The Moth Podcast: Family Matters

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Welcome to the Moth Podcast.

I'm Jodi Powell.

And on this episode, Family Matters.

Yes, we're talking family.

Finding, reconnecting, and standing up for family.

First up, we've got a story about family finding you.

Alicia Kenworthy told this at a DC Grand Slam where the theme of the night was between the lines.

Here's Alicia, live at the moth.

So one morning, about a year ago now, I was lying in bed and staring at my phone when I received a message via the contact form on my personal website.

And now, to be honest, I'm not sure why I even keep a contact me form available for the World Wide Web.

Mostly what I get is spam.

Although one time a lady from Vancouver, Canada wrote to let me know she shares my name and also receives my Papa John's delivery notifications to her inbox.

She just wanted to let me know the pepperoni pizza I ordered was on its way.

So it has its uses.

This message that I got though was different.

It was well written and with almost impeccable grammar, so clearly not spam, and it hailed all the way from Munich, Germany.

Dear Alicia, it read, I do some family research and I would really like to drop Ken Kenworthy a line.

Ken Kenworthy may have known my biological mother.

Ken Kenworthy is my father.

So I googled this German gentleman with almost impeccable grammar and I came across his LinkedIn and there was a photo of a man who is the spinning image of my father staring right back at me.

And I took a deep breath and I thought how exactly to tell my father he too had missed a delivery notification

for a son.

The thing is, my dad and I don't really talk.

Like not in any kind of dramatic sense, we talk.

He's a retired Air Force veteran.

He's done three tours in Vietnam.

And if you put in the movie Top Gun, he can tell you all about which scenes are the most realistic and why.

And from his stories, I've kind of gleaned the grand outlines of our family history.

I know that he raised my three older half-siblings as a single father, that he met my mother in a bar, and that I obviously am the best thing that ever happened to him.

But other than that, he's very businesslike and direct and to the point, and we just don't really do, you know, conversation.

So I decided I would just forward the email with minimal commentary.

So

just sent it along and said,

hey, dad, looks like this is meant for you.

And

he replied about 15 minutes later and he said, hi, Alicia, I will follow up on this.

Dad.

And so I waited for him to follow up.

And as I was waiting for my dad to kind of process the idea that this German gentleman with almost impeccable grammar was most likely his long-lost son, I just started thinking about what the guy had written in his email.

He claimed he didn't really want anything much from my dad, maybe a photo and some information about our family history.

And I had lived 35 years up to this point without knowing this guy even existed, but in all of five minutes, I found myself wanting everything from him.

I wanted to book a plane ticket to Bavaria and buy a derndel and exchange stories in a beer garden.

But

from my father's end, there was radio silence, and you know, my 82-year-old dad seemed to be taking his sweet time.

One day went by, and nothing.

Second day went by and nothing.

And finally, after like a week, I get a call and it's my dad.

And he asked me if I would like to go down to the waterfront to have a father-daughter talk.

No reason at all.

And we don't live anywhere near a waterfront, so

he came and picked me up, and this being COVID, we both donned our N95 masks and we rolled down the windows and we didn't say a word to each other for the entire half-hour drive in the car.

And we drove down to Haynes Point and got out of the car and we walked around until we found an empty bench that seemed suitable for conversation.

And there my dad launched into the most convoluted story about airplanes I think I have ever heard.

He explained all the different fighter jets they were developing in 1968 and what his personal training had been, and why he was selected to train on one of these planes and sent to Germany, and how he did a 4G inverted dive on a MiG-28.

That's actually a line from Top Cun, for those of you who know the baby.

Eventually, after about 20 minutes, I interrupted him and I said, Dad, do I have a brother?

Two weeks ago, this German gentleman with impeccable grammar landed via a Boeing 787 at Dulles International Airport, and my dad and I were there to welcome him at the arrivals gate with a sign that said, welcome home.

He was accompanied by his wife, Melanie, and the most beautiful

13-year-old little girl named Louisa, who is my father's only known grandchild.

