The Moth - Rollerskates and Legacy: The Moth Podcast

Episode Date: July 31, 2026

On this episode, we’re featuring two stories from The Moth’s Community Program, both dealing with incarceration. This episode was hosted by Jermaine Archer.Storytellers:While in prison, Dolores Canales throws a rollerskating birthday party for her best friend.Christopher Blackwell reckons with his family's legacy of violent masculinity, linked to their lifelong Eagles fandom. Plus, a live conversation between Christopher Blackwell and Peter Aguero.Podcast # 992

Hi there, everyone, and welcome to the Moth. I'm Jermaine Archer, executive director of a nonprofit called Rehabilitation Due to Arts, or RTA, which is celebrating 30 years of using the arts to teach life skills to incarcerated New Yorkers. I'm also a Moth storyteller, and I'm so excited to be hosting this episode of the Moth podcast. Today, we're featuring two stories from the Moth's community program, which, through workshops and events, brings storytellers. to nonprofits, cultural institutions, and a bunch of other cool places around the country.

The community program has featured stories spanning topics from veteran and immigrant experiences to mental health and cultural identity. On this episode, we're focusing on stories from our justice initiative. In 2026 alone, we've recorded stories from family members navigating incarceration, entrepreneurs who've used experiences

and skills acquired in the penal system, and survivors of violence who found forgiveness. Together, these stories tell of the many ways people are working together to reimagine what justice can look like. Our first story is from Dolores Canales, who told her story at a community workshop in San Francisco. Here's Dolores, live at the mall. Okay, like that? I was in Chowchilla State Prison for Women, serving seven years on a nine-year prison sentence, and this is where much of my community still resides.

During my incarceration, I had many jobs within the institution, and one of those jobs was working in the program office. I worked in D-Facility Program, and this is where the captain, lieutenant, sergeant, all had their offices. We all had our own office, my peers and my colleagues. We had our own office, and in the mornings we'd show up to work, and I'd take my Kirk Franklin and my Shirley Caesar gospel CDs. And one morning I was playing Amazing Grace by Shirley Caesar,

and my co-worker, Ty, who was serving life without the possibility of parole, and is who still is in prison right now to this day, began to cry, but it was a gut-wrenching cry. Like deep within her soul, you could hear the agony as she cried out, and I went up to her and I hugged her and I just, I knew. I said, you're tired of being here, aren't you? And she said, yes. So I let her continue to cry. in my arms, but we became very close. We bonded at that moment, and we say we're each other's sister from another mister. One time Ty had shared with me that all she ever wanted when growing up was her very own roller skating party. So Ty had a birthday coming up, and I had decided I was going to find a way to get her some roller skates. I thought to myself, should I ask some staff to bring roller skates? Because roller skates are not allowed in prison. We don't have any.

But then I thought about it and I thought I would not want anybody to lose their job over roller skates. So I thought I'll make some roller skates. So I thought if I could just get wheels. I started looking at everything with wheels. I was looking at the mop buckets. But then I thought, oh, they were too hard to take off. Plus the women would get angry if we didn't have our mop buckets. So then one day I go into the chapel where I used to work there at one time too.

And I go with the two clerks. They were both lifers. And I'm telling them, I need some wheels. I'm going to make tie some roller skates. So I said, I'm going to get one of the chairs of Chaplain Doors. and I'm going to take those wheels because they have five wheels on them, and I only need it four. So I was going to leave one behind. So, of course, they had my back and we're going to let me take the wheels.

