The Moth - The Moth Radio Hour: For the Ages

Episode Date: April 8, 2025

In this hour, a trip through the phases of life—childhood to awkward adolescence, first jobs to careers, and big leaps in adulthood. This episode is hosted by Moth Senior Curatorial Producer, Suzanne Rust. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by The Moth and Jay Allison of Atlantic Public Media. Storytellers: Anne McNamee Keels is "not the cool girl" at school. Matthew Dicks finds a friend at McDonalds. Kate Greathead finds out that her dream at age 7 is a nightmare at age 14. Linda Grosser discovers more about herself on a sailboat. Ron Hart loses passion for his dream job. Karen Lascher has a complicated relationship with Mother's Day. Podcast # 914 To learn more about listener data and our privacy practices visit: https://www.audacyinc.com/privacy-policy Learn more about your ad choices. Visit https://podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Okay, Martin, let's try one. Remember, big. You got it. The Ford It's a Big Deal event is on. How's that? A little bigger. The Ford It's a Big Deal event. Nice. Now the offer? Lease a 2025 Escape Active all-wheel drive from 198 bi-weekly at 1.99% APR for 36 months with $27.55 down. Wow, that's like $99 a week.

Yeah, it's a big deal. The Ford It's a Big Deal event. Visit your Toronto area Ford store or Ford.55 down. Wow, that's like $99 a week. Yeah, it's a big deal. The Ford It's a Big Deal event. Visit your Toronto area Ford store or Ford.ca today. This is the Moth Radio Hour. I'm your host, Suzanne Rust. Moth story slams are magical. Each evening has a theme like Lost, Busted, or Love Hurts. Brave people from all across the country show up with a five-minute story that relates to

the theme and drop their names in a hat for the chance to step on the stage and share it. No notes. This week's Hour, which features stories from these slams, explores how we reflect on our worlds at different ages and stages of our lives, from childhood and teens to adulthood and later life. From personal experience and non-scientific observation, I think it's pretty safe to say that in middle school confidence levels are not an all-time

high. So the last thing most kids want is to be the center of attention. Our first storyteller found herself in that position and lived to tell the tale. Anne McNamee Keels told this at a Chicago slam where we partner with public radio station WBEZ. Here's Ann live at the mall. My story takes place in 1998 at a school on the south side of Chicago, no joke. But this was a Catholic school on the south side of Chicago, and I was the student. It's April of 1998, Tuesday morning. I am in my polo shirt and my ugly uniform skirt with a very heavy backpack full of math, science, and religion textbooks with my head down, getting onto that black top, behind the church,

behind the school, before the first bell, just kind of quietly slinking in as I normally do before the first bell. To say I was not the cool girl in eighth grade is kind of an understatement. So I'll tell you what I was at this school. I was the kid who had shown up, transferred to the school in fourth grade,

which doesn't sound like a big deal, but at a K through 8 Catholic school it's kind of like I had shown up to the birthday party after the candles had been blown out, you know? Like songs had been sung, alliances had been formed, and there I was. Also no one had told me when I signed up, when I got to this school, I didn't sign up, I was sent there, that the main form of social capital was the sports you could play and the sports teams you were on. And I was the kind of kid who all but broke out in hives if I was a couple feet from a volleyball.

I'm the opposite of athletic. So I was on zero sports teams. I was a music theater art nerd at a school with no music theater or art. So I became the kid who at lunchtime could be found reading a babysitter's club book over her peanut butter and jelly instead of talking with my classmates. And my goal was to like, it's April of eighth grade right, so I'm putting my head down, get through. That's the goal. So I'm it's April of eighth grade right so I'm putting my head down get through that's the goal so I'm literally have my head down getting onto that black top and But something weird is going on

I hear like weird murmuring when I get there and I look up and it seems like all the girls in my grade are looking At me they are talking I think about me and they are pointing at me Oh my gosh, so I look down like do I have a stain on my uniform shirt, did I spill something? I don't think so, and I'm like, oh god, did someone tell the entire grade who I have a crush on again? But that doesn't seem to be it, and then Emma walks up to me,

and Emma's like the closest that I have to a good friend in my grade. We're friends sometimes and not at other times, but today she seems very excited. She says, oh my gosh, have you seen the May issue of Teen Magazine? Now for the young people, I just need to do a little quick background.

