The Big Easy: Emilie Bahr and Emily Richmond

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Welcome to the Moth Podcast.

I'm Sarah Austin-Janess, the Moth's executive producer and your host for this episode.

New Orleans is all about live events.

There's music, festivals, parades, opera, drag, and true personal stories at the Moth Story Slams.

There's a certain energy in the Big Easy.

We asked Alex Zemanovic, a New Orleans Story Slam producer, their thoughts on these personal stories.

And they said, our venue, Cafe Istanbul, is an intimate space.

It feels like you're in someone's living room.

Telling a story there really brings out the vulnerabilities in people.

I myself have been to a few of these New Orleans Story Slams, and I wholeheartedly agree.

Now, New Orleans is so much more than Mardi Gras, but with Mardi Gras Day coming up in mid-February, we wanted to celebrate New Orleans and its Open Mic Story Slam series.

Our first story is from Emily Barr, who told this at a, you guessed it, New Orleans Story Slam, where the theme of the night was fathers.

Here's Emily live at the mall.

Hey everybody, I'm Emily, and starting from the time I was in third grade, I was raised by an incredibly loving, but also incredibly quirky, single dad.

My dad knows a lot about a lot of different things.

He's a scientist, he's an artist, he's a writer, but one area in which he is, I would say, profoundly and perhaps even proudly clueless is fashion.

Growing up, this had certain perks.

Unlike a lot of my friends whose moms kept strict watch over their hemlines and forbid the use of makeup, my dad really took no notice of those things apart from his occasional lectures about gilding the lily when I had lingered a little too long in front of the bathroom mirror.

My mom's family, on the other hand, fell on the exact opposite end of the soratorial spectrum.

When I was little, my grandmother and several of my aunts opened a women's clothing store, and about the time I was 10 years old, I had grown tall enough to wear many of their clothes and I'd also taken to spending weekends at their houses so I would come home from trips to their homes with these giant black hefty bags filled with just you know endless supplies of their designer clothing casticides

and I was profoundly aware of my mom's absence from my day-to-day existence at that point in my life and I think I found in those bags a certain brand of maternal influence that was otherwise lacking from my day-to-day life.

And on one particular visit, I found in one of those bags the most beautiful pair of skin-tight, scintillating gold lame pants.

And I just could not wait to wear them to my public middle school, where I was in sixth grade at the time.

So I got up really early the next day, way more excited than usual to head off to school.

And I pulled those pants over my legs, and I paired them with this cropped knit black sweater that fell just about to the hip bone so as not to obscure the main attraction that day.

And I headed off toward the bus stop.

and it may have been an hour after I left my dad that he got the call from the school receptionist telling him that I needed to change my pants

and I remember I was just sitting there waiting for him in the principal's office when he arrived and I was all hot-faced and embarrassed I was pretty mortified and I'd never been to the principal's office before and my dad came bursting through the front doors and he pulled me into one of his straitjacket hugs and he asked me if I was okay and how I was feeling and I told him I was feeling fine and

we headed out towards his car and he started telling me kind of nervously about the plans he'd concocted for the rest of the day.

He told me I could stay home from school and that we'd go to dinner in a movie that night and this all sounded great until I eventually realized that he was taking his cues from an episode of the Cosby show that we'd watched together.

And in that particular episode, the mother plans a Woman's Day to celebrate her youngest daughter's ascent to womanhood.

And

I recognized maybe for the first time at that moment that my dad was struggling right alongside me and navigating our existence without my mom around.

And I almost felt bad telling him that the reason that he'd been called to my school was not, in fact, the onset of puberty, but my violation of the school dress code.

That was Emily Barr.

Emily is a writer and urban planner based in New Orleans.

Since Emily told this story, her father has sadly passed away.

But she says she's raising her own little girl in a way she hopes would make her late father proud.

To see photos of Emily and her dad, visit themoth.org slash extras.

Anyone can throw their name in the hat at a moth story slam.

These shows are for everyone, and moth story slams are in cities throughout the U.S.

and throughout the world.

But if you are near New Orleans, please join us at an upcoming night and listen to these community stories, or maybe tell one of your own.

In fact, regional producer Alex Zemanovic told us that lots of storytellers who visit end up moving there.

They said, there's something special about New Orleans.

It's hard to describe, but even though it's considered a city, it feels like a big small town.

Our next story is also by way of that big small town.

It's one from our archives.

Here's Emily Richmond live at the Moth Story Slan where the theme of the night was tests.

I was very smart when I was very young.

And on the first day of fourth grade, my teacher brought us all together and said we were going to take spelling tests all day, just sort of round-robin until you got a spelling word wrong, and then we'd know what level you were at.

And I was the only kid in my class that got no words wrong.

And because I went to a less than mediocre mediocre public school, instead of giving me like 10th grade words or like 12th grade words, they were just like, you don't have to spell the rest of the year.