So I get my wheels, and the chaplain ends up walking in. Chaplain Doherty looks, and he's talking to us, and we're all laughing and everything, and then he looks at the chair, and he says, wasn't there wheels on that chair? And the three of us would just stay quiet and we're looking at him. But then I don't want him to assume that maybe one of them has. had something to do with it. So I said, I took them, Chablondorty. I have the wheels. So he looks at me, kind of puzzled, and he goes, am I going to get them back? And I said, well, probably not. You know, I mean, and he just looked at me, shook his head, and walked away. So at this time,

I have my wheels, and I'm thinking to myself, okay, I'll get a pair of brand new state tennis shoes. They have the white rubber around them with the black. They're like imitation converse. And so I thought to myself, I'll get some of those and I'll just make some holes in the rubber and I'll put the wheels in them. But then I was thinking and I was walking around the yard and people started asking me, what's wrong with you? What's going on with you? Jipsy and sleepy, actually. And I shared my vision. I said, I have some wheels. I'm going to make tie some roller skates. I said, but the only thing I could think of doing is just sticking them in the tennis shoes. So then they said, well, how about we send the wheels behind work exchange? We get the tennis shoes and crazy glue them on there and carve the wood

precisely to the size of the shoe and drill the wheels in the shoe. And I thought, you know, what a terrific idea. All we have to do now is smuggle them behind work exchange. But no problem at all. So we get the wheels behind the work exchange. We get our shoes made. And then now to bring them back. They said, you know, the shoes are ready. And they got them through and they show them to me. And they were the most beautiful pair of shoes that you could imagine. And I immediately thought to myself, if I would have just hung on to those wheels, Ty would have ended up with just like some holes in a tennis shoe. But sharing the vision and what transpired,

but then something else started to happen. People started to catch on to the vision. So they immediately said, we'll draw backdrop. All we need is a brown new state sheet. We'll draw backdrop of a snack bar and a skating rink. And so they became involved, and they offered to do the art for the backdrop. Then I got a box of state issue gloves

that the staff use. And if you blow them up, they blow up like a balloon. But if you just leave them like that, it's going to kind of look like a cow or something. So you have to get the fingers and tie them together and then put bows around it, make some bows, and then you can use them as balloons. So we had our balloons, we had our backdrop, we had everything getting ready to go. And then I got a hold of some pink chalk. So I thought, I'm going to dye her shoelaces pink. So I dye her shoelaces pink with the chalk and I'm in my room with my other roommates and I'm telling them what's happening. And then one of my roommates has some gel pens, pink pens. Well, if you know, Ty, you know she's all that sass.

So there was a song at the time called I'm Bossy. It says, I'm bossy, the one you really love to hate, though. So come on, you know. And so I thought, that's totally Thai. So we wrote on her shoes in the gel pen with music notes, I'm Bossy. And then we get everything ready to go and we wrap it. We have 516, the unit, that's a housing unit. We decorate the whole front of the housing unit.

And, you know, staff just kind of, you know, there was no drinking, no fighting, so they were on board. We were going to have a roller skating party. So we decorate everything, and then we bring tie out because it's a surprise birthday party. And she sees her shoe. She sees the roller skating rink, and she's just in disbelief. And then we took it to the next step, and we have to. I put on the shoes and baby face and Brooks hold ties arms and we walk with her and we roller skate her around D. Yard. And I will never forget the picture is forever cemented in my heart as she's rolling

around D.R. in her roller skates with tears just rolling down her eyes. And you know what I learned to believe in the impossible to make anything happen and that hope is the anchor to the soul. Thank you. That was Dolores Pernales. Dolores is the director of community outreach for the bail project, the co-founder of California Families Against Solitary Confirmament, and was previously a Soros Justice Fellow. Dolores told her story with help from a men at University of California, San Francisco,

a program that uses public health practices to transform U.S. correctional culture and improve the health of those who work and live in these facilities. Our community workshop there was generously supported by the Langa Law, foundation. When I think about the role storytelling has had on my life, I recognize the power storytelling holds. I was convicted of a crime I did not commit, partly because I refused to tell my story by testifying in my own defense. During my 22 years of incarceration, I learned how vital it was to

share my story and establish my own narrative. At my parole hearing, I maintained my innocence, which usually is seen as refusing to take responsibility and results in being denied parole. Most of the Most of my peers were surprised when the parole board voted to release me. Upon my release, I shared my story with the Legal Aid Society of Westchester County, and that resulted in full-time employment within five weeks of my release. Several years later, I told my story in the courtroom, and the judge ultimately vacated my wrongful conviction.

