The Moth - The Moth Radio Hour: Can't Help Falling in Love

Episode Date: February 14, 2023

In honor of Valentine's Day, let The Moth whisper sweet somethings in your ear(buds). Stories of falling in love, enduring devotion, and romance that blooms in the most unlikely places—or between the most unlikely people. This episode is hosted by Moth Executive Producer, Sarah Austin Jenness. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by The Moth and Jay Allison of Atlantic Public Media. Hosted by: Sarah Austin Jenness Storytellers: Inclement weather threatens David Greco's romantic plans for Jazz Fest.  Eva Santiago reconnects with an old friend who is now in prison.  Paola Ayala is worried that her mother found a private letter.   Auburn Shaeffer and her husband share an unlikely first home.  Matthew Mercier uncovers his parents' love story. 

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 Purix. From Purix, this is the Moth Radio Hour. I'm Sarah Austin-Geness. Love is in the air and around every corner.

Because in this hour, the stories are all about finding romantic love in unlikely places and leaning into that love, even when it seems the odds may be against you. When it comes to love and soulmates, most say when you know you know, and that's what our first story is about. David Greco told this at a Moth story slam in New Orleans where we partner with New Orleans Public Radio. David lives in California and was just visiting New Orleans

the night of this open mic show, but he decided to pop in and throw his name in the hat and he was picked. Here's David Greco, live at the mouth. You know when you're first starting dates, someone. You get to that point where there's this moment where you know this is either a total disaster, or she's the one. Like for the example, that one time I was on the date and she leans across the table and says, well, actually I have something to tell you. I'm like, all right, my name's not Debbie. And I'm in the witness relocation program.

I'm like, uh, check. Thank you. So, um, a few years ago, I started dating this woman. I really liked her. And now, I, the first time I was a jazz fest was about five years ago. And I came and I just absolutely loved it. It was I thought the most magical, amazing event I'd ever been. Came right back the next year and loved it even more.

So I'm starting to date this woman in its February. I'm like, well, I'll say, hey, I'm going to jazz fest. You want to come along with me. Now, at some level I'm hoping, please, no. I'll say, hey, I'm going to Jazz Fest. You want to come along with me. Now, at some level, I'm hoping, please, don't say yes. Please. You know. And she goes, yeah, this sounds fantastic. I'm like, OK, great. Now this girl, she's classy.

She's elegant. So I'm like, all right, we're going to plan this amazing Jazz Fest. Now, every other time I'd come to jazz fast, the sun is shining, nice warm temperature, and beautiful food, music, everything. I'm like, how can this, this is gonna be a fantastic event. We got it all lined up.

So we get here, we land, and if anybody remembers jazz Fest from a few years ago torrential downpours, I mean it is the sky is opened up and it is just Sheets of water coming down and so we're running around trying to find rain boots Every store you go to the all those all the shoe stores sold out sold out find rain boots. Every store you go to, all the shoe stores sold out, sold out, no rain boots anywhere. So we're like fine, we go to some shoe stores,

we buy just the cheapest pair of shoes we can find. We go to the CVS, we get a couple of the beach chairs, so now we're all set to go. And so we charge out there, we finally make it out there to Jazz Fest, and it is just porn. Now, for folks who haven't been to jazz fest in the rain, that field, that racetrack inside of that turns to just muck and mud. And so when you're walking through that, I saw just little children just get sucked down into that mud and gone. And you're trying to walk away. It is cold. She's got a parka on. And I'm just like, we're from LA.

We're not used to this. What are we doing? And so we finally make it over to the stage. Maroon 5 is going to play. So I go out. I'm going to get a couple of jackrees, because I'm like, this day's just going bad for me. All right, and so as I'm working my way back

through the crowds and I'm fighting my way back, I see her there. She's standing by her chairs and she's just dancing. The rain is pouring down and she is having the time of her life. And I know at that moment that this is the woman for me. And in the mud, in the mayhem, and the muck of jazz fest, I was given a gift that for every day since then,

I've been so thankful. Thank you very much. That was David Drecko. David lives in San Francisco and is the executive director of All Stars Helping Kids, where he works to break the cycle of poverty for youth. And he recently returned from Warsaw, where he was volunteering with Ukrainian refugees. Full disclosure, David and his girlfriend are no longer together, but they've stayed close friends, and to see the actual video of her dancing in the rain, go to themoth.org. And who knows, you may want to check out Jazz Fest in New Orleans yourself.