And we took them back to the house where Louisa's promoted to grandpa mug that she gave my father sits on the mantle.

And after dinner, we sat around and watched Top Gun as a family.

And then I got an email notification from 23andMe that said, this guy is a total scammer and he's not your brother.

No.

The truth is, I don't really know how to end a happy story.

I've been waiting for some sort of like twist the past few weeks to make it more interesting.

But the truth is that Lutz is my brother, and he fits into our family like a puzzle piece that we didn't even know was missing.

And my dad and I are still searching for the exact expression to encapsulate that feeling, but I'm sure there's a German word for it out there somewhere.

That was Alicia Kenworthy.

Alicia is a writer, storyteller, former matchmaker, and once upon a time reality TV talent talent based in Washington, D.C.

You can read her newsletter Catalectic on Substack.

If you'd like to see photos of Alicia, her father, and her brother, head over to themoth.org slash extras.

We emailed Alicia to see if there were any new developments since she told this story.

Here's Alicia.

It's been five years since I woke up to that unexpected email.

Since then, we've been to Munich, Barcelona, and even Disney World as a family.

We still talk every week in the family group chat, and my mom loves to brag that Litz is a younger, even handsomer version of her husband.

My dad turns 86 this fall and we're hoping to celebrate all together in person here in DC.

Dad still needs to watch Top Gun 2.

But Alicia wasn't the only one who let us know how they were doing.

Through all these years, we've tried so hard to find a suitable German word for it, while we had to admit that there's simply not any expression for that feeling.

Also, we cannot really tell how the situation exactly evolved because everything just simply fits.

In German, we have a word for things falling into place on its own.

We call it Sebsloufe.

Yes, that was Alicia's brother Lutz and her niece Louisa.

And if everything should one time click into place for me, I'll definitely know exactly what to say.

Sebsloefe.

Up next, we have Stacey Stads, who told this story at the Louisville Grand Slam, where the theme of the night was a point of beauty.

Here's Stacey, live at the mouth.

So before our mom passed, she once said, your brother will fight his way out, your sister will con her way out, and then there's you.

You're the one I worry about.

It was as if I didn't have my own superpower, but all foster children do.

It is how we remain resilient when life forces us to adapt.

What was my superpower, you ask?

I'm tenacious.

I don't give up.

If it's something I really want, I'll make it happen.

If my initial way doesn't work and I see a loophole, best believe you can consider that hole looped.

My brother, the fighter, had chosen his path.

His son was following in his footsteps.

He was in safe custody and was at a treatment facility.

My nephew George calls me one night from there.

He sounded scared, didn't know where he was headed, and asked to move in.

I'm nine go laddie, y'all.

This triggered something in me as I thought about this life-changing decision.

I was single, lived alone.

Just the vegetarian lesbian auntie minding her own business.

I cuss, read tarot cards, and see a psychic.

However, she did not tell your girl about this, so I may need a new one.

As I thought about

this decision, I had a lot of questions that ran through my mind.

I've never been a parent.

Will I be any good at this?

What do they eat?

And

is my social life over?

But the main question I kept coming back to was,

could I live with myself if I didn't at least try?

The answer was always no.

So, George moved in.

It's interesting living with a boy.

I've never really done that.

I don't know a lot about these creatures.

They do eat meat apparently, but...

Jokes on him, I don't even know how to cook it.

Chicken is not supposed to be pink.

And I thought I was doing hot girl shit by trying a new recipe.

And he thought I tried to kill him.

He puts empty cereal boxes back in the cabinet.

I do not understand this.

He announces when he has to do.

I've literally never asked.

Not once have I ever asked, hey George, do you have to poop soon?

He stinks, calls me bruh,

and obsesses about going through puberty.

Just recently, he told me about his newly acquired armpit hairs.

He should be a man any day now.

I think that's how it works.

So

this whole parenting thing, I think, is the hardest thing I probably will ever do.