Had I not learned the importance of storytelling and how to tell my story, I don't know where I would be today. There's something powerful about taking charge of your narrative, sharing your own story, Whether it's on the stage to someone you care about, before a parole board, or in a Moth community workshop. After the break, a story about anger and healing. Back in the moment. Instacart lets you get groceries just the way you like,

with no markups at select retailers. Now that's a win-win. A win-win that can snowball into more wins. So sink into the big chair, recline all the way back. And hey, while you're at it, finish the crossword you've been putting off. The hard one. Do it in pen. If you get it wrong, so what?

Instacard is helping deliver the groceries you want right to your door. So no matter what, you're already a winner. Want no markups just how you like? Download the Instacard app today. Fees and in-store offer exclusions apply. Welcome back. Our next story was told by Christopher Blackwell at a community showcase, which featured five remarkable workshop participants

whose stories were selected from the hundreds heard through our community program each year. Christopher was able to share a story from inside a Washington's state prison. After the audience watched a pre-recorded version of his story, shared alongside family photographs, Christopher joined the event live for a conversation with the evening's host, Peter Aguero. We'll feature both the story and the conversation. Here's Christopher, live at the month. I don't know how old I was the first time I wore a Philadelphia Eagles jersey or when I watched that first game, but I was young. I was very young. All I knew was

was, the men I idolized, my father and grandfather, love those birds. I remember when I was barely five years old. My dad would record the game on this old VHS player. He worked Sundays, so he had to make sure the game was there when he came home after a long shift at the woodmill skin and logs. When he picked me up on Sundays from the babysitter after his shift, I was always excited because I knew we were going to watch our team. we'd get home, he'd make us TV dinners,

grab a beer, and we'd park ourselves in front of the TV, pop in the recorded tape and watch the fate of our birds. It didn't matter that I barely understood the game. I was sitting next to him, the person I wanted to accept me more than anyone. But there was a dark side to the relationship with my dad. How the Eagles did, well, I determined how many beers my bad drinks, which then determined how that night was. would look. Translation, my dad was an efficient alcoholic. If the Eagles lost, I could easily

become his target, and he would take his rage out on me. In these moments, I knew to walk on eggshells. So the question was always, would I get hit for simply being me? A kid that never did the right thing after my dad drank too much. Something my dad picked up from his dad. As I got older, I learned a lot about the Eagles in our family. I learned that I come from three generations of diehard Eagles fans. Since the creation of the Eagles in 1933, the men in my family have been devoted and supporting them. Like me, being an Eagles fan was chosen for them by the fathers before them.

It was handed down like a family heirloom or a curse at times, as our birds have had many years of discouraging moments, like the loss in the 1981 Super Bowl to the Raiders. The year I was born, my dad blamed me for that law. He claimed he couldn't receive two blessings so close to each other.

Funny, when he said it, I never felt like I was a blessing. My grandpa always said, there's a lot that comes with being an Eagles fan. Never forget that. He would look down on my young frame and say, we're known for being aggressive, no bullshit fan base,

and have even been described as rabid and uncontrollable quite a few times throughout history. A smile would curl at the corner of his lips, and maybe we are. He'd say as he gripped my shoulder tighter. Shit, we'd throw snowballs at Santa, and when I was growing up,

we were the only NFL stadium to have a jail built under it. A lot of Cowboys fans got beat up at the bed. He was proud when he talked about this history. I could see him reliving those moments of his younger years while attending Eagles games. The more of the history I learned, for my grandpa, the more I embraced the culture and identity of what being an Eagles fan meant to him and guys like him.