It's in the spring when love is in full bloom. Iva Santiago is up next with an out of the blue love story. She told this at a moth main stage in Los Angeles, where we partnered with public radio station KCRW. Here's Iva Santiago, live at the moment. I get a request on Facebook. You don't know me, but my brother knows you, and he asks me to reach out to you to see if you'd write me. But unfortunately, he's incarcerated. His name is Christopher.

And you ran around in similar circles over 20 years ago, and you referred to him as old school. I remember Christopher. He was cute and he had a nice smile. And I did refer to him as old school. Because he always wore a tank top underneath his shirt, even though it was like 90 degrees outside. I wrote him a brief letter. How are you doing under the circumstances?

A couple of weeks went by and I really didn't think anything of it until I went to my mailbox. And there was an envelope. And across it, it was stamped, Sullivan Correctional Facility. That's when it became real to me. We were all for months. We talked about world views. We talked about many systems that oppress our people. We talked about how the city once was, how we were influenced by hip-hop.

When poets wrote words of substance, we talked about our families and we drew beautiful pictures for one another. And then he asked if he could call. A week goes by and the phone rings. Collect call from inmate, Christopher, so and so, from Sullivan Correctional Facility. Would you accept the call? I say yes, and all of a sudden I hear, hey, but it's me, Chris. And I say as

if the automated message didn't give it away and we start laughing. We spoke all the time since that phone call. And then he asked me if I would come and visit him. The night before the visit, I told him that I was scared, nervous, anxious. I had never been to a maximum security prison before. The next morning, a white van drove up to my building. A gentleman stepped out and I said, Nali, going to Sullivan, and he said, Eva, and I said, yes.

The door opened, and there were grey seats and they were worn from usage. There were about eight or nine women, some sleeping. I got into the van and I thought, what am I doing? What would my family think? As if being a single mother wasn't enough. Before I knew it, we were in front of the prison. There was a young girl who was standing before me with a young child. And she went up to the desk and the correctional officer said, what is his number?

And she said, I don't know his number. And he said, well, if you don't know his number, I guess you don't really know him. And I thought, oh my God, I don't know his number. It was my turn and I nervously said, hi, this is the first time I'm here. I don't know his number but I know his birthday and the correctional officer, the CEO,

looked at me as if I was an idiot and said, put your jewelry, your shoes, and your money in the tray, and go through the metal detector. I went through the metal detector as if I was walking on a tight rope not wanting to touch the sides so that it wouldn't beep. We then went through two heavy steel doors and they banged, shut behind us to remind us that we were securely locked in.

I was at the visiting room. It was cold and sterile and lifeless. And I looked at the door and the door opened and our eyes met and Christopher smile warmed up the room. It was as if we were the only two people there and the visiting room was very crowded that day. I felt as if there was a magnetic force that was pulling us together. He walked up to the table.

We hugged for a minute. He held my hands, and we proceeded to see it. I asked him how he was doing, and he told me that he was working with the mentally ill, and that he was preparing a banquet because he was the head of the African Courambian Unity Program, and that he was really excited because he was going to start school. We laughed, we joked around. I looked at the clock and it was a quarter to three. We had 15 more minutes left and he could see that I was sad and he said, don't worry babe, we'll see each other soon. I made sure that I saw Christopher at least once a month so that we had regular visits.

The next visit was a beautiful sunny day and I asked Christopher if we could go out into the courtyard and we did. He stood behind me, holding me and we looked up at the sun and we felt the heat on our faces. We would close our eyes and imagine that we were somewhere else. He slowly turned me around and we looked into each other's eyes and he said, even will you marry me? And I said yes without hesitation. You see, Christopher and I were engaged before to other people, but it just wasn't right and this was right. The visit was over. Our wedding day. My mother-in-law, sister-in-law, Christopher's niece, Olivia, drove up state. We were in the visiting room, all of us hugged one another, and Christopher's best friend and his wife made sure that they had a visit that day, so they participated in the wedding.

