Hey, it's Chloe Salmon from The Moth. As a story director, I talk to a lot of people who say they want to tell a story but don't know where to start. A tip I give them, get specific. What's a moment that meant something to you? Your first home run, that road trip with your dad, the time you bombed at the talent show. Start there, then build on that foundation. You can find tips to help you identify those moments along with prompts to inspire them in The Moth's new guided journal, My Life in Stories. Whether you want to find your own story, reflect on your life, or even give it as a gift, you can order your copy at themoth.org forward slash my life in stories. That's themoth.org forward slash my life in stories. Welcome to The Moth podcast. I'm your host for this week, Kate Tellers. This week's episode is about parenting, a word that according to Miriam Webster is a noun, but I would certainly argue is a verb. During the summer that I was 14, my parents were getting divorced. My Aunt Mary, who sensed that we could use a getaway, invited my dad, my sister, and I to stay with her in her timeshare in Vermont. It was at the top of a mountain in the Trap Family Lodge. Yes, of the sound of music. We drove for a half day from Pittsburgh, and when we finally got to the base of the mountain, my father pulled the car over, locked eyes with me, and then my sister and said, roll down your windows. Then he shoved the tape, he had cued up into the deck, and sang along with the voice of Julie Andrews, styled up to 11. The hills are alive, as we made our upward climb. For years, this was our go-to, Dad Is Such a Dad story. But now that story reminds me of how hard my father was trying to keep his two girls happy during a really tough summer. To the exuberant dads everywhere, I see you, and thank you. On that note, our first story this week is from Caroline Connolly. Caroline told this story at a story slam in Boston, where the theme of the night was roads. Here's Caroline Connolly, live at the Moth.! Woo! Woo! So the distance between my hometown of Newbury, Port Massachusetts in New York City is about 250 miles. When you're 11 years old and strapped in the way back seat of a Volvo station wagon with your sisters, that is enough time to be assaulted by a sibling and to declare to your conservative Catholic parents that you no longer believe in God. And I honestly feel like that might be why Volvo made a way back seat because it is in the literal trunk of a car and faces away from everybody else inside the car. It's like where a kidnapper might put a victim, except suburban moms were like, jump in, it's gonna be so fun. And honestly, my parents had kind of earned this right to do that to us. On this particular occasion, my mom had sacrificed her birthday to take us all to see Lucy Lawless debut in Greece on Broadway. She was the actress who played Zena the Warrior Princess. And my sisters and I were huge Zena fans and Greece fans, so this was like the greatest gift she could ever give us. And the first part of the ride was relatively unremarkable. My mom would give us little fistfuls of dramamine that to this day she swears were non-drowsy. And I'm not gonna call my mother a liar or a drug dealer on this stage, but we had some very foggy car rides as kids. But this one was pretty clear because about two hours into it, my dad is driving down the highway and he's looking for a McDonald's so that he can get a large vanilla milkshake as he always liked to do. And my mom says to him, hey, where are the tickets? When he responds with this benign, what tickets? As if he has like no idea why we're all in the Volvo heading to New York City. And she's like, the tickets. Well, no one had the tickets. And because this was like 1997, inexplicably, the only solution to this problem was to turn them around and drive all the way back to New Brayport to get the tickets for the show that night. So by the time we start our second trip to New York City, the dramamine has started to wear off. And it was as if, if like three feral cats had come alive in the backseat of my parents Volvo. So my little sister suddenly bursts into tears because she's starving. And my older sister suddenly remembers that I exist. And apparently my leg had shifted to her side of the way back seat, which was a crime punishable by a swift punch to the side of my head. And because I was smaller, but no less insane, my only recourse was to take her Nintendo Game Boy and hold it up and threaten to lick all of the buttons on the surface, which is gross, but super effective. Cause she let out this blood curdling scream, which prompted my mother to whip around and issue a threat that she loved to give us at this time in our lives, which was girls, God is watching you. And because I was in the way back seat and separated from my mom by like an entire row, I turned around and I was like, well, good thing. I don't believe in God. Well, we pulled over really quickly after that. Adam McDonald's and my dad jumps out of the car because he had no interest in this portion of parenting. And so my mom comes around to the back seat where I was and it gets really close to my face and she says, you better apologize for that, or I am telling sister roots what you said. And if you have ever been a kid since a Catholic school, you know the threat of a sister is way worse than like whatever your mother or God could ever do to you. So I was like, I am so sorry. I love God and Jesus and like everybody up there with them. And once that was settled, we went inside the McDonald's and we found my dad finally ordering his large vanilla milkshake and he gets us some happy meals and we all go out to the car and get back in and he places his shake down in the driver's seat and comes around