999 film office space, in which the entire concept of Flair was so thoroughly ridiculed that Flair's corporate actually went out of its way to effectively ban everything Flair related from all of its restaurants afterwards. So by the time I arrived there, Flare bartending had effectively been forced

into the shadows and it had gone underground and was about to become a kind of a lost art, but there were always persistent rumors that there were bartenders that were still practicing it in secret with the intention of someday bringing it back. For those rumors were confirmed in 2005, when corporate announced with mild fanfare, the 2005 TGI Friday's Regional Bar Flare Championships, in which one representative from each location in

Southern California were all to meet up together and compete against each other in this grand spectacle of bartending Tom Foulery. Now I signed up for this immediately, partially because I didn't really have anything else going on in my life, and also because you know I thought it was a good way, it could have been fun. I thought it was a way for me to express myself in a semi-theatrical manner. Now, I was given three months to prepare, which meant that true to form,

I didn't do anything resembling a serious preparation until the days before the event. And furthermore, my training regimen consisted entirely of getting drunk and watching key scenes from cocktail at half speed. So, on the day of the tournament, I was feeling a bit under-prepared. But then I thought about it, and I was like, you know, who's really going to be here to watch this at 3.30 p.m. on a Monday?

You know, I was expecting, you know, a handful of bartending nerds, and you know, the usual assortment of degenerate barflies that you find at a TGI Friday's happy hour. But apparently they had done quite a bit of publicity for the event because when I arrived the place was packed. It was five deep at the bar, the restaurant was completely filled up, they were offering two-for-one drink specials and unlimited jacked-inels appetizers, the place was nuts. I had some friends that came and showed up without telling me they were going to do so, and there was a camera crew there that was videotaping the event for broadcast not just to the

entire restaurant but also to every participating TGI Friday's restaurant in North America. So at that point I began to to worry and that worry escalated into full-blown panic when I got my first look at the competition. Now these were some legitimately badass individuals who took flarelair Bartonning very, very seriously. And they all came out and they all had a very elaborate choreographed routine that was set to music, and they were doing elaborate tricks like flipping multiple bottles at the same time, and flipping bottles and catching them on their foreheads,

and one girl took three maraschino cherries and threw them up in the air and then caught them on a cocktail spear wedged between her teeth. It became very obvious, very early, that I was not going to be competitive in this event. And what made it worse is I was set to go last. So I basically had to stand there and watch as these people just got up there and just absolutely shredded the bar. Well, I stood off to the side and withdrew into a personal shame spiral So now second to last the guy before me he gets up and this guy looks like a flare bartender's dream All right, he's like buff and he's like sleeved up and he has a man bun and he's extremely attractive and

And his name is a step on so he's like slightly more Latino than me and And his name's a steban, so he's like slightly more Latino than me. And he gets up there and just absolutely destroys. And his routine is set to the Beastie Boys, you've got to fight for your right to party. So during the chorus, he's like, you've got to fight, flip, flip for your right, catch, catch. To party! The place goes, ape shit. My heart sinks. I go over to my manager.

I'm like, yo, I'm not going out there. I can't do this. I can't follow this guy. And he's like, what? Like, why? You have to. You know, like I've wrapped you. And I'm like, I don't care.

Like, I'm not doing it. I'm going to make a fool out of myself out there. And this look comes over his face. And it's a look that I'm very doing it. I'm going to make a fool out of myself out there. And this look comes over his face. And it's a look that I'm very familiar with. And it's a look of disappointment. And it's a look that I've been looking at basically my entire adult life. I'd seen it on the faces of my parents when I told them I was dropping out of school. I saw it on the faces of every employer

I'd ever had, every job I'd ever quit, I've been fired from. I'd seen it on the faces of girlfriends who were breaking up with me for something I did or something I didn't do. And I realized that this is my pattern, this is my MO. I would get into something with enthusiasm and with promise and with potential. And then when it came time to do the work, I would bail. And at the moment of truth, I would quit. And maybe that's why I was there. 10 years at a high school, I just moved back home. And I was working at a chain restaurant. And I really didn't have anything to be proud of, except for this.