The Reverend came and said, are you ready? Christopher held my hands as I cried. He said, babe, don't cry. It was bitter sweet for me. This was the man that I love. And he had done 22 years of a 34-year sentence. And I knew that it wasn't coming home many times soon.

It was his turn to say his vows, and I knew that he was more nervous than he said he was, because he was massaging my hands so intensely, we kissed each other quickly because we looked down and Queen Olivia was looking at us. We decided to take Olivia out to the courtyard. Christopher took one hand and I took the other. And we played tag with her until we both got tired. We ended up coming back into the visiting room, and I went to the vending machines. I got my usual plantane chips and coconut water,

Christopher's favorite barbecue chicken wings and apple pie, and of course chicken McNuggets for Olivia. We went back to our table with my mother-in-law and my sister-in-law. My mother-in-law spoke of how Christopher was as a child in Jamaica, and how he was so rank-bunches, and that he would ride his bike everywhere, and that how his, him and his friends used to try to ride the goats. And my sister-in-law said, yeah, that's my brother. Mr. Adventurous, and we both laughed. Our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, our Lord, Why would you marry somebody who's incarcerated? Are you that desperate that you can't find anybody out here?

Let me tell you what Christopher has taught me. He has taught me not to wear my heart on a nice leave all the time because it doesn't work for me. He has taught me to strive to do the best that I can. And he has taught me to live my life to the fullest. So even when the system tries to dehumanize him and tries to devalue him and tries to break him down of his identity. He still stands. So I think about that first visit when the CEO had said, well, if you don't know his number then you really don't know him.

I'm here to say that he's not a number. He's a beautiful man and he's my husband. There's a song that I dedicated to Christopher him, because he is the truth. Yes, he is so real. And I love the way that he makes me feel. And if I am a reflection of him, then I must be fly. Because his light, It shines so bright. Thank you. for eight years. Eva visits him when she can and they talk almost every day. In fact, they taped one of their recent calls for this episode. Here's Eva and Christopher.

How do we keep the spark in our marriage? What do you think? I'm a funny guy. I'm curious. It's okay. Yeah. Wait, baby. No, no, no, no. It's okay. But I'm simply naturally a funny guy. Naturally, you're funny, but who's big? I keep smiling. I say yes to it, and I know you're wrong.

I go, okay, you're like, I'm very, very acid. You know? No, you don't. No, no. You just say, what is it you said when it holds out? You you said that you always say I'm right. Is that what you said? 99.99% right. Also the time and the other point. One percent that I've done, I'm not be right. There's a good 9% chance and I'm right. So technically, you know, I'm almost right all the time. Okay. Oh my god. I can't believe you said that babe. Don't you? How do we keep the level of? Yes. How do we keep it a lot? Well laughter you make me laugh. That's like

I'm very romantic. Well, you used to be babe. I don't know if you're very romantic. Yes, you used to be, no, you're not. I think I'm still romantic, I just... You just what, stop? No, I'm a little bit more safe. I love you when I'm a little bit less. Forever. That was Eva Santiago and her husband Christopher. Eva is a parent advocate with Bronx Connect, supporting families of color, undergoing the trauma

that comes with systemic oppression. She also works with high-risk youth on probation for the prevention of incarceration. At this point, Christopher has served 26 years of his 34-year sentence. He's a model inmate helping anyone and everyone he can, and at the top of his class, about to earn his bachelor's degree.

