The Moth Podcast: A Story Laboratory

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That's helloalma.com slash moth. Welcome to the Moth Podcast.
I'm Anna Stern, your host for this episode. As the senior manager of the Moth's education program, one of the best parts of my job is hearing the stories of the young people we work with.
Some kids come in with a million stories to tell, and others find their story throughout the course of our workshop. But however they come to the Moth, they can all end up in front of a mic, hearing the applause that thunders from the crowd once they've finished telling their tale.
The Moth's education program creates spaces where young people can listen, celebrate each other's voices, and tell their own stories. Through crafting and sharing true personal narratives, participants gain a deeper understanding of themselves, their peers, their community, and the world around them.
In this episode, we'll be featuring two stories that come from the Moth Story Lab. If you're a high school or college student from anywhere in the country looking to tell your own story or know a kid who might be into that opportunity, stay tuned.
We'll have more information on how to get involved later in the episode. First up, we've got Arava Chaykin.
She told this at an education grand slam in New York City where the theme of the night was Out of the Blue. Here's Arava, live at the house.
I was entering high school at a progressive religious school and it was considered progressive because there were mixed gender classes.

I walked in on my first day with a brand new dress that went below my knees and a boatload

of optimism.

I was really excited for this school because this was the only Jewish school in the tri-state

area that offered BC calculus.

And I decided, because I knew someone who did it, that I was going to take BC calculus my sophomore year and in preparation I took algebra 2 the summer before high school I looked at my schedule that first day and I saw that third period on Monday was algebra 2 the school didn't know me I didn't know them I'm sure it would all be okay and by Tuesday morning I'd be in a pre-calculus class. After class I went up to my teacher and showed him my transcript.
He looked at me and he said it's my first day too. I don't know what I'm doing.
You're going to have to go talk to the head of the math department. In order to find the head of the math department, I had to find the math department, which was also known as the bunker.
Located in the basement of my school, it had no windows, no natural light, just flickering halogen lights that cast everyone in a sickly pallor. The head of the math department looked at my grade in Algebra 2.
And then he looked at me. And he told me, we'll see after your first test.
That's a little unreasonable, but not totally unreasonable. I got an 102 on my first test.
Wonderful. He looked at my 102, and then he looked at me, and he said, was he after your second test? That was an 102 not enough.
I didn't do as well on my second test. I got a 98.
He looked at my 98.

And then he looked at me and he said, it's too late in the school year. You can't take pre-calculus this year.
I'm sorry. I thought this was ridiculous and my mother thought this was ridiculous.
So by the end of that day, I was signed up for an online pre-calculus class outside of school. I should mention at this point that when someone else asked the head of the math department why I couldn't take BC calculus my sophomore year and pre-calculus my freshman year he explained that they didn't have enough resources for me.
They did have four boys though taking advanced math at the time so I guess four is just the maximum. At the end of my freshman year of high school I returned to the bunker with my pre-calculus grade.
He looked at my pre-calculus grade and then he looked at me and then he looked at the A plus again and he looked at me and he said you know we have this program where you can take pre-calculus over the summer. I pointed to my grade, and I told him I've already taken this class, and he said, no, our pre-calculus is different.
After spending that summer taking pre-calculus, I can testify that the unit circle is still the unit circle, no matter where you're learning. I was allowed to take BC calculus my sophomore year, for the first time in my high school math career I really felt like I was flying.
I was learning integrals, I was learning derivatives. I learned something called a Taylor series which is really cool.
It's when you have a function and then you use derivatives to approximate that function in a series and as you add them up up and you add more terms to the series, the closer and closer it approximates the function, and it