In the late 90s, Teen Magazine and others of its ilk, 17, YM, they were our Instagram, our Facebook, our Pinterest, our TikTok. They were how we knew how to dress, what kind of makeup to do and how to do our hair. They were how we knew that to dress, what kind of makeup to do and how to do our hair. They were how we knew that we were not thin enough and we were not yet pretty enough, but we could be if we followed their advice.

Also, there was always some weird story about a girl in white pants getting her period in front of her crush. I'm not clear what that was, but they were our Bible. And so Emma says, did you see the May issue? And I say, it's April. And she says, oh, like everyone in the grade

has a subscription. We get it a week early, which is like another check against me. And so she hands me the teen magazine May issue and she opens to page 14 and on page 14 y'all is me. There is a picture, my school picture, frizzy hair, blotchy skin, all of it. And then I remember months prior when I had been going through the issue, and you know,

like back the December issue, for like the third time and I'd seen the tiny fine print because I'm a big nerd and it said that they were looking for girls who wanted makeovers. And I sent in my school picture, along with a letter detailing how my frizzy hair is a problem, how I can't find makeup because I'm a redhead, how my eyes are too small and my face is too blotchy, and please help. So, did they give me a makeover?

Just to be clear, they didn't give me a makeover. They didn't send me makeup samples. They didn't even tell me they were using my picture. They just put my picture there along with a makeup artist telling me all the things to fix all my problems. So of course I'm like horrified, right? Like, oh my gosh, this is so embarrassing. But I look up and all these girls,

they do not look like they're making fun of me. They look impressed, maybe even jealous. Remember, this is before social media. I am in a magazine. Leonardo DiCaprio is on the front, along with Jennifer Leibniewicz. And Titanic has just come out. Everyone is looking at this magazine, and there I am.

So the girls are freaking out. All the girls are in my grade, and they're coming around me, and I don't know what to do with this attention. We get in school, and somebody shows a teacher, and it don't know what to do with this attention. We get in school and somebody shows a teacher and it spreads like wildfire. Teachers from all over the school are coming in to see the magazine that I am in because they had me in previous years. Later in the day I get a call over the PA, Ms. Harris will you send Aunt Macmi to the

principal's office. I never do anything wrong but of course I'm terrified because what if I accidentally did something wrong. So I go to the principal's office. I hate this, but I get there. And there, my principal, who I can only describe as looking like Mr. Potato Head, like very round face, you know, mustache glasses, like Mr. Potato Head. He is sitting in front of this desk while he's importing papers, and on top of all those papers is Teen Magazine with my picture.

And he says, this is very impressive. And I think, is it? And I think, is it? And I think, is it? Later there's an announcement over the PA and it just keeps going from here. I get home, my mom has already heard, she's bought every copy she could find in the city.

My grandma, my aunt, a second cousin, my mom's second cousin gets a call from her sister saying, buy Teen Magazine, we have a relative in it. It's a really big deal. My dance, I go to my dance class, they've already had the picture up framed behind the main desk. And it's really exciting for a while.

And then the excitement, it's there, but it just, it kind of starts to fade and eventually everybody forgets, to be honest with you. And the frame comes down and it's some other girl got in the newspaper for something and now she goes up and everything just kind of got quiet and You know, I think I thought it was going to be like the movies or something I thought would be like a 90s movie that my hair would get straightened and I would buy the makeup Which I did and put it all on my face and I would be different

But the reality was I just did exactly what I was planning to do. I kept my head down I got through eighth grade. I got to high school, and things got a little better. And recently, I was going through boxes in my basement and I went through a box that was all the stuff from my childhood bedroom, books, journals, and in it I found the 1998 May issue of Teen Magazine. And there I was on page 14, just a normal looking 13 year old girl.