Eva continues to fight and advocate for clemency in getting her husband home. To learn more and to see photos of Eva and Christopher on their wedding day, visit TheMoth.org. After our break, a secret letter of love and an unforeseen first home for a married couple The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by the Public Radio Exchange, PRX.org. This is the Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Sarah Austin-Jones, and this episode is all about

Love, Love, Love. We met our next storyteller, Paola Ayala, through the Moths Education Program, which offers storytelling workshops to high school students around the country. Live from Beacon High School in New York City, here's Paola Ayala. So, I think after living with her all my life, got used to my mom's like crazy neurotic cleaning around the house But the one place I can't really stand it is in my room. I remember one day in my sophomore year I came home and everything was a mess and everything was everywhere We had been doing construction and she told me about it

So I got home and she was a good your home. She's like alright, so you can help me clean now She's like let's start with your room because it's a disaster so alright I was like okay. I go downstairs and my bed is misplaced and my closet is torn apart and everything is everywhere and I didn't even make the mess. And I see in a corner of my room there's a bunch of scraps of paper and just you know tumbled there and I see that they had been tempered with and somebody was digging through my things. And then I see like this this paper out of its envelope and I start reading through it and I start feeling really small. And my hands start shaking and I realize it was a letter and it was a letter I had gotten

from my girlfriend, from my birthday. And I suppose I should mention my mom didn't know I had a girlfriend. So I had the letter in my hand and I was shaking and I was really nervous and I'm thinking, did she read the letter? And so I'm in my room and I don't know what to think. And there are like a million things going through my head and I was like, wow, I don't know if she read it. She might disown me and then I hear and she's like, Paola, she's like, dinner's ready and

I was like, oh my God, she wants me to go upstairs. She wants to talk about it over dinner. I was like, I'm gonna throw up. And we're not gonna be able to talk about anything. I was like, all right, well, I don't know how I'm gonna go about this. And so I think I wait long enough. And I go upstairs and I don't go in the room yet.

I peek through the stairs to see what they're doing and they're all sitting there watching TV. And I look at them for a few seconds. I was like, all right everybody looks pretty normal, looks pretty oblivious. So I walked to the kitchen and I kind of look at the food and I kind of feel repulsed so I don't really eat and I sit down. Mom looks at me and she's like, you're not hungry? And I was like, no, it's like I'm not that hungry. And she kind of just looks at me. And so I fidget a little and

she just she kept looking at me and I was like fidget a little and she just kept looking at me and I was like, oh, god, I was like, she's gonna say something. I was like, I don't know what to say. So finally, I look at her and I was like, mama's like, I think, I think you found something on mine. And she was like, what do you mean? And I was like, I think you found something in my room.

It was like something kind of personal that you weren't supposed to know about. And her eyes get really big. And she was like, I think you found something in my room. It was like something kind of personal that you weren't supposed to know about. And her eyes get really big. And she was like, oh my god, she was like, you're pregnant. And I was like, well, if you think that's the worst of it, I promise this won't be that bad. But this is what I'm thinking. And before I said anything, I thought I realized she didn't read it.

She doesn't even know. But then she was like, well, what are you talking about then? And I was like, well, I'm going to have to tell you now. And so I go. I was like, well, I was like, I thought you would write a letter that I got from my girlfriend. And she kind of just looks at me. And it was like this awkward looking at each other

for like five seconds, because she didn't know what to say. And I had just said something, and I was waiting for her to say something, but nothing really happened. So my step-desk sitting on the couch, and he looks at me, and he goes, he's like, well, it's about time. And I look at him and I go, what are you talking about?

And he's like, you know what? He's like, I knew. He's like, I kind of had my suspicions. He's like, your mom didn't see my point. I mentioned it before. And I'm sitting there and I was like, well, they already knew. I didn't even have to go through all the trouble. And so I go to bed that night.

And I wake up the next morning, and it's start getting ready for school and everything. And we have this Morton routine where I say goodbye and she asked me she's like, what are you doing after school? And it just felt so good to be able to say I'm gonna go hang out with my girlfriend and I didn't have to lie to her and I could say that with confidence and she was okay with it And I walked out of that door that morning and I felt like I could breathe Thank you.

That was Paula Ayala. Paula lives in Brooklyn and is in the midst of creating her own startup. She says quote, I don't know when I would have come out if my mother hadn't stumbled on that letter. I certainly wasn't ready to come out at 14 years old. I guess it all happened exactly the way it was supposed to. 10 years later, Paula has now met the love of her life and they recently got engaged. Paula's family has been extraordinarily supportive. To see Paula's engagement photo, go to themoth.org. [♪ Music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music playing, music Michigan Radio. Here's Dr. Schaefer, live at the mall.