And I couldn't even get that right. And so I said, you know what, fine. I'll go out there. I'll do it. And my you know, so I said, you know what, fine, I'll go out there, I'll do it. And my manager says, okay great. And then they called my name. And then he says, wait, what song do you want? And I looked at him and I looked at the faces of the crowd, everybody eagerly anticipating some new form of bar trickery, and I didn't know what I was going to do, and I was panicked, and then I heard the music start. And the song that he chose was Billy Eidl's Dancing With Myself. And I laughed.

And I started laughing hysterically. And then I kind of started tapping my foot like this. And then for the next three and a half minutes, I proceeded to make a complete and absolute mockery of the art and craft of Flair bartending. I did comedy. I was basically doing tricks that I wasn't landing. I was flipping bottles and dropping them and breaking them.

I was filling alcohol and bar mixes all over everyone. But I was doing it with gusto. I was doing it with verve. I was doing it like I meant it. And yes, I got the absolute lowest score that anybody ever recorded at one of these tournaments. And I'm not sure to say I figured everything out in my life afterwards. Full disclosure, here it is, 10 years after this. And I'm not sure if I figured everything out in my life afterwards.

Full disclosure, here it is 10 years after this, and I'm still a bartender. But at least I know that I've got Flair. Thank you. Thank you. That was Flair bartender extraord extraordinaire Tim Lopez. Tim was raised in Los Angeles where the story takes place. He lives in New York now and works as a writer and improviser, but still bartends to make

ends meet. But this time, it's at an upscale Italian restaurant, so there's very little call for those TGIF classic cocktails, like the Scooby Snack and the Ultimate Mud Slide. Next up, a story from a Miami Grand Slam where we partner with Public Radio Station WLRN. Here's Pilar Simon live at the Olympia Theatre. Here's Pilar Simon live at the Olympia Theater. Cheers. I'm five years old. I'm dressed like a clown. I'm waiting in the wings, waiting for my cue.

I have butterflies in my stomach. I start to pray. I say, God, if you help me not mess up, I promise I'll stop bugging my brother. And I'll even let my little sisters borrow my stuff, all of it. This is a big deal. The Nutcracker song comes on, and the ballerinas come on stage. I take a deep breath, I make the sign of the cross, I step out on stage and all of a sudden out of nowhere a stage mom comes from behind, snatches my glasses off and says, sweetie, let's take these off. You'll look better without them on stage.

Yeah. So I start to panic. I, the stage lights look like ginormous blobs. The clown ballerinas just look like an endless sea of white face paint. I tell myself, you have to get off the stage, but I can't. I don't know where the stage begins. I don't know where it ends. I decide that I would fall off, which would be much worse.

So I say, self, stick to the back, stay with the pack, just try to fit in. So it doesn't work. I spin and I spin. I run into all the clowns, and I look like a five-year-old drunk. I get off the stage and I'm devastated. The older ballerinas had told us that if you wanted a good part at the end of the year performance and most importantly, if you ever wanted to have a solo, which was my dream, you had to nail the Christmas show.

I did not nail the Christmas show. So my parents, they try to make me feel better. They say, Iha, clowns are supposed to be goofy. No one can tell. Everybody was spinning. Everyone was a little crazy. Say, say, you're going to get a good part, don't worry. So, they were wrong. They were very wrong.

It's the end of the year performance. And we're going to perform Cinderella. And some people get to be Cinderella or the prince or a fair godmother or even the evil step sisters. They're anxiously awake to see what I'm get to be Cinderella or the Prince or a fair godmother or even the evil step sisters, and I anxiously await to see what I'm going to be. And I'm given the role of Fairy Dust. Yes. You didn't know it was a role, it's a role.