You've done it.

Fourth grade, you've mastered it.

So needless to say, I was like feeling myself that day.

And my teacher came around a little bit later and was like, we're going to do just like a little like survey that the school is having us fill out.

Got my pen ready, was ready to ace this thing.

And the first thing I see on this sheet, which is like, if you look like me, the last thing you want to see on a sheet of paper, which is like, please choose your race, select only one.

And I am stumped.

And I'm sitting there and I feel sick.

And I call my teacher over because I can't answer this question.

And she does like the very lovely canned answer and says like, just choose whatever feels best, which is not helpful because I don't know if that's all, none, any.

So she leaves and I sit and I decide I'm going to approach this survey and read the questions first and see if I can like infer which race I should pick based on what the rest of the survey is asking and it wants to know how many books I read it wants to know how many hours I spend doing homework how much junk food I eat and I can't I'm it's fourth grade I can't like connect these things back to race in any way

And so I'm like surveying the room trying to find an answer.

And to my left is my friend Ashley and she's Asian and we read the same books and we eat the same food and we drink the the same drinks and watch the same shows.

And I look to my right and on my right is my friend Ashley who is white and she's blonde and she and I read and eat and drink all the same things.

And I look over my shoulder and behind me is my friend Ashley and she's brunette and she's not white but she's also not brown.

Something's definitely mixed in there.

But for the purposes of my hometown, she's white and we're all sort of the same person and I can't figure it out.

So I fill out the survey just as it is, give all truthful answers, and I can't figure out the race thing.

My teacher finally comes over and says, sort of like, we got to wrap it up.

You got to just like choose one.

And so I answer it truthfully and I feel like if I can't answer black, because that feels like a lie.

I don't want to deny my dad.

I can't.

deny my parent.

I can't choose white.

That feels like a lie.

It kind of doesn't matter what I choose.

So I just fill in a circle and I send it off and I wait anxiously for someone to come in and say, you ruined the study, you failed it, you lied, your race was wrong.

And nobody comes in and my teacher doesn't scold me and nothing happens.

And so then the next time a survey comes along, I try my luck again.

I pick another race.

I lie about how many books I read.

And I send that survey off.

And nobody comes in, nobody scolds me.

And I realize, it doesn't fucking matter.

And so as I get a little bit older and my hometown is like very white and kind of racist for being in New England and I'm starting to understand how the world works and I'm starting to resent these surveys because I feel like they're playing into some weird stereotypes that are coming back at me as one of the only brown people in my town.

As those surveys start coming in, I start like pouring my like anger into these surveys and I'm just like, you know what?

I think I know what you want me to say.

So today I'm black and I only read books and I never watch TV and I don't eat junk food because fuck you.

And then the next time I get a survey, I say that I'm white and all I do is eat junk food and I smoke 12 packs of cigarettes a day and I stare at the ceiling and I hang out with boys and I drink.

That's all I do.

Fuck you.

Fuck you on these surveys.

And so then as I get a little bit older and a little older, my dad sort of notices me and says to me, you are the most proud mixed person

I have ever met in my life.

And I tell them it's true.

I'm very excited to be black.

I'm very excited to be white.

I love being mixed.

It's one occasion where one and one makes three.

But I realize that as much as I hate checking those boxes, and I still do, even on that little release, even though we can check as many as apply, which is lovely, I don't like checking the boxes, but having to face that box over and over and over again really helped me to think outside of it.

That was Emily Richmond.

Emily is a writer based in New Orleans, Louisiana.

You can find her monthly at the Moth Story Slam or telling jokes and stories into microphones at other shows around the NOLA area.

Remember, upcoming New Orleans Story Slam dates and themes can be found on themoth.org slash events, along with details about all of our other open mics and shows.

There's also a link to the events page in the episode description.

That's it for this episode.

From all of us here at The Moth, we hope to see you and hear your story soon.

Sarah Austin Janes is a director, the MOS executive producer, and a co-author of the best-selling How to Tell a Story, The Essential Guide to Memorable Storytelling from The Moth.

which is available now wherever you get your books.

This episode of the Moth podcast was produced by Sarah Austin Janess, Sarah Jane Johnson, and me, Mark Sollinger.

The rest of the Moth's leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Jennifer Hickson, Meg Bowles, Kate Tellers, Marina Cluche, Suzanne Rust, Brandon Grant Walker, Leanne Gulley, and Aldi Casa.

The Moth would like to thank its supporters and listeners.

Stories like these are made possible by community giving.

If you're not already a member, please consider becoming one or making a one-time donation today at themoth.org slash giveback.

All Moth stories are true, as remembered by the storytellers.

For more about our podcast, information on pitching your own story, and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org.

The Moth Podcast is presented by PRX, the Public Radio Exchange, helping make public radio more public at PRX.org.

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