And I wish I could talk to her. I wish I could tell her that her hair would stay curly, but I would like find products to fix it, you know? I wish I could tell her I could even, she would eventually even figure out the makeup thing. There's this thing called contouring coming up and it was gonna be a big deal and a really game changer. And mostly I wish I could tell her

that sports really weren't going to matter. No one's gonna make her play dodgeball after like she was 15 and and that eventually she would get to live where she wanted to live and do the things she wanted to do and find her people and eventually she would feel like lifting her head up. Thank you. That was Anne McManee Keels, an educator and a Moth Grand Slam winner. She is also the host and producer of Lapsed, a podcast about growing up Catholic. Anne lives in Oak Park, Illinois with her family. Anne told me that the most positive thing that came from her experience was realizing how many people she actually had in her corner. She didn't receive any

of the blowback she feared. Instead, everyone in her life was very supportive, including the intimidating cool girls at her school. She says that it took her years to realize that they were all likely just as insecure and confused as she was at that time in life. To see photos of Anne's 15 minutes of fame, go to themoth.org. Those first jobs that we take as teens often allow us to reinvent ourselves and make new personal discoveries and connections. Our next story, set at a famous fast food franchise, pits two young employees against each other.

Matthew Dix told this story at a Boston Slam where he partnered with public radio station WBUR. Here's Matthew. I'm sitting in the break room of a McDonald's restaurant in Milford, Massachusetts. I'm eating an Egg McMuffin and I am not happy. It is the spring of 1987. I'm 16 years old and it's not the Egg McMuffin that's causing me to be unhappy because an Egg McMuffin is the most guaranteed source of joy in my entire day. But not on this day. I'm upset because I'm about to meet my mortal enemy

for the first time, and I know what's not gonna go well. I've been working at this restaurant for two months now. I actually live three towns away in Blackstone, Massachusetts, but I found out that this place pays $4.65 an hour, and that's 20 cents more than the White Hen Pantry five minutes from my house. And I figured, even though it's a 30-minute drive, the 20 cents will absolutely make up for the time

and the gas, which it does not. But it changes my life in a really significant way, because when I arrive here, I discover the joy of a clean slate. I'm growing up in a tiny town. 82 kids are in my class. They're the same 82 kids I knew in kindergarten, and they remember everything.

And so when you wanna be something different, or you decide you could be something better, no one lets you because they remember everything. They still talk about the time in sixth grade when I exposed myself to class, because my gym shorts were a little too short, and my underwear was a little too big, and it was a little too much man-spreading. They talk about it to this day.

And they remember the braces and the buck teeth and the bad haircuts and the free and reduced lunches. And all of that has prevented me from becoming something that I think I could be and being trapped in what they think I should be. But I've arrived in this new town. Nobody knows me, and on the first day of work,

Erin Duran comes and asks me if I have a girlfriend, and the way she's hoping I say no. And that's never happened to me before, so this is something. And it turns out that because they don't know me, I can be the thing I think I can be, and suddenly I have more friends than I've ever had in my life.

And I'm good at my job. Shockingly good. In 1980s, the job at the McDonald's that is the hardest is running the bin. I have been a public school teacher for 24 years, and I can tell you that I have not had a day in my classroom as taxing as a day running the bin at McDonald's during rush hour in 1987. It is coordinating a kitchen full of 16-year-olds and 60-year-olds and convincing them all to

do work for you at the same time, and watching a drive-through screen and listening to cash registers and figuring out how much food needs to be here at any moment without causing waste and making sure profit. It's really hard, and for some reason I can hold all this information right here, and I'm good at it, and people respect me for it. But as soon as I got good at it, all I heard was one word, Benji. You're great, but Benji's better. Benji's the best bin person in this restaurant.

Actually, he's the best person in this restaurant. He is fantastic, and everyone loves him, and everyone respects him, and I hate Benji. All they do is tell me how great he is, and with every single word they say, I hate him more. And then I discover they're telling him about me. And they're saying how this guy came in and he might be better than you.

They're spreading gossip about me to him, and so we have never met each other, but we hate each other. And so this day we're coming together for the first time, our shifts are crossing, and I'm gonna meet him. And so I go out into the dining room with the end of my break just to see him because he's already working,

and I see him, there's nothing to this guy. Like, he's not that good looking, he's not an athlete, he's got the body of a bass player in a failing high school rock band. He is nothing. But I watch and a couple minutes later, I realize I'm wrong because he's funny, effortlessly funny, and he's endearing to everyone.

He makes the older customers who are waiting for Big Macs actually happy to be waiting for their Big Mac, and the managers love him, and he's good at the bin. Like, he is really good at calling bin. I hate him so much. And because he's doing my job, I have to run for drive-thru today, which is the second hardest job in the restaurant.