Let me start with talking about home and what a really complicated relationship I have with the idea of home. Since the year 2009, when I got a phone call from Akron General Hospital, saying that my husband had been assaulted and was in the ICU in a coma and may not make it through the night. Well we had been living two hours apart for the last seven years. It had been a long distance relationship. And the year before, while it was still long distance, we married, but we had

never had our home together ever. We'd never spent more than a few days together ever in all the years that we knew each other. I was raising my son, we were finishing high school for him. He was two weeks away from going to college at a full ride football athlete. And this was going to be our time together. I had just given the keys to our home to the people who were going to rent it. And I got the call from Akron General. Are you so and so? You need to sit down. Do you have any family near you? We need to tell you that your husband is unconscious. And I was like, yeah, okay, but my first thought, he's gonna wake up, right?

I'm waiting for them to say, but he'll be fine and you'll be able to take him home in a few hours. And I said, and he's gonna be fine, right? He's gonna be fine and they wouldn't answer that. I said, is he going to die? And they wouldn't answer that. And that's when I knew it was heavy. And I was literally wearing a pair of sweatpants, left Ohio, the side of Ohio I I was living on drove to Akron. And there he was in the ICU.

He had been trying to tow a car from a rental property he owned. And a guy who didn't live there had parked it there was drunk and assaulted him, he punched him in the head, and his head hit a brick wall right behind him. And so it was like a high-speed car wreck, the velocity of it. And well, they said they'd known the next three days if he'd live or not, depending on how much his brain swelled up.

And you know, that night my husband, the one that I knew, the guy that I did not, did die. But we were left with this man in a coma. And so my first home with my husband was in the ICU of Akron General Hospital. And then they moved in from the ICU to a coma hospital where he was completely on life support. And I'd sleep on this couch near him and that kind of felt like home. At least his body was there and he was breathing. And then there was a day when he opened his eyes, but he didn't look in any particular direction, just blank. But that was there were his eyes, those blue eyes.

What I missed the most was his laughter. Man, he just had this laugh. Any room he'd enter, you'd know Chuck was there because of his laugh. What I missed more than anything was that laugh of his. He wasn't coming out of this coma, you know, is waiting for this, you know, movie, hallmark movie moment where he opened his eyes and said, oh, here you are. And like, another week went by and another week went by

and another week went by. And he's starting to curl up and he's starting to shrink up and he's not waking up. But I stayed with him night and day because he was so vulnerable, I made my home his body. And I made sure they washed it, and I made sure they turned it, and I made sure they sat him up. And when they washed him, they thought it was weird, but I got in there, and I had to touch his skin.

I needed to touch him. It was all I had of him. It was home. And he still wasn't waking up and they sent him to a nursing home and he's starting to shrink up. And he was starting to move. And there was this night in the nursing home where I was able to crawl his bed, was about this wide.

I crawled into the bed right next to him and I put his arm around my shoulder and I curled up into his chest and I cried like a baby because even though he wasn't conscious, I was back in his arms and that felt like home. Well, I could tell about eight weeks into this, I could tell when he came back into his body. Nobody else could tell, but I could tell when his spirit came back into his body. And about

a week or two after that, he said his own name. And then a day or two after that, someone said, hey, do you know who that is? And he said, oh oh that's my wife. And they said, how long have you known and loved your wife? And he said, from the beginning of time, he's still very heavily impaired my husband, severe traumatic brain injury. And we've lost all kinds of material things. But he laughs again, and we have loved each other so completely without words, just in our spirits. And we are so grateful for every part of him that is back, that I've learned that even

though I've been on hospital beds, coaches, floors, air mattresses, I've been 15 different places in the last four years. Home is where anybody's heart is open to mine and where we see each other and hear each other and can trust each other. Thank you. That was Dr. Auburn Schaefer. Auburn lives in Toledo, Ohio. She works as an urban school principal and teaches science and tech writing at the University of Toledo.