to the back very calmly, as he always is, says to us, look, could you guys please just get along for the remainder of this ride? It's your mother's birthday after all. He gets back in the front and he sits down right on top of that large vanilla milkshake, which causes this like explosion of dairy on the steering wheel and the windshield and my mom. And I was at an age where like I knew what swear words were, but I had never heard one delivered super well just yet. And so he dropped with force, a slew of expletives. And I remember my sisters and I looked at each other like, did we just break dad? And so we drove the rest of the way in silence because nobody wanted to cross him and we get to New York City and we check into this fancy hotel my mom had booked and we go see Lucy Lawless and she's amazing and we go back to the fancy hotel and it's actually a pretty fabulous night in New York City for our family. Next morning, we all pile into the Volvo again and everybody is on their best behavior today. The only thing my sisters and I were complaining about was that we thought the beds at the fancy hotel were kind of itchy and we're like scratching ourselves on morning. It would be a few hours and a couple hundred miles later before my mother realized we had all contracted lice at the hotel. And you would think that after like several freezing cold light shampoo baths with a mom and dad and these three girls, no one would want to take a road trip ever again. But we've actually got on dozens more and we still go on them today. And my dad is in his 70s now and he still demands a vanilla milkshake on the way there and on the way back and for whatever reason, we are all still in a Volvo station wagon. But truthfully, we would have it no other way. Thanks. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. That was Caroline Connelly. Caroline Connelly is a reporter who lives and works in Boston. She enjoys horror films as well as a good romantic comedy montage. When she's not telling stories, she loves to run and likes the idea of cooking. When we followed up with Caroline, she said, our last family trip was a visit to the Berkshires a few years ago. Even though my sisters and I are now adults living in different cities, our mom insisted we all drive together. I spent four hours in the backseat listening to my father snore and my mother asked if any of us thought we would be married soon. We were, of course, in a Volvo station wagon. Okay, the jig is up. I said this was a podcast themed on parenting and it's really a very niche podcast about my family obsession with Broadway as nurtured by my dad. Our next storyteller also made it to Broadway. Christopher Moncaio Torres told this at a Moth Story slam in New York City where the theme of the night was home. Here's Christopher live at the moment. Hi, August 2004, I'm 19. I'm at the doorway of what's going to be my new bedroom, which I'm sharing with my dad, who I haven't seen since I was two. And left side of the bedroom is super clean. It's got a mattress that he stole from me. On the right side is his side that's mostly Western Union receipts, ripped up scratch off lottery cards, lots of movies all over the ground. But every night he always watched the same movie, not Terminator, not Die Hard, but Fill on the Roof. I can't tell you why this Ecuadorian man loved Fill on the Roof, but he watched it every night and he would ask me, his estranged son, come watch Fill on the Roof with me. And I was like, no. Besides the fact that it's like a three and a half hour or however many hours like Saga, I at that time just didn't feel comfortable being in this very small room. And I say small, you know, like the back of a U-Haul, like the tiny truck that you could probably afford? Like small than that. So I would usually be in the living room and I would actually sleep in the living room of this apartment. So he was renting a room from this lady friend that he knew. It's actually not too far from here, like 39th place in Queens Boulevard, so a couple blocks away. And I kind of felt bad after just always saying, no, that Serendipis Lee in October, same year, Fill on the Roof was on Broadway. Alfa Melina was playing the lead. And I was like, I'll surprise him, I'll get tickets. Now here's the thing. I have kind of a language barrier. Like yes, father, son language barrier, but like my Espanol is like very muy malo if you catch my drift. So I told dad, hey, vamos a salir outside. Let's go. And I have like a little like translation book that's like not working for me. And he's just like, and whatever Spanish you're about to hear right now is like very rehearsed. No, mijo, que no hemos en la casa. Just like, it's just stay home. Let's watch Fill on the Roof. He almost Fill on the Roof. And I'm like, no, let's go. I'll pay for everything. He's like, great, let's go. The trip there, super anxious. My father likes to smoke in between the train carts of the seven train. And he also likes to like stop, not like walk and talk. He likes to stop and tell you a story. Imagine doing that in Times Square. So we finally get there, but we're like super late. And but like just enough to hear the opening song, tradition for those who know, that's like the big number. And it gives the whole story of the town and this Jewish family. And I look and I'm like, oh man, he's probably gonna be super excited. He's gonna be moved. He's gonna be amazing. He hasn't been saying anything since we got in. I don't really think he understood where we are. Dad, he's asleep. Hi, my little like abandoned child heartbroken. I nudge him and he's just like, I'm being chibbity, chibity. Rest of the show, sleeping. He really woke up for like, if I were a rich man, he loved that song. And there is this