80% of the orders go through the window, so 80% of the food will pass through my hands, but that means I need to work with the bin guy the whole time to coordinate and negotiate and make sure everything runs, which means I have to work with Benji. And so for the first hour, we don't talk to each other unless it's about work. And we clearly hate each other. We're not hiding it in any way whatsoever

but unless it has to do with work we don't say a word. And then after an hour it gets like awkward and I start to think maybe he thinks I'm afraid to say something to him so I'm like no I'm gonna do something here and so I go up to him and I say why are you coming in at 1030 on a Saturday? What's 10.30? And he says, I watch Saturday morning cartoons. Which in 1986 is a thing. All the new cartoons, the Smurfs and the Snorks and Super Friends are all out in the morning, and we eat sugar-disguised cereal,

and we watch these things. And he says, the gummy bears start at 9.30 and they end at 10, and then I come to work. And he says it without irony or embarrassment. I can't believe it. And so I walk over to the drive-thru, I drop a bag off, and when I come back to the bin, I say, listen to me.

Dashing and daring, courageous and caring, faithful and friendly, with stories to share. And I take some food and I walk back to the drive-thru. And as I come back over, he is singing before I get to the bin. He says, all through the forest, they sing out in chorus, marching along as their songs fill the air. And standing next to the bin with Benji,

we sing together. Gummy bears. Bouncing here and there and everywhere. High adventure that's beyond compare. They are the gummy bears. There's a second verse, a bridge, and another chorus. I will not share them with you, but we sing them that day. Because I watch the gummy bears too.

And to this day, I can sing that song. And that's it. A single theme song to a cartoon melts all the ice between us. And 37 years later, he is still my best friend. It is the most significant relationship in my life, with the exception of my marriage. When I get thrown out of my house when I'm 17,

Benji takes me in and lets me live in his college apartment. And when I'm 21 and I need a credit card and can't get one, he gives me his extra card and says, just use it and pay me when you can. He saves my life again and again and again. And this day we live in Connecticut, two miles from each other. And when I think back on that day that I stood at that bin and sang a cartoon song to him,

I'm reminded how little it takes to sort of reach out to someone and like just open the crack of a window. And you just get the window open and then it becomes a door and it becomes a lifetime. I stood at a bin in a McDonald's in Milford, Massachusetts and sang a cartoon song. And I ended up with the best friend of my life. Thank you. That was Matthew Dix. Matthew is an elementary school teacher, best-selling author, and a nine-time Moth Grand Slam champion. Some of his favorite things, play golf poorly, tickle his children, and stare at his wife. Oh, and also hang out with Benji.

They live 15 minutes away from each other and often get together for long walks and talks where they never run out of things to say. I asked Matthew something that he loved about Benji back then that he still loves about him today. When we were teenagers, Benji believed in me and genuinely thought I could do great things when almost no one else in

my life thought that to be true. He would tell people that I had a great future ahead of me even when I didn't fully believe it. It meant the world to me. Even today, more than 30 years later, he remains one of my biggest cheerleaders. To see some photos of Matthew and Benji, head over to themoth.org. In a moment, youth under a looking glass and adventures on the high seas, when The Moth Radio Hour continues. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. This is The Moth Radio Hour.

I'm Suzanne Russ. And in this hour we're exploring stories that look back on the different ages and stages of our lives. So much of adolescence involves internal dialogue and struggle. And while our friends and family may observe the behavior, the material does not become fodder for the whole country to see. Unless you're Kate Greathead. She shared her story in New York where WNYC is a media partner of the month. Here's Kate. When I was in first grade some people came to my school and made a movie about me.

First they followed me around for a few days to show what my life was like, and then they sat me down on a couch and asked me all these questions like, did I believe in God? Was America a free country? What was the difference between black people and white people? When they shot all the footage they needed and it was time for them to leave, I cried because nothing this wonderful had ever happened to me. Would they promise to come back and make another movie about me? The good news was yes, they did.

The bad news was not for seven years, which is a long, long time to wait when that's how old you are. So the film is called The Up Series and the premise is take a bunch of seven-year-olds from different parts of the country, different socioeconomic backgrounds, interview them every seven years of their lives, see how they turn out. It's a sociological, psychological study kind of thing and if if it sounds familiar, you've probably heard of the famous British up series. This is the American bootleg.