She just launched the Red Rocking Chair Project, a literary initiative where they rock and read to children in underserved neighborhoods. Chuck and Auburn chose to forgive Chuck's perpetrator. Auburn went on to get a PhD in urban education policy and Chuck is being cared for now by family in Florida. Romantic love can strike when you're not expecting it, so if you're not in love right now, keep your eyes open.

And if you are in love, or if that love changed the course of your life, consider telling your story at The Moth. Every love story is unique and we want to hear from you. Find a Moth event near you through our website, TheMoth.org. After the break, a father offers his family communion at home, where a lovely secret is revealed, when the Mothrad 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 Sarah Austin-Geness.

There's your love story, and then there are the love stories that circle around you, altering your idea of where love can come from. Our final storyteller in this hour, all about love, is Matt Mercier. Matt told this at a moth main stage in Brooklyn in the midst of the pandemic when we were in theaters again, but still socially distancing. So the story is full of life, but the audience,

as you'll hear, is thin. Please give Matt all of your love and warmth. Here's Matt Mercier, live at the Moth. So it's Sunday morning in the Mercier household. My brother and I are pulling on our corduroy pants, our nice dress shirts, stealing ourselves for the walk around the block to the gray and dreary confines of Saint Mary's Catholic Church. Like all good Catholic boys, we know Sundays are really for sleeping in, Sunday comics,

maybe a little TV. But first, we have to get through this early morning hour of pain, which we're told that we're sinners and that our sins make Jesus cry. But on this Sunday, my father shows up in the bedroom, still wearing his pajamas. He says, boys, I think we're going to have Mass at home today. Meet me in the kitchen in 10 minutes. My brother and I look at each other, Mass at home today. Meet me in the kitchen in 10 minutes.

My brother and I look at each other. Mass at home, that's a thing. You can do that. OK. 10 minutes later, we're in the kitchen. There's my mother and father at the table. And in the middle of the table is a plate with a single slice of wonder bread

and a chalice of Carlo Rossi red wine, $15 a gallon. I sit at the table. my father welcomes us, tells us what day it is in the Christian calendar, and then he gives me the Bible. I do the first reading, I give the Bible to my brother, he does the second reading, we give the Bible back to my dad, he gives reads from the gospels and performs the homily, but instead of the fire

in Rimmstone, it's a little bit warmer, there's more love, and it's nice. But the whole time I'm staring at the bread and the wine. Now I'm 10 years old, I've made my first communion, I know what these symbolize. I just don't know how my father is going to play this. And he picks up the bread. And he says the name of the father's Son, Holy Spirit breaks it into four pieces and This is the body of Christ picks up the chalice of Carlo Rossi

The name of the Father Son Holy Spirit bam, but a Christ We eat the body drink the blood and the mass is ended going piece to love and serve the Lord amen 15 minutes is all that. Take a pair to the hour that we get. My brother and I go back to our rooms and they're like, what was that? Like Catholic cosplay. He's a social worker.

How do you pull that off? We don't know. We don't really care. And now I know what to ask for. So the following Sunday, Dad, do we have mass at home? No, get your clothes on. We're going to St. Mary's.

Oh, come on, but you're so good at saying Mass at home. And so, but now that just, that sounds like it. That's a 10 year old trying to get their way, right? But as the year goes on, we have Mass at home at least once a month. I enjoy it, not simply because of the brevity, but because my father tells stories. He makes connections, he tells us why Paul is riding

to the Romans and we understand the context. And his homelies are full of love and forgiveness. And he says, you see, boys, this is what Jesus means. Love God, love your brother. It's that simple. All right, time for football. We, I begin, is become so normal that I begin to feel sorry for the other families that haven't figured this out because having mass at home is clearly superior than dragging yourself to a drafty church every Sunday. And so this year goes on, and we're going into catechism,

trying to learn how to be good Catholics. And our teacher, Mrs. Simon, eventually drops that chestnut that in order you must keep holy the Sabbath. Go to Mass every Sunday at a church. I raised my hand, I said, Mrs. Simon, what if you say mash at home instead? Is that count? And boy, she looks at me like I said, if I've said such, I worship Satan. And she's like, Matthew, no, only Protestants can say mash at home. Are you baptized Catholic?