And in your face, aggressive Dallas Cowboy Hayton motherfuckers, I was all in. And honestly, for most of my life, I loved it. And then one day, when I was in my early 20s, a close friend started bragging about in Seattle Seahawks beating my Eagles. Talking shit while friends' teams are playing, it's pretty normal. But it never felt normal to me, and it always felt like a personal attack. In this moment, we were sitting in a prison day room watching TV. I noticed that the game went on and he continued to disrespect the Eagles, a real anger began to fester deep within me.

I don't even think he noticed how angry I was becoming. So finally, I stood up and in a fit of rage, I shoved him to the ground. When he jumped to his feet and challenged me for putting my hands on him, without a word, I punched him as hard as I could in that face and yelled, fuck your dumb ass Seahawks. I looked around and see if the prison guards or anyone else had seen the interaction. When I noticed they didn't, I walked away. I wasn't embarrassed.

I attributed this scenario to me just being a typical Eagles fan. We eventually made up as friends, but things were never the same between us. There were other instances, altercations over the Eagles, and me defending them as if they were my first unborn child. I would threaten people with violence or talking about a player or break a TV over a bad call by arrest.

The list goes on and on. Sometimes I would let the anger build as people would clap for another team against mine, especially when it was Cowboy fans, to the point where I would literally be shaking I was so mad. Have I started to process

what brought me to prison, taking another human life. I had to dive deep into how I used and thought of violence as a solution to solve my issues. Luckily, I was able to be mentored by other men in prison who long worked through such complications with their lives as they worked towards what remorse and accountability looked like for them.

In my 30, while working on earning my college degree in fighting the past sentence reform legislation, I met an incredible woman. Chelsea, we met through our love of advocacy and community-centered work. We fell in love and our love for each other developed in a beautiful way. She never judged me for my violent past and continuously reminded me she loved the man I'd become. A person that refuses to use violence to solve my problem and someone who thinks of others first. Except when it came to the Eagles.

This was a place I still held a sliddle. of the hostility I've centered my entire life around while growing up. One day, when I was sulking over a bad loss and simply refused to be pulled from the dark eye that hung over my head, Chelsea confronted me. Hey, what's wrong? It's just a game. Why are you so invested in something you have no investment in? At first I brushed the question off thinking, I'm an Eagles fan. Duh. I even tried to explain that she was just a little bit of you. that she could never understand as she wasn't a sports fan.

He didn't grow up like me. You didn't understand, I said. But when I thought about it this time, something clicked. I didn't even understand the response I had given her for my behavior. And I respected her and I wanted to answer the question she posed. Why did I act like a complete fool when it came to the Eagles? And why would I harm another human over a sports team? I had to find the answer.

While exploring, I came to the conclusion that the Eagles were my only real connection to my dad and grandpa. I realized that when someone was talking about the Eagles, I took it as if they were saying something about them. I refused to hold back in defending the honor of the two men I felt obliged to defend. Why that obligation was there, I honestly couldn't say. Over the years, I moved further. further away from both men. My grandpa left us to start another family, and my father continued on with his drinking and abusive way. From time to time, we would connect. My grandpa would bring me something related to the Eagles. One time, there was a small silver cashew watch that had the

1980s logo in the center. Another one with that first Randall Cunningham jersey he gave me, who instantly became my favorite player. My dad and I would call and talk about the Eagles, But once we talk through all the coaches' mistakes, we rarely had nothing in common, aside from the amount of unresolved trauma that will never be processed, just handed down like a whole jersey of a favorite player. I've come to realize that the Eagles is just a sports team. And most importantly, I no longer carry around a toxic masculinity that's been passed down since 1933 by the men that created me.

That cycle has finally been broken. In 2017, when the Eagles won their first Super Bowl, I sat in a prison cell and let tears roll down my face. I wasn't ashamed or embarrassed. My friend watched him disbelief and asked, my dude, are you crying? I looked at him without fear of being judged and said, yeah, I just witnessed something my grandpa never got to see.

And he loved those Eagles this whole life. Today, I teach younger men my story. I've chosen the terms by toxic masculinity so they can learn about the role that played in their lives before it's too late. I've been blessed to turn my pain and struggle into a tool to help others, just like I was blessed and married Kelsey.