So the teacher says to us, girls, this is a very important role. Without Fairy Dust, the magic can't happen. And we're five, but we know. Like, we know the truth about team dust. We're like the bottom of the ballet totem pole. We're like, whoa, like right at the bottom. So I say to myself, well, that wasn't my fault. Like, I'm gonna redeem myself,

and they're gonna see that I am solo material. So I say to myself, you're going to be the best piece of fairy dust. You're going to be amazing. So I practice and I practice. I don't even know how I practice being fairy dust, but I do. But a week before the show, I have a not-so-great idea. I'm playing in the swings within the backyard with my sister and I say Alicia I have an awesome idea While I swing and I'm at the highest spot like swinging super fast

throw me a ball And I'm gonna catch it Now she's three and she says I don't think that's a good idea And she's only three But I'm five so I say sister I know stuff And she says, I don't think that's a good idea. And she's only three. But I'm five. So I say sister, I know stuff. I'm the boss.

So I swing and I swing and I go higher and I go higher. When I can see the roof of my house, I say, yeah, now, throw it, now. So she throws it. And I catch it and we're in shock. Like neither of us thought I could catch it, but I let go of the swing with both my hands. So I'm like smiling and then I'm like, oh my God. So then I fall and I break my wrist so badly

I have to have a cast from the tip of my finger to the top of my shoulder. Like this whole thing and I'm like short and five, right? So it's like my whole size of my body. so everyone assumes I'm not gonna be in the show but I mean come on can't do that so the doctor comes into the hospital room and he says sweetie what color would you like your cast he's trying to make me feel better I'm gonna have to wear it for six weeks it's Miami it's the summer it's really hot and I say doctor leave my cast white because next week I'll be playing the role

of fairy dust. So, round two on the stage. First piece is a fairy dust flutter across the stage. Me and my ginormous white cast make our debut. And while the other ballerinas are waving their hands like this and like this, like really gently and softly, I, my arm, I jut it, less like a graceful, like piece of dust and more like a hammer, it's like this. And I try my best to not hit anyone because the doctor had told me that my cast was really heavy and I could actually actually knock someone out.

So the show's over and my parents, they're so great. They come up to me and they say, eha, you are the best piece of dust we've ever seen. Ever. But I want to know the truth. So I turn to my brother Eddie and I say, how to go. And I can tell he's like trying to think of something nice to say. And he's thinking and he's thinking.

And then finally, he says, well, it was really easy to see you on stage. So fast forward 25 years later, I find out I'm going to be telling a story at the Olympia Theater. I call my sister Suzie and I say, hey, have you ever been there? What's it like? Is it big? And she's a sister. You've been there.

That's where we performed all of our ballet shows. Yup, yup. And my heart stops. I'm like, no, no, freaking way. Like, this is the stage of the clown debacle. This is the stage of the fairy does fiasco and I'm going back to that stage. I'm like, who knows what's going to happen in the next few weeks. So I'm 31, but I'm five again. I'm waiting in the wings, waiting in the front row, butterflies in my stomach, praying to God, I don't mess up,

extraperic glasses in my pocket. So it might have taken me a few more years than I thought, and it might look different than I imagined, but I think in my own way, I finally got my solo. Thank you. Thank you. That was Pilar Simon telling her story at the Olympia Theater in Miami, the very stage where the fairy dust fiasco happened more than two decades ago.

I think she nailed it this time, yeah? Pilar is a licensed clinical social worker. She has a private practice that offers bilingual mental health therapy to families and individuals. Polar still loves to dance. She has this one signature move, it's called the Fairy Dust. It's pretty much unforgettable. Just kidding.

In just a moment when the Moth Radio Hour continues quilting and grape leaves and other acts of kindness. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by PRX. This is the Moth Radio Hour from PRX, Ungen of the Hickson. This hour was celebrating the Moth Grand Slam around the country. Here from New York is Tom Neiman, live at the mall. This story happens while I'm my older brother and older sister are in grade school in Canton, Ohio, in a public school called Edgefield. To place it in time, it would be accurate to say that the civil rights movement is in full swing, so it was a while back.