No, you cannot say mash at home. So I go back to Dad, confused. Since as a general rule, my father is not a rule breaker. And I say, Dad, are we Protestant? And we're Irish Catholics. He's like, what? No, am I baptized? Of course you're baptized. Like, where is this coming from?

And I said, well, he's like, oh, look, son, I should have told you. You can't tell anyone that we do that, all right? That's our little secret. I was like, okay, I like secrets, but you seem to know what you're doing. What's the story here? And he nods in that way.

That parents do when the jig is up, and he goes to get a photo album, it's dusty, cracks it open, and there he is as a young man. I've never seen pictures of my father as a baby or a teenager, so this is a bit of a shock. And he's narrating, he's like, yeah, eight years in seminary and then eight years with my own congregation on the Upper West Side,

our Lady of Esperanza, I said, Mass in Spanish because I had a Dominican population. And there he is in the black robe and the clerical collar of a priest. Now, the masses at home had been going on for some time, so this wasn't a huge shock, I had suspected. What was a shock was the sense of pride that I felt. I thought this is some nifty history,

this is where I come from, this is my dad. And then I asked the next logical question. I was like, how does an ordained priest meet a single woman? Shuts the book. That's complicated. Go ask your mother. So I go to mom. And by now I'm a preteen.

I'm a little blunter, I'm like, mom, dad was a priest. And she's like, yeah honey, I know. I'm like, well, what does you do to him? And I'm like, do I didn't do anything? We fell in love. I'm like, okay, well, how? He won't tell me. And she's like, well, you have to understand Matt. That was a very painful time in your dad's life. You know, his family is Irish Catholic. Having a priest in the family is like a status symbol. So when he left for me, his mother ripped up all his baby

pictures, just why you haven't seen any. And disowned him, said, you're not our son. They called me the Italian Husse from Long Island, who was stealing your father away from God. But they were also just pretty scandalized by my profession. I said to your teacher, what's so bad about that? And she said, no, no, my other profession. Then she goes to get her photo album.

Takes it down, opens it up, and there she is. Then she goes to get her photo album. Takes it down, opens it up, and there she is as a young woman, and she lets out a size. Now you have to understand. I hadn't taken Final Val's yet. I was in no vishit. So it was easier for me to leave. And there she is in the black robe and the habit.

And now the shock has, is Catholic double whammy. I'm like, you were a nun. It's like, yeah, sister of Mercy. And his parents just, that was extra scandalous. Not only was he in love, but that he was a nun and love with a priest. Well, their Irish Catholic head is just, that was it. As is my head exploding now.

And she's like, we have to understand that. This is the early 70s, which means nothing to an 11-year-old. And then she tries to explain Vatican II, which is equally complex, but to take away is that the windows of the church metaphorically were now open, and that there was a greater liberating spirit, a lot of clergy, were leaving. They felt the freedom to leave.

And priests and nuns, nuns and nuns were falling in love and leaving the church, two by two, it was like Noah's Ark in reverse. Everyone was abandoning a ship. And my mother says, well, you know, that you know, no, not alone in this mat. A lot of our friends are our ex-clergy. I'm like, really? Yeah, you know, the newton boys,

they're parents, Mike and Mary Beth, priest, nun. As you kid it, no, Mary Wooten, Mary was a nun, there was a nun, her partner, Patsy, nun, and your godmother, Kathmick Leigh, she's my best friend in the convent. And I was like, what about Jim and Grace Somali? Oh no, they were just pseudo hippies. They were long, just very supportive friends,

but no, nothing. And the people she's listening are amazing. They're peace activists, and in anti-nuclear activists, some look about as gay and lesbian, it's like a justice league for Christ. It's, and these people left the church to do the work of the church, sometimes better than the church itself.