When I was seven, I attended a private school on the Upper East Side. So I was chosen to be the privileged kid, the one everyone is rooting for. A seven-year-old's dream come true is a 14-year-old's nightmare. When the film crew returned, I had some serious reservations. It was like, well, my parents had just gotten divorced. We'd moved, I went to a new school where I had no friends.

And you know when you're the new kid in school and you have no one to sit with at lunch, so you come out with your tray of food and you find yourself weaving between the tables in the cafeteria waiting for some kind soul to take pity on you and invite you to sit down? Imagine doing that with a film crew following you. I was very dignifying.

So the reason I had no friends was more than just the fact that I was the new kid. It was because I had no personality. I had recently come to realize this. And it made me very nervous for the interview portion of the shoot because how do you answer questions about yourself when you have no self? So the interview began with a lot of political questions which was good because my parents were liberal democrats so I knew all the right answers. How did I

feel about the death penalty? It was bad. The president's sex life, that's nobody's business. So I was doing okay and then the interview shifted gears and there came a question I was unprepared for. How did I feel about my parents divorce? So my parents had recently split up, very recently, and how I felt about it was sad, very sad. And for that reason the only, I agreed to participate in 14 under one condition which was that I wouldn't have to talk about it. And I'd been promised by different members of the film crew that this would be honored. I would know questions about the divorce. So when the question came, I assumed there was a mistake, that the director had gone rogue. And as I sat there waiting for another adult in the room

to intervene, this didn't happen. The camera continued to roll, and the room got really quiet, the kind of quiet that's loud. And the lights got really bright and I got hot and my skin started to like burn and prickle like when you're standing next to a bonfire and then my eyes started to water like I was crying because it took me a moment to realize I was crying and the camera continued to roll and no one yelled cut. So a few months later age 14 in America comes out

and in one of the reviews a critic wrote the shattered look on Kate's face speaks volumes about the effect of divorce on adolescents and I was so mad because I was like how's that supposed to make me feel? And then, yeah, it was just, it was an upsetting experience. A few years ago I went to a hypnotherapist who told me that in moments of acute psychological distress where you feel trapped, you emotionally amputate part of yourself. And so you survive, but you're broken and she said then she told me to close my eyes and we were gonna take a journey back in time so I could rescue my exiled selves and become whole again. This is the most

ridiculous thing I'd ever heard and I couldn't believe I'd spent $150 on it. But I also kind of knew what she meant because looking back, the most upsetting aspect of the whole experience of being filmed for 14 was this sense of like a human disconnect. The distance between my experience of that dismal chapter in my life and the detached curiosity of the viewers who would be watching it on TV. And after the film crew was done for 14 and they packed up and left to go

torment the next kid I remember feeling diminished like they'd taken a part of me with them But every time I get the opportunity to tell the story of it and convey my experience It feels like I get a little piece back. Thank you. And that was Kate Greathead, a Brooklyn-based writer. Her new novel, The Book of George, is out now. Kate said that being a subject of a documentary had lasting effects on her life. Seeing herself from an external perspective

compelled her to think more about herself with an objective framing and she believes that's what led her to become a writer. Middle-aged can be tricky, so sometimes you just need to do something new to get your sea legs and your groove back. This story was told by Linda Grosser in Boston, where we partner with public radio station WBUR. And a quick note, this story contains a little sexual content. Here's Linda. So, I'm in Burlington, Vermont, and I'm heading out for a run on the bike path where it turns

into the causeway out onto Lake Champlain, and it's cold and miserable, but I am desperate to shake off this anxiety that I have because I have to sleep on this boat tonight. I am not far from where my friends are, where I'm staying, and I'd been coming up there quite a lot, mostly right after I had left the family home and left my husband of 25 years. And going to Vermont became like a respite because I had such tension, you know, keeping the secret of my marriage that was failing.

And in Vermont, I could sit on their porch, look at the water, just relax and breathe. So this trip, I'm actually taking a sailing course where I'm going to be spending the entire week living on board this boat, and I have claustrophobia. Six o'clock, I suck it up and I head on down to the harbor. I go in and these couple of guys are scurrying around, picking up these parcels with overflowing groceries. We trudge out to the boat. It's dark and rainy.