But if I'm being fully on it, I still cannot fucking stand cowboy things. Well, hold up, hold up, good people. everybody, cross your fingers. Hey, Chris? Yes, sir. What's up, brother? What's up?

So, Chris right now is in Washington State. He's passion through us. Right now, Chris, we've got a room full of people. We just heard your story. It was a fuse of and beautiful. A lot of applause. There's a little bit of a delay, folks. So if it sounds weird, don't worry about it.

How do you feel today, man? I feel great. I'm so honored. I feel like it's a gift to do this. would give out, man. It's a gift to present in front of everybody, and it's a gift to have the opportunity as an incarcerated person. Yeah, man. No, it's a real honor to have you

here with us and be a part of the moth. Thank you so much. So, I've been thinking a lot about your story. Just so everybody else knows. I mean, we talked the other day. I had that Randall Cunningham jersey when I was growing up. My dad was an Eagles fan. He had season tickets.

Never invited me. Like, what? You're still an Eagles fan? No, I know. I know, I know. But so that, you know, you made a really amazing connection with that really intense fandom and toxic masculinity. I was just wondering, like, defining that to you, toxic masculinity, what does that mean to you and why is it important to bring it up?

Yeah, I mean, for me, man, it was a big thing in my life that was consuming how I interacted with people, how I solved life issues and problems, you know, how I interact, interact, interact interacted with other male friends and stuff right that. Like, you know, me and you had talked about it the other day, right? You know, like instead of just being able to hug a friend and say, hey, man, I love you, man, I got you, man, I'm here for you. Or cry in front of a friend, right? You know, we punch on each other.

You know, we kind of got that tough love thing, right? And we're toxic. That's really the way to live. But that way had influenced me to live in such a toxic way throughout my life that I thought violence was okay. I thought those things were right. But really, people were nervous when they were around me when I acted like that. And I didn't really pick up on that until I started to grow up and develop a little bit of skills of knowledge around that.

And once you do, you kind of feel embarrassed. Right now, when I look back on some of those things or some of those actions. Well, Chris, I will say, too, one thing I've learned in my life is one of the reasons why people were nervous around you is you were wearing clothes that said Philadelphia. Like, when I wear a Philly sat. You might be right about that. Homie, yo, when I wear a Philly's hat, I wore every day. It was like when COVID happened, it was like, I already get six feet. Like, because I'm already, people give me enough space, you know?

Yo, brother, let me ask you. You're right about that. We talked about this as like that beauty of being able to, you know, I'm very lucky. I got good male friends. We hug each other, we tell each other, we love each other. If you, like, really feel like the, the, opposite of that kind of that really hard way to live in is tenderness and vulnerability. And I'm curious, where do you get a chance to have tenderness and vulnerability in your life?

Because it's necessary. And the way you're living, it makes it very difficult. So where do you find time and the space for tenderness and vulnerability? I mean, I find it every day, man. Now I'm able to do that, right? Because I'm comfortable and I'm confident in having those relationships, right? I know that it's a good thing to get my homeboys from love, right? It's a good thing to hug on my friends and mess around in a nice way where we care about each other, right?

It's okay to cry, right? Like, you know, when one of my friends are going through some or I'm going through something, that's okay, right? I just got a letter from the other day, man, my friend from grade school, man, DJ, man. I've known him since third grade. You know, big dude, six foot four, black and native, just big, really strong, get a bunch of time in prison. All bro did was hit the weights. You know, so fully tattooed. Man, he writes me a message every day,

Hey, man, I love you, Bo. I just want you to know I'm out. You're thinking of you. Man, I love you, man. Everything you do for me, man, every time you call me. You know, he was shooting me some real love, deep raw love that you can give to your homie, right? And it really means a lot.