And now that pride, that swelling pride is coming back. And I've never been so happy. And so now I'm like, well, why can't pre-skit married? You're just like, well, that's a very good question. Your father asked that, and he's a resignation letter. So I'll go back to my father, I'm like, resignation letter, he's like, yeah, I had to write a letter to the Vatican. I was like, can I see it? I'll show you sometime. No, fat chance, I don't get it. I don go back to my father. I'm like, resignation letter. He's like, yeah, I had to write a letter to the Vatican.

I was like, can I see it? I'll show you sometime. No, fat chance. I don't get it. I don't see it at all. So, but now going into my teenage years, this is like, this pride is like, and this history is like overwhelming.

All the shame and guilt that I got at St. Mary's, it's like running off my back now. I'm like, because this is the real thing. This is what my God. And so now in high school, people ask me, what do my parents do? I was like, yeah, is the real thing. This is what my God. And so now in high school, people ask me, what do my parents do? I was like, yeah, priest in a nun. And it's been, and I asked stories about my,

what were my parents like? I asked questions of my Godmother. And she's like, well, your mother took a homeless people and oh, the best thing we did was your mother and I, we wrote a letter to the local bishop demanding that he sell his rings to feed the poor because that's the work of the Gospels. And so that pride that just continued on and the story just kept going and going.

And then years later, after my mother dies, my father finally shows me the resignation letter. And then he says, I'm in love with the nun. We're leaving. We wish we could stay, but we can't. If we do stay, we'll be well taken care of with shelter and food and finance. But now that we are entering secular life, we feel that we'll be taking our true vow of poverty, humility, and service.

And that letter is my North Star. It means as much to me as if not more than any Bible verse. And I think about it, when I'm in church, I think about it, when I'm not in church, which as my wife likes to remind me is not a lot of time. But my church is no longer that large drafty cathedral where I was told to hate myself and hate others. It didn't have my faith. My church is no longer that large drafty cathedral where I was told to hate myself and hate others who didn't have my faith.

My church is that humble kitchen table with that piece of bread and that Carlo Rossi and those two people who taught me about service in community and above all about love. That was Matt Mercy. Matt now lives in the Hudson Valley where he continues to write and tell stories, teach at SUNY Albany, and hunt for mushrooms in the woods around his home. Matt doesn't attend Mass as he once did, but he tries to live up to the example of the men and women who raised him.

Fun fact, Matt met his wife Claudia at the Catholic Worker in New York, which was founded by Dorothy Day and Peter Moran. The Catholic Worker movement inspired many of the men and women in this story. To see photos of Matt and his mother and father and the Justice League in all of their glory, head to themoth.org. We'll leave you with the last part of a recent phone call with storyteller Eva Santiago and her husband, Christopher,

who's still incarcerated in New York State. I love you. I love you more. I love you more, Mom. I love you the most. I love you the most. I love you the most. Okay, here's it. Here's how much I love you more than anything you see. Add it, double it. I love you more than infinity and beyond, just like Buzz Lightyear. I would say, any scene added twice, right? Buzz-Pine by twice, right? No matter what you say, it's gonna be Buzz-Pine by twice. So, you talk. I love you, baby. I love you more.

That's it for this episode of The Moth Radio Hour. Thank you for opening your hearts and taking the time to listen. We hope you'll join us next time. This episode of The Moth Radio Hour was produced by me, Jay Allison, Katherine Burns, and Sarah Austin Janess, who also hosted and directed the stories in the show. Co-producer is Ficky Merrick, Associate Producer, Emily Couch. The rest of The Moth's leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Meg Bowles, Jennifer Hickson, Kate Tellers, Jennifer Birmingham, Marina Cluche, Suzanne Rust, Brandon Grant,, Inga Gladowski, Sarah Jane Johnson, and Aldi Kaza. Moth stories are true as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by the Drift.

Other music in this hour from John Boutet, India R.E., Hermano Scouteres, Evan Christopher, Bruce Coburn, and Jason Beans. We receive funding from the National Endowment for the Arts. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media and Woods Hole Massachusetts, and presented by PRX. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching us your own story, and everything else, go to our website, thomoth.org. your own story and everything else, go to our website, TheMoth.org.