It begins when I come home from school. In a day I'm frustrated and I approach my mom and she officially asked her to no longer put Middle Eastern food in my lunch. And my father and her become quiet, he drops his crossword puzzle, they lock eyes. And my mother through questioning gets me to reveal that the other students give me a very difficult time. And I experience a lot of condescension when I pull out food that doesn't look like everybody else's. So I ask my mom, from now on, could we do peanut butter and jelly on wonder bread and an apple?

And kind of turn down the volume on this, and then my brother and sister pipe in and say, they'd like the same because they were going through it as well. I must tell you that Cant'NoHio is not the same as the Cant'NoHio that I went to grade school and it's far more diverse, it's progressed a lot. But at the time I went to school, there were no African Americans in my school, there were no Asians. I don't think there was anybody from India, nobody from Latin America, not as students, not as teachers, not as administrators. It was primarily a homogenous, Protestant Catholic community on a patchwork of some affluent families,

mostly working class and some financially challenged families, too. In the midst of that, our family was slightly, slightly exotic. My father's family was from Syria, my mom's family from Palestine. We had looks that weren't exactly conforming to what I went to school with. We had food that was different. We had holiday customs that were not the same as everybody else. And in the midst of all of this, in the midst of this community

that we were in, sometimes we could stick out. My mother didn't say too much about this. She didn't have a lot to say at the time that I brought up this issue, but what I can tell you is about a week later at school, the teacher announces that we should not bring lunches the following day, nor should we bring lunch money for the cafeteria that we were going to have some sort of a special food event.

And the next day, at lunch, unbeknownst to me, incomes my mother, incomes my mother with boxes and trays of Middle Eastern food. The teacher introduces her, this is Mrs. Neiman, this is Tom's mom. And let me tell you about her. She was an artist. She dressed like an artist. She spoke like an artist. She had the attitude of an artist.

And she pulls out the food. She starts serving the kids kippy. This is a baked dish. It's as if you'll find it on the homes of kings and queens. You find it in the homes of the most humble people. Try this. Here, here's some fataya. These are little triangular bread pies,

and they have meat in them, or they have spinach in them, and they have pine nuts and onions. And she pulled out the tabooly and she pulls out the hummus and she pulled out other things. Boba Ghanouche and her homemade bread. She had baked bread for the entire class and gave them something to take home. And she's being charming and she's being funny and she's riling up the students and they're laughing and I'm blowing a gasket because a week earlier, these snarky kids are making fun of everything that I'm eating and here they are sucking down

my mom's food that she made for us day after day and year after year. And she did the same thing the next day in my brother's class and the day after that in my sister's class as well. Now I would like to tell you that this ended some of the low grade racial issues that my brother and sister and I faced while we were in public school. It did not, but it took a significant edge off of it.

And she, if I think about it now, was a very early pioneer of diversity in a very crafty way using Middle Eastern hospitality. And when I think about how cool that was versus what her other options may have been calling the principal up and saying, would you mind not picking on my kids? She took a different route and I will have to say something else that just recently occurred to me that I owe

a debt of gratitude to the principal, Mr. Hartley, who paddled me more than once, and my teacher, my second grade teacher, Mrs. Wingarder, who also had to have conspired to help this all happen to make this, to make the meal thing for all of my student friends happen. And the last thing, I don't think my mom would think of it in these terms, but I will say that you can't disparage somebody, you can't harm somebody, you can't humiliate somebody when they're sucking down your mom's food. You can't, you can't do it.

So for that lesson, for me, I owe a debt of gratitude to my mom, Allah Yada Muhammad, God look merciful to the honor. Thank you. That was Tom Neiman. Tom is a brand identity developer and strategist and a graphic designer. He also writes a blog about Middle Eastern culture. You can find a link at the moth.org where you can also see a picture of Tom and his adorable mother. Can I make a shameless request

to get invited over for lunch Mrs. Niamon? Hey do any of these stories inspire stories of your own? Did your mother's great pleaves ever change hearts and minds? We want to hear your stories. You can pitch us by recording your idea right on our site, themoth.org. Or if you're not a very computer savvy person, you can do it the old-fashioned way via telephone.