Shove everything away. Right away, I say, guys, it's okay. I am going to sleep in the saloon tonight. That's the middle area that's between the cabins and the ceiling is a little bit higher so I'm hopeful. The next time I opened my eyes I slept through the night. I was so happy and the sun was shining. So meanwhile I really didn't ask a whole lot of questions about this trip. I am on this boat, me and these two middle-aged men. The other

student is the chef from Toronto and right off he starts making these lewd comments, but I am ignoring Dennis, because the other guy is tall and lean, and his looks and his competence on the boat was the most ridiculously sexy combination that I could possibly imagine. His name was Errol. Every morning we would have some kind of lesson, navigation, trimming the sails, and then we would go out and we would sail for the whole afternoon in the wind and the sun and we would find a quiet cove to anchor at night, I felt such freedom that I hadn't felt in a long time.

So it was maybe the third night, and we're out on the deck, the three of us, and it's cold. Errol grabs a blanket and throws it over him and me. And then we're holding hands. And my body, my body is responding. So Dennis had discreetly gone below and in quite short order, Errol and I had gone below into his tiny cabin, which by the way, the walls are about as thick as a sheet. He is fumbling for a condom which he promptly loses and I hear, oh't care and he says aren't you worried about getting pregnant and I'm thinking he has no idea how old I am. That sex was the first time in at least five years and 25 years since I had had sex with a man other than my husband. It was a week of adventure. I mean the physicality of learning how to handle this boat and the absolute magic of traveling and living on the water and reconnecting with feelings that had been shut down

after a lot of not so happy years in my marriage. That was a week I reclaimed my life. Thank you. That was Linda Grosser. Linda loves photography, teaching storytelling workshops, and producing shows that help build emotional human connections. Alas, that romance with Errol fizzled. They just lived too far apart. But Linda still loves sailing, feeling the wind on her face, the physical and technical challenge of navigating, and the romance of just being on the water. To see a photo of Linda at the helm, go to themoth.org. In a moment, must-see TV for kids and a story about reclaiming connections from the past

when The Moth Radio Hour continues. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. Hey, I'm Rhett from Ear Biscuits with Rhett and Link. And on a special episode of Ear Biscuits, I'm going solo. I'll be joined by Brittany Hartley from No Nonsense Spirituality.

We're gonna be diving deep into spiritual deconstruction, what that means, and new ways of looking at life after deconstruction. Available April 7th on the Odyssey app or wherever you get your podcasts. This is the Moth Radio Hour. I'm Suzanne Rust. And in this episode, we're hearing stories

that reflect on different times of our lives, from adolescence to our later years. Being an adult with a career that requires you to tap into your youth to figure out what kids like requires a very particular set of skills. Skills that our next storyteller Ron Hart happens to possess. He told this at a Los Angeles slam where we partner with public radio station KCRW. Here's Ron. I co-created a show for the Disney Channel so I'm a pretty big deal to 12

year olds. I think I ended up writing for television because I grew up addicted to sitcoms. I wanted to be cool like Fonzie, tough like George Jefferson, funny like Alf, and I wound up with a body like Norm from Cheers. I write with a partner, always for other people's shows. We tried to get our own shows on the air for years and just it never worked out and all those disappointments it snuffed out my passion for television. My dream job became just a job and when Disney Channel approached us I wanted to write for them about as much as most adults want to watch them. But they were going to give us a shot. We needed them.

They constantly studied their audience. So we were like, ah, so it's a show about an older sister mentoring a younger sister. And they said, actually, our research shows that kids are fascinated by twins. So we said, so it's a show about twins? I wanted them to love the show more than I wanted to love it myself. Now this is how the process continued. So eventually we were picking out a title for the show and we pointed out to them there were a lot of kid shows like Austin and Allie Sam and cat bucket and Skinner could we just not name the show after two characters so in the summer of 2013 live and Maddie premiered a show I created was on the

air I had the job I aspire to have my entire adult life. And I sucked at it. There were all these decisions to make. Which color to paint the lockers? What kind of dress would Maddie wear to the prom? Our research shows that Liv should have a best friend or a dog, which one? I was supposed to be the guy with a vision,

but it's not like this show sprang out from a passion burning inside of me. I had no vision. But once we were on the air, it was time for us to become part of Disney Channel's research. Focus group testing. We went to an office park, sat behind a two-way mirror,