one song. I think maybe if anybody knows it, but if you love me, husband's asking the wife if you love me. And she's just like, you're an idiot, more or less. Because like I've been with you for like 20, some odd years, why are you gonna ask me that question? But he keeps asking. So Melina, out from Melina, when he was doing this, she just kind of took these really long beats in asking this question and in one of those really long beats. Mind you, we're like in the balcony because it's all I could afford, like in a CUNY tuition. And it's super quiet. And suddenly I hear, but do you love me? And my dad says the line and I was like, oh, that's cool. And people around us started laughing, but like in a really quiet theater, like how everyone's quiet right now, like it's really loud and you laugh. And so out from Melina, like looked in our direction. And like my father, who like for me was like the Latin Paul Bunyan of my life, like shrunk. And Melina just like continues with the song. The show's over. I will say this much, we did cry both at that far from the home I love, I think is one of those songs. So we're outside, he's taking a photo with a big poster, you know, Tevia's arms are big up in the air. And then I hear from the backstage, Jessica's door, like some ruckus that turn around and like, I'm new to Broadway. I didn't grow up with theater, but I'm like, oh, I think people get signatures from these people. I was like, dad, let's go do this. And you know, my dad's just like, no, me home, I'm not at the house. I was like, let's go home. I was like, why? And I figured, oh, maybe he's scared, maybe he's embarrassed. So I grab him by his sleeve, like he's my kid. And I'm like, hey, Mr. Melina, you know, we love your show. And my dad, I'm like, right dad, like my dad loves the movies. The first time he's seen this live. And my dad's like shaking his head. And Melina is like, oh, that's beautiful. And then I recount what happened in the balcony. And he didn't laugh. But then he like, he's got big thick eyebrows. So I feel like he just moved me with them. And he just looks at my father. He's like, is that true? Did you say my lion? And my dad's like, shakes his head, yes. And he takes his huge arm and he puts it on his shoulder. And like he grabs my dad. And Melina's a tall dude. He's like, good job. You made your Broadway debut. Congratulations, way to go. And my dad's like, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, grabs him. He's like, don't move a photo. Take a photo. And I'm like, okay, cool. Take the photo. We're on our way home. And my dad's just enamored with this photo. And he just keeps just looking at it. And I kind of figure it out in my own interpretation. Like, oh, you're this dude in this story. This is the first time I had ever seen it. Just immigrant man, far away from his family. And he's trying to hold it together. At this point, me and my dad are trying to like figure out who we are to each other. And I tell him all this. He doesn't understand a word of it. But he just says, Mijo, good night. This was a good night. He goes in between the train carts. He's smoking in the cigarette. He looks like the fill on the roof because it's like in the shadows. He's returning to Queensborough Plaza. And then when we get home, like, I actually, that night was the first time I slept in the room with him together. Thank you. Woo! Woo! Woo! Woo! Woo! Woo! Woo! Woo! That was Christopher Moncaio Torres. Christopher is an Ecuadorian-American playwright, teaching artist and live storyteller, born and bred in Queens, New York. He first practiced creative writing while pretending to study for his forensic psychology degree. He's since founded Fail Better NYC, a BIPOC-centered artist community where he produces and hosts a monthly storytelling workshop show, Fail Better Storytime. We followed up with Christopher about his relationship with his father now. Here's Christopher. I wish I could tell you the follow-up is that we had more nights like that, that we remained connected, and I really wish we did. But it feels in sear and not what storytelling is for me. If I gave some sweet button at the end, you see him and I haven't spoken in a year. The most I can say that feels like a realistic follow-up is that my relationship with my father is in itself like a fill on the roof, at least to how Tevi explains it. Fathers are hard. I figure sons are just as difficult. Relationships between the strange father and son has felt like a pretty high roof to me. I'm not sure even till now if him and I know how to keep our balance. But we tried and now we've fallen off that roof. So hearing from the moth about my gesture of love from that night, I've been thinking a lot about him these days, feels like a sign, and I am very big on signs. I haven't been sure how to start the conversation with him after not talking with him for this long. But maybe I can present this gesture to him, be packaged that our first story together is gonna be shared with the world, and maybe that can help us try again to keep that balance. That was Christopher Moncaio Torres. There is no one way to parent. There is no one way to show love to a parent. There is no one way to love anyone. In my family though, it often includes a sing-along. Okay, all right kiddos, we're gonna say it one, two, three. Can we say it together? Have a story worthy week. Let's try again. Ready? Have a story worthy week. That was Kate Tellers and her children. Kate Tellers is a storyteller, host, and director of Mothworks of the Moth. Her story, but also bring cheese, is featured in the moths All These Wonders, true stories about facing the unknown, and her writing has appeared on McSweeney's and The New Yorker. Podcast production by Julia Purcell.