Write this number down, 877-799-MOTH. That's 877-799-6684. Keep that number on your bedside, and when you're struck in the middle of the night with the story you want to tell, you can call us. We're Open 247. Our next story is from Susan Womenn. She told it out of show in Brooklyn.

Here's Susan. live at the mosque. I met my quilting guru, Marianne, in the summer of 2001. In the fall, we joined a quilting In the fall, we joined a quilting guild and then 9-11 happened. So we did what quilters do when terrible things happen and also when happy things happen. We make quilts. Mary Ann decided that she wanted to make quilts for the nine people who lived in her town, the families of the nine people that were lost. So she went online to some quilting sites and invited people to send her quilt squares of red, white, and blue. She take the squares, put them together, and

make a quilt. She got so many more squares than she imagined, an enormous amount. She got them from 19 states, from Canada, and also from New Zealand. So, it was going to be quite a task. And even though Mary Ann is a talented quilter and she wanted to get them done in a timely fashion, she needed help. That's where I came in. I volunteered to help her. And as I was putting together these blocks,

I was overwhelmed by the generosity and compassion of these unknown quilters who sent these blocks with such love. So we worked on the quilts and we finished them. Next came the delivery. I must admit that I was extremely anxious about that. How would these people feel when some strangers were going to give them a quilt? A quilt for their loss?

There was no way it could be equal. And then I thought, how are we going to deal with sorrow that they might present to us? So came time for the delivery. And the first recipient was a teacher who lost her 26-year-old daughter. We went to the school and there in the principal's office. She was surrounded by her loving colleagues and she spoke about that daughter. Then she slowly unfolded the quilt

and with tears in her eyes, she wrapped it around herself. We wept as well. Next was, since we had so many blocks, Mary Ann said, let's make some for your town of Newer Shell. So the next time that we went to deliver them was to a woman who had lost her husband. She was pregnant at the time, and now she was a single mother. The next one was a woman who lost her husband, took the quilt and said to her little five-year-old, look what these nice ladies did to help us remember daddy.

Obviously, more tears from some of us. And as I thought about it, I was so ambivalent. Like, what good was this? What was I doing? Why did I think that this? What was I doing? Why did I think that this would have import or meaning to people? Like, was it for me?

Or was it for them? At the time I was teaching elementary school, and I took my quilts to show the fifth graders. And I asked them the same questions I'd asked myself. One child said, you know when you're scared, you like to hide under things, I bet a quilt would be good, you could put it over your head and you'd feel safer.

Then another child said, you know, would tell the families of the dead person that that person's not forgotten. And I thought, I had taught a lot of years, and I should have expected that children would go right to the heart of the matter. Several years later, my husband and I went to Quebec City, and we wanted to have one last stroll on this beautiful promenade in the city. And a young woman came up to me, and to me, not to him, and said, we just got here, would

you take a picture of me and my fiance?" Said, sure, where are you from? New York. Where in New York? Westchester County. Oh, where in Westchester? New Rochelle. I said, me too. Do you live near Davis school?

She stopped and looked at me and said, Do you know me? I said, did you receive a quilt? And memory of your husband? She nodded. And then I said, I helped make it, and I delivered it to your home. We threw our arms around each other and once

again, I wept. At the end of this experience, I find that I'm not quite as ambivalent as I was. I don't do it lightly and there is still some sense of what good is it. But now I know that the recipient will feel the quilt, will enjoy the touch of it, but will also feel the comfort that with which these quilts have been given and they will accept them in those terms. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Thank you. Thank you. That was Susan Woman, live in Brooklyn, New York. She's a retired teacher and spends a lot of her time with a guild called the Village Squares Quilters. They make quilts for people in need. Victims of disasters like Hurricane Katrina and Fukushima, but also people in shelters, refugees, veterans,

and even babies in the ICU at the hospital in White Plains. To see pictures of some of the quilts in the story, the ones put together for the 9-11 victims, visit themoth.org where you can also download any of the stories you hear today. Coming up, life, death, and the pursuit of happiness, more grand slam stories when the Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by the Public Radio Exchange, PRX.org. You're listening to The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Jennifer Hickson, time for our last two Grand's Lamp Stories.

This next one is from Minnesota. Here's John Caden. On Thanksgiving of 2013 my family got together to do it. We're all hopefully going to be doing on Thanksgiving Which has spent time with family, eat delicious food, drink some wine, have good dessert, good conversation Everyone of my family this this thing's giving us now having an outstanding time, especially my grand father. Normally he's wanting to go home at around 8.30 during after family dinner,

so he's got to make his 9 p.m. bedtime. But tonight he politely refused my father's invitation to bring him home saying, you know, I'd like to stay a bit longer. I'm having a good time, I'm just taking everything in. So my dad said, okay, and he stays a while longer, which turns into a lot longer, and at 11.30 he's finally ready to go home,

everyone's in the living room, lounging, getting pretty tired. So he and my dad go over to the front door, they get their coats on. But before he leaves, he and my dad go over to the front door, they get their coats on. But before he leaves, he tells my dad, I'd like to go back into the living room and tell everyone goodbye one more time. So he heads over and we get up and we hug him goodbye

and we wish him well and say happy Thanksgiving. And they leave and they go outside. About a minute later, the front door bursts open and my dad yells, Evie, come here, there's something wrong with dad. And at once, my entire family gets up and we rush toward the door. I head over to the home phone and grab it, assuming that I've got a call 911.

But my older brother is already on the phone with him. He used his cell phone. We had outside and my parents, Minivan, had just reached the end of the driveway. It hadn't even turned to go straight at all. Inside the interior lights are on. And my grandfather's in there not moving. My mom's a registered nurse and she's looking for some sort of a sign, something that says that he's still here. She rubs hard on his sternum, but there's no response. She checks his pulse and there's nothing beating. She looks over to my dad and his face is one of shock.

This is a man who retired as a general from the military. He knows how to lead, he knows how to make decisions, he knows he's got a plan at all times and I look up to him for this but tonight he doesn't have a plan, he doesn't know, no one could be prepared for this. And this shocks me because he's the person that I look up to and in the car right now, not moving, is the person that he looks up to. But I see his mouth twitch, my grandfather's mouth twitch,

and I'm hoping that it's a sign that there's something there. So we decide to pull him out of the car and lay him down on the hard, rocky asphalt and start compressions. My older brother's on the phone and he's coaching us through this. 30 compressions in between each breath to the tune of stay in a life or another one bites the dust, but tonight I was humming stay in a life. So I do these compressions and my mom's breathing for him.

And I'm just hoping, willing, life back into my family and friend, but nothing's going. When I get too emotionally and physically exhausted from this, my younger brother steps in and takes over. And I stand up, and for the first time I hear sirens off in the distance and I know where they're going

for the first time in my life. When they finally get there, the MTs and the police officers and they take over, they hook up the defibrillator, but it can't find any pulse, any semblance of a heartbeat. The ticker that kept his heart going, had quit. There's nothing we could do except for cry. And so that's what we did. We went inside and we cried as a family.

But we were thankful one more time on that Thanksgiving for the man that he was to all of us that he got to die without any pain with a full stomach surrounded by family. We were thankful that me and my brothers we could all come back from colleges all across the Midwest to see him on this last night that he was here with us. We were thankful that he got to see on that night his late wife, who he said that he had been dreaming of recently. We were thankful that we could be a family and support each other and pick up where maybe one of us had fallen short that night with such a terrible tragic

event. So I'm thankful for my grandfather, who he was. He would have turned 90 years old on Tuesday, and every Thanksgiving we think of him. Thank you. That was John Katen, talking about his beloved grandfather, Bob Katen. John was born and raised in Minnesota and works as an engineer. He recently got married and was sorry that his wife never had a chance to meet his grandfather.

You can visit themoth.org to see a picture of John and his family with his grandfather. Our final story tonight was told at the San Francisco Grand Slam where we partner with public radio stations KQED and KALW. The theme of the night was Leaps and one of the storytellers took the theme very, very seriously. Here's Dee Dee Lambert at the Castro Theater. I spent my 21st birthday in the emergency room, as my college best friend gave birth to a kidney stone that we named Emma. Emma Stone. That was also the day that I held her hand for the first time.

I had wanted to hold her hand for a while, wanted to do other things for a while too, like kiss her, or tell her how I had accidentally fallen in love with her. We'd only known each other for eight months, but I was drawn to her intoxicating blend of charisma and kindness from the moment that I met her. It took me six months of wondering if I had done friendship wrong my entire life. Was this sort of insensity normal between female friends? Before I dawned on me that what I was feeling was

something different, something more. But something more wasn't possible for us. She was straight and I was only just beginning to realize that I was apparently bisexual. Taking chances was never my forte so it seemed far safer to preserve our friendship as it was then to take risk everything by telling her how I felt. Even high on Vikiden and still waiting for the kidney stone to pass, she was adamant that she was not going to miss any classes.

She was a commuter student and I lived on, so she asked if she could stay in my dorm for a few days while she recuperated. I agreed, though nervous how this new proximity might complicate things. She recovered by the end of the week, but she never moved out. I like living on campus. She told me by way of explanation, and I was happy to have her stay. I did notice a distinct change in our friendship, however, after she moved in.

There was an added sense of intimacy that came along with our new living situation. We were more of a unit than individuals. We lived together, ate together, and did just about everything else in between together. together and did just about everything else in between together. And with this change, I began to unravel. My mind began to interpret looks that she gave me or words that she said as clues that she was interested in me romantically.

For example, in April, she heard, can't fight this feeling by Aureo's speed wagon for the first time. And she began to play it on repeat constantly whenever I was around. In June, over dinner, when I told her that she had the most beautiful eyes, she choked on her water and had to excuse herself from the table to recover. In July, she began to hold my hand in the car whenever we drove places. Maybe she likes you too, my heart told me, but my brain knew I was just wishing too hard for something that I would never get. And so I did my best to ignore the conjured signs. By August, I could no longer handle the anxiety

that the situation gave me. I needed to know where I stood, where she stood. I knew I should tell her the truth, and be honest, but I just couldn't find the right time. And then one Sunday in early September, just around midnight, I walked her to her car, and I kissed her on the forehead. Now, this was a gesture we both did upon occasion, but this time was different.

This time she said, you missed. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. I scared at her, unable to speak, and she had to prompt me with a, is there something you want to tell me? It was time. It was finally time.

And so with a rush of adrenaline, I told her everything. I told her how I had been in love with her since February. I told her how worried I was that she would reject me. She laughed and said, do you remember that time when I had a kidney stone? And you came to the hospital and held my hand and took care of me? Well, I had a crush on you then already, but that's when I knew I loved you.

It was such a surreal experience feeling the access of my life rotate with one simple exchange. All of the anxiety that had plagued me for months shifted into a sea of butterflies, a flutter in my stomach. And as I kissed her for the first time, finally, it felt so right. And you know what, it still feels right. It's been a number of years since that night, and she remains my favorite person, my best friend. My grandmother once told me that the smartest decision

she ever made in her life was to marry her best friend, my grandmother once told me that the smartest decision she ever made in her life was to marry her best friend. So here I am. We are learning. Congratulations! Thank you guys! That was Deity Lumberg live in San Francisco and after her you heard one of our San Francisco hosts, Daya Lachmanarayan. You probably guessed it, but after the proposal, Karyan leapt out of her seat, ran to the stage, and into Dede's arms.

In short, she said yes, the crowd went wild. Now, before I follow this up with a little interview from someone I think the one to hear from, I wanna say a few things. To any of you out there itching to ask someone to marry you, fair warning that we're not so keen on the moth stage I want to say a few things. To any of you out there itching to ask someone to marry you, fair warning that we're not so keen on the moth stage becoming a destination for proposals.

It kind of puts everyone on the spot. Also, are you going to try to top Deity's proposal? Because I don't recommend it. Deity called me before the Grand Slam to discuss her story and together we decided that we would not have the judges score her proposal because, number one, awkward. And number two, it wouldn't be that fair to the other storytellers did you hear that crowd I mean imagine following that act so please all you romantic stick to

the mountain tops the park benches in the rain the sandy beaches I once got engaged on subway train the a train to be exact so whatever works if you want to tell you intended a private moth like story about why you're so in love, I highly recommend that. And now, as promised, here is someone involved in this story that we haven't heard from yet, Carianne, Dede's fiance. I called her at her apartment one morning. So Carianne, I just wanted to talk to you and ask you what the experience was like for you sitting out there in the audience. Did you suspect anything? No, I didn't suspect anything.

D.D. actually had told me that the story that she was going to tell that night would be about her siblings, which is usually what she tells stories about. So, she had made a fake story in case I had asked her what she was going to talk about and she was all prepared to lie to me and to do whatever she needed to do to keep the secret, which usually she's not successful at keeping secrets from me, but this time it worked. Yeah. When we spoke, Dee Dee said, like, I have to go get my decoy story too. You know, she's going to want to know what I'm talking about.. I felt for her having to think of two different stories.

So at what point in the story did you say, wait a second. Well, when she first started talking and she had opened up with her intro, I thought, wow, this is sweet. She's telling a story about us, but it took probably until right before she asked me for me to actually realize what was going on. I was bawling my eyes out about halfway through the story with how sweet everything was, but I didn't really know that she was going to ask me to marry her in front of all these people until right before she popped the question. Right, when you started to feel her voice breaking up,

yeah, exactly right in that point where she got a little teary. That's when I realized what was going on. I feel like that. Then I wasn't sure if I was supposed to get up and go on stage, or if I was just supposed to stay in the audience and somehow signal to her that I was going to accept her offer. So I'd taken my shoes off and I just decided to run up there and be with her

because that's what felt right. So dear, OK, so is there anything that you would like to say to Dede that you didn't have a chance to that night on stage in front of a lot of people and now a lot of people are going to hear her side of the story again and I wondered if there was anything you wanted to add. Well, I would just like to say that I love you very much, Dede, and even though you stole my thunder of proposing

to you on our trip to Europe during the summer, I'm really appreciative that you took that leap and told that story in front of the 1,400 people that were there. And I'm really excited for our wedding and to go on our honeymoon and to spend the rest of my life with you. Okay. Tears again. you know, go on our honeymoon and to spend the rest of my life with you. Okay. Tears again. I don't know if we can talk that, guys. I think that has to be the end of the interview.

I can't go any further. So the wedding is planned. And in case you were wondering, I asked. And yes, Aureo Speedwagon's, I can't fight this feeling anymore, will be featured prominently at the wedding. God help us all. That's it for this episode of the Moth Radio Hour. Do not fight the feeling people, call our pitch line and please be sure to join us next time. Your host this hour was Jennifer Hickson. The rest of the most directorial staff includes

Katherine Burns, Sarah Haberman, Sarah Austin-Jones and Meg Bowles, production support from Timothy Lulee. Most stories are true, is remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by the Drift, other music in this hour from Travis Chook, Billy Idol, the Bond Classical Philharmonic, and Arctic Express, Elvenoon, Chili Gonzalez, Bill Fresil, Duke Levine, and Aureo Speedwagon. You can find links to all the music we use at our website. The Mothradio 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 National Endowment for the Arts. The Mothradio Hour is presented by PRX for more about our podcast for information on pitching us your own story and everything else. Visit our website, TheMoth.org. visit our website, TheMoth.org.