and watched middle schoolers shred my life's work. We did okay with the girls, we did okay. But they showed an episode to a room full of 12-year-old boys. They all took their hoodies and pulled them all the way over their faces. They hated us more than broccoli. They told the interviewer things like, this show is dumb, and Disney Channel guys just scribbling away next to me. I thought we were gonna be canceled before I got my parking validated. But then one boy, one brave, beautiful boy, said, I think Liv is hot. Now the same actress played Liv and Maddie but I was

not about to judge this goddamn hero because with a heart of a lion he shrugged off all the other boys laughing at him and told that interviewer our show was kind of funny and And that courage cracked a door open just enough for the others to come out and they all admitted they watched the show too. And once they were out of the closet the dam burst. They liked the little brother. The Halloween episode was their favorite. One kid said he liked to sing the theme song to himself but was afraid that other guys would catch him and tease him. They started quoting scenes to each other. These dudes weren't just watching the show, they were fans.

And Disney Channel guy had no idea what was going on. But I understood. Because when I was 12, I was addicted to Laverne and Shirley. But I would lie and say, my sister likes that show. 12-year-old me could not say he liked a show about girls. But in that conference room, these 12 year old boys' minds were melting because they realized they weren't freaks for liking Liv and Maddie. One kid choked back tears and said,

I thought I was the only boy watching. And it struck a nerve for me. For the first time in years that spark of passion that had drawn me to television had fueled to the fire. As a producer I don't want boys to be ashamed to watch my show. As a human I don't want boys to be ashamed to watch stories about girls. I knew we had to tell the the boys out there watching Liv and Maddie in their secret closets of shame that it was okay. So I came up with this episode, listen to this crazy storyline, the little brother of Liv and Maddie is a secret fan of this girly show we made

up called Linda and Heather. His friends catch him singing the girly theme song and they make fun of him but he is the is the heart of a lion and he tells them he loves Lyndon Heather and that cracks a door open just enough for all of his friends to admit they love the show too. The network didn't think this was going to work and I got to say, actually our research shows that kids will relate to this story. But when it was time to write the speech where the little brother has to declare his love for Lyndon Heather, I had to think about why I loved Liv and Maddie. And I realized I was proud of the show. It was funny. We had positive messages. Our audience loved us.

And the crew got excited for this Lyndon Heather episode. The writers even told me that they had taken it upon themselves to write the theme song to Linda and Heather. Ahem. Pink, pink, pink, girls, girls, girls, glitter, glitter, glitter, twirls, twirls, twirls, together forever were Linda and Heather best friends. It was so horrible and it was exactly what I wanted. I had a vision and they were following it. I had learned how to run a television show by creating a fake one.

I remembered why I was writing for televisions because I loved it. It matters to people. It matters to me. I have a passion for my job again because I co-created a show for the Disney Channel. So I'm a pretty big deal to 12-year-olds. Thank you. That was Ron Hart. Ron is a writer and producer who has worked extensively for Nickelodeon and the Disney Channel with his writing partner John D. Beck. They are currently developing a new show.

Ron, a self-confessed TV addict, whose favorite shows growing up were classics like I Dream of Jeannie, The Brady Bunch, and More than Mindy, believes that if people are having fun on set, that energy will show up in the episodes and the audience will be drawn to it. So he says that he makes a joyful workplace of priority. I asked Ron what he has learned about children over the years and he said that writing for an audience of kids really showed him that the stories and characters they watch mean a lot to them, which reminds him that even when

he's making something very silly, he needs to treat it seriously because it matters so much to them. To see a photo of Ron, go to themoth.org. One of the beautiful things about life is that when you least expect it, surprise connections can come your way and full circle moments are always possible at any stage of our lives. This final story was told by Karen Mooney-Lashter in Portland, Oregon, we partner with Oregon Public Broadcasting. Here's Karen. It was Mother's Day, 2010, and I had gotten up and took a little bit extra time getting ready that day, which was unusual for me, and went to church and then came home and

got ready to celebrate with my family. And this was a little bit odd in my life because for two reasons. And the first reason was that I was in the restaurant business. And I usually spent my Mother's Day managing the celebrations of others, not celebrating myself. And the second reason was because, well, Mother's Day was kind of muddy waters for me. You see, as far as the world knew,