But you don't do that a lot when you're younger and you grow up in a lot of our environment. Because we're talking to be tough. We're taught to put on that persona, right? But it feels good. So I get to do that. every day. Isn't that that thing, though, Chris, we talked about it.

Like, if the idea is that you're supposed to have tough love, love shouldn't be tough. Right? Right. Right, right, right. Love should be tender, man. Love should be comforting. And I think once men or boys growing up in men, they're able to kind of see that. They're able to see that in a more comforting way.

And what I really learned is you ain't going to get no pretty, loving, amazing woman in your life. if you're acting like the tough guy. Don't nobody want that shit. Well, Chris, I know our time together. My wife tells me, man, I share it with you real quick. Go ahead. My wife tells me all the time, man, the scariest thing you could do

is assault another human being in front of me. You know, before when I was younger, man, I would have thought that was the one thing that she would have thought was cooler than all shit. Yeah. But now I know that ain't true, man. And that's a beautiful thing. Hell yeah.

Everyone, please show you your love one more time for Christopher Blackwell. That was Christopher Blackwell. In the words of Peter Aguero, it was incredible to watch the audience explode with joy when they heard Christopher's voice booming through the room. Peter described a bit of silence before Christopher responded as, quote, just perfect. A moment he would never be able to replicate. Christopher Blackwell is an award-winning journalist, the co-founder and executive director of Look to Justice,

and his writings have been featured in the New York Times and many other places. Christopher dedicates his time to advocacy and storytelling by amplifying the voices of those impacted by the carceral system. We were able to meet Christopher during a workshop with Galaxy Gives, a foundation that supports leaders and organizations working to dismantle systems of oppression. Both of these stories, Doloress and Christophers, reminded me of this past April when RTA performed Cisterack in Bedford Hills Correctional Facility, the New York State Women's Maximum Prison. One day before opening night, the cast was running their final rehearsal in front of a small audience,

and the entire backdrop fell during the scene. The characters paused briefly but continued on for about 15 minutes until the director stood up, applauded, and said, that's why we rehearsed before we go live. We paused the rehearsal to remove the backdrop and the superintendent, sitting in the front row, turned to ask me, what do we need to fix that? She gave us the okay to bring in glue and tape, and the next morning the backdrop was secure. We ran the show that evening, and by all accounts, it was a major success. For me, the collapsing backdrop showed the cast discipline and diligence.

The way the women, so accustomed to adversity and having to overcome it, carried on no matter what was happening behind them because that's what life had taught them. It also showed what is possible when we support each other, when we all work together to make space to hear each other's voices. If you'd like to hear more stories like Doloress and Christopher's, and you're in New York this summer, don't miss our next community showcase. It'll be featuring stories both monumental and intimate.

Come be a part of our audience, a community that together creates this magical space. We hope you'll join us on Friday, August 7th at Roulette Intermedium in downtown Brooklyn. Get tickets at the morph.org slash events. That brings us to the end of our episode. Thanks so much for joining us. From all of us here at the Moth,

have a story-worthy week. Jermaine Archer is an artist and storyteller. Over 22 years in prison, he earned a master's degree, paralegal certification, co-founded several programs, including voices from within, and joined RTA. Since his release, he has been a sentence mitigation specialist, social justice advocate, and in 2025, Jermaine was named executive director of the organization that changed his life. If you'd like to know more about RTA's work, you can check out their website and watch the Oscar-nominated film Sing Sing. This episode of the Moth podcast was produced by Sarah Austin-Joness, Sarah Jane Johnson, and me, Mark Salinger. The rest of the Moth's leadership team includes Gina Duncan, Christina Norman, Marina Clucay, Jennifer Hickson, Jordanale, Caledonia Cairns, Kate Tellers, Suzanne Rust, and Patricia Orenia. The Moth podcast is presented by Odyssey.

Special thanks to their executive producer, Leah Reese Dennis. All Moth stories are true, as remembered by their storytellers. For more about our podcast, information on pitching your own story, and everything else, go to our website, the moth.org.