I don't even know what I'm doing half the time or if it's the right thing to do.

And I'm just out here trying not to traumatize a child any more than he already has been.

I have a lot of push and pull with my own decision making.

You see, at his age, I was in group homes, residential facilities, one last foster home, then independent living before aging out.

So my sense of normal is a bit non-traditional, I suppose.

It is important for me for George to have normal childhood experiences.

We did go to the beach last year, and it was his first time.

He had

a very sweet video that he had taken documenting his time at the beach.

And just the pure joy that was on his face brought joy to my face.

And I was like, oh, this must be the great part of parenthood, to see your child happy, right?

And to think that I had given him that memory, I did.

How cool is that?

Thank you.

It will not be a part of George's story that no one stepped up for him.

When I made that decision, I not only did that for him, I did that for my own inner child to heal.

You see, no one stepped up for me, which left me feeling hurt, abandoned, and angry.

As a child, I thought my family didn't love me.

And after a while, you realize no one is coming to save you.

Survival is different.

than living.

I've only recently learned that I've lived most of my life in survival mode, always waiting for the issue to drop.

I'm working on living now.

My mother doubted my ability to survive.

Not only did I do that, but I'm bringing her grandchild with me to empower him in hopes that he will not just survive, but also live.

That was Stacy Staggs.

George and Stacey live in Kentucky.

Stacy works in corporate, leading people.

George attends school, plays video games, accepts hot Cheetos as currency, but has no idea why his tummy hurts.

He still gets nervous when Stacy cooks.

Their favorite pastime, mocking each other.

We also checked in with Stacy to hear a bit more about how her nephew was doing.

Here's Stacy.

George is good.

He is officially

entered the next phase of his life

with becoming a young man.

He is shot up at least a foot.

He towers over me now.

His voice is changing, and he lovingly says he finally has more mustache hair than myself.

He likes to spend his time playing with friends, playing basketball, playing video games,

and

roasting me.

It's great.

I love it.

Yeah,

life is good.

We're so glad to hear that.

We'll be back in a second with another story all about family.

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Our final stories about relying on and taking care of family, even when the world is in a pretty dark place.

Marko Ivanov told this at a Chicago Grand Slam, where the theme of the night was between the lines.

Here's Marco, live of the moth.

My brother Nicola is laying in bed in front of me, crying.

And it is not one of those whiny, cranky cries.

It is this deep, inconsolable cry.

And he's whispering,

I want my mom.

I want my mom.

He's eight, and I'm thirteen, and we are alone.

We're in this apartment, just the two of us.

I make sure he eats, he brushes his teeth, he does his homework.

But there is one thing I can't do that he really needs at this time.

I can't give him his mom.

So I do the best that I can.

I lay next to him, I hold him,

and as I do, I think, I want my mom too.

It is September 91, and a civil war is raging in Croatia, former Republic of Yugoslavia.

Nicola

and I are in Belgrade, Serbia.

Last time we saw our mom was about a month ago when she snuck us out of our hometown city in Croatia, drove us to the airport, gave us a hug and a kiss, and then turned around to go back in the city that was under siege to be with my father.

Now we are 400 miles apart while they're hiding in the city as the fierce fighting is going on.

I spend countless hours at night dialing that, spinning that dial on a rotary phone until my finger is bloody, with a hope that I can connect the call to them.

And when the connection is established, they say they're okay, they're fine, don't worry, we will be soon together.

My dad, who's a pilot for decades, to make me feel better, he brings the phone closer to the window so that I can hear mortar shells exploding.

He says, They're not that loud, they're not that close.

And I believe him.

But it's been a couple of days, and we haven't heard from them, and we miss them.

Now, officially, we are refugees, but I refuse to admit it.

Refugees are those people you see on TV, on nightly news, in dirty clothes, living in tents and camps.

They're homeless.

We're not homeless.

We're living in an apartment that my dad's best man had before he passed away.

I enrolled us in school.

I cook, I clean, I do laundry,

I do everything that I can,

but we're not refugees.

Now, despite all that, it's 30 days and we're running out of money.

So a family friend promises that they can lend us money, but we need to visit them in the city.

It's about an hour away bus ride.

So I tell Nicola, wipe your face, pick up your jacket, let's grab that bus.

And as we're walking to the bus station, I have an idea.

I know how to make him feel better.

I can't get him his mom, but I can give him the next best thing,

a grilled sausage.

See, Belgrade is full of these burger and sausage bars that when you walk by, you get a swiff of grilled sausage and you just can't not stop.

And whenever we visited as a family in the past, we would enjoy this delicacy.

And I love grilled sausage.

And in this moment, it's not just about the food, I think it's about being normal.

So I buy one, I split it, I give him his half, and we sit on that bench waiting for the bus, savoring the sausage.

When we get on the bus, it's hot, it's crowded.

Smell of sweat, not sausage, permeates the air.

People look miserable.

The war has been going on for a while.

Serbia is flooded with refugees.

Some people give us these pitiful looks because they can hear our Croatian accent.

And as I see a conductor approaching us, I know that our sausage plan is backfired.

See, I don't have enough money for two full tickets.

So when he comes to me, I say, I need one full price ticket for myself and a half price ticket for my brother.

And he says, How old is he?

And I lie, six.

Now, as he's writing me the ticket, Nikola, who's sitting down, is tugging on my pants.

What did he ask?

And I say, nothing curtly.

But Nikola can't be stopped.

He said something about me.

What did he want to know about me?

So I tell him, he wanted to know how old are you?

And with the proudest face and with the loudest voice, he says, I am eight

everybody on the bus including the conductor is smiling even those people that I judge they're entertained

but I am crushed as he hands me that half price ticket I have this heavy realization

we are broke We don't have a home.

We don't have our parents.

And even though we have these kind people and friends, if not for them, we will be on the street, homeless.

We are refugees.

That feeling stays with you forever.

A few days later, I'm coming home from school.

I take the elevator to the 16th floor of our building.

And as I put the key in the apartment's door, I hear Nicola talking to someone.

As I open the door, I can see a green military kit on the floor with my dad's shoes next to it.

And I know my dad is back.

And if my dad is here, my mom has to be soon right behind him.

Thank you.

That was Marko Ivanov.

Marko grew up in ex-Yugoslavia and moved to the US at 17.

A former electrical engineering and business student, he is now a senior vice president at TransUnion.

He lives in the Chicago suburbs with his wife and two children and is a longtime Ravens fan.

If you'd like to see some photos of Marco, his brother, and their family, just go to themoth.org/slash extras.

We were curious to see what happened to marko and his brother after the events of the story so we asked him here's marko after reuniting with our parents we stayed in serbia where we lived under sanctions at 17 i left for the united states where i live with the american family that took me in four years later during nato bombing of serbia i was able to get my younger brother out who joined me in the u.s as well today all of us including my parents are living in the U.S.

where we were able to rebuild our lives.

That's it for this episode.

Whether you find your family through kin, friendship, or through chance, we hope that it's Zeb Sloefe.

And from our family here at the Moth to yours, we hope you have a storyworthy week.

Jodi Powell is a director and educator at the Moth who enjoys listening to and seeking stories from beyond the main corridors.

Originally from Jamaica, she currently lives in Harlem.

The stories in this episode were coached by Chloe Salmon, Kate Tellers, and Jodi Powell.

This episode of the Moth Podcast was produced by Sarah Austin-Janess, Sarah Jane Johnson, and me, Mark Solinger.

The rest of the Moth leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Christina Norman, Jennifer Hickson, Kate Tellers, Marina Cluche, Suzanne Rust, Leanne Gulley, and Patricia Orega.

The Moth Podcast is presented by Odyssey.

Special thanks to their executive producer, Leah Rhys-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, themoth.org.

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