I had become a mother nine years earlier when I gave birth to my daughter. But in reality, when I was 23, on May 6, 1987, I had given birth to a little girl. And for the few days after she was born, I held her oh so tightly, but not too tightly, because people tell you, you can't really form a bond, as if a bond doesn't exist between a mother and a child. As if I hadn't carried her for nine months, as if I hadn't talked to her for the last

five months, as soon as I could feel her move, I talked to her every day, she was part of my life, we had a bond. But I kind of followed their advice and I would just come to the hospital a few times a day and sometimes I would just look at her through the nursery and sometimes I would hold her. And on Saturday, she was born on Wednesday, and on Saturday I came to the hospital and they gave me a little room, like a little private room, kind of like an office kind of thing, and they set me in there and the nurse came and brought my daughter to me. And we sat in that room and I held her oh so tightly and I wished her health and happiness and joy and laughter and a handsome prince and grand adventures and everything that a

mother wishes for her daughter and I said goodbye. And the next day was Mother's Day. And I went to my parents' house and to celebrate Mother's Day with my mother. And I put on a pretty good face. I think we all did. But at some point I retreated to a bedroom and I laid down on a bed and I cried. No, I sobbed. I think it's more like wailing. That deep within where I didn't know pain

could be so deep. On that same Mother's Day, there was a young woman who had wailed those same wails for years because she couldn't have children. And she came from a huge, large family. And on that Mother's Day, she gathered with that huge, large family, all of them together, and they welcomed this little girl into their family. And she held that little girl. And in that moment, in the wake of her immeasurable grief, there was great joy. And it was a great celebration. So Mother's Day was a little complex for me.

And so, but on this Mother's Day, I was there with my husband, and my daughter, and my parents were there, and a few of my siblings were coming later in the afternoon with their kids, and a few of my siblings were coming later in the afternoon with their kids, and we were having a celebration. And there was this sort of nervous excitement and anticipation in the room, and the doorbell rang, and I went to the door, and I kind of took a deep breath, and I opened the door, and the 23-year-old version of myself stood on the other side. And she looked at me and she said, well, wow, I would sure know you

were my mom if I saw you walking down the street. And we laughed and we cried. And her mother was there, had brought her. And her mother said to me, on Mother's Day, you gave me the greatest gift ever. And on this Mother's Day, I wanted to give that gift to you. And on this Mother's Day, I wanted to give that gift to you. And in all those years of grief, after all those years of grief, there was great joy. And it was a huge celebration.

That was Karen Mooneylasher. Karen lives and travels the Pacific Northwest in her Happy Day Van, where she says her mission is to encourage and promote positivity, authenticity, and love. She is lovingly known to many as Karen the Dancing Lady. I asked Karen what some of her thoughts were when she first met her daughter. It's a lot to reconnect with a child that you have released for adoption. You don't know what's happening in their life and what's happening in your life at that time and just all of it. So it has been lovely, lovely getting to know her. Her name is Allie. And I think

for me the things that strike me are it really, it released me from the wondering. For the first 10 years after she was born were very difficult for me and I remember distinctly feeling like when I'm 40 my daughter will be 18 and that's where when she could find me if she wanted to find me on her own. To see a photo of Karen with her daughters, go to themoth.org. That's it for this episode of The Moth Radio Hour. I'd like to thank our storytellers for sharing a little part of themselves with us and all of you for listening. We hope you'll join us next time. This episode of the M.A.A.S.T. Radio Hour was produced by me, Jay Allison, and Suzanne

Rust who also hosted the show. Co-producer is Vicki Merrick, Associate Producer Emily Couch. Grand Slam coaching by Chloe Salmon. The rest of the M.A.A.S. the Moss leadership team include Sarah Haberman, Christina Norman, Sarah Austin-Giness, Jennifer Hickson, Meg Bowles, Kate Tellers, Marina Clucce, Leigh Ann Gulley, Brandon Grant, Sarah Jane Johnson, and Aldi Caso. Moss stories are true, as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by The Drift.

Other music in this hour from Trombone Shorty, Matchstick Piano Man, Steve Fawcett, John Scofield, RJD2 and Duke Levine. We receive funding from the National Endowment for the Arts. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. Special thanks to our friends at Odyssey, including executive producer, Leah Reese-Demis. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching us your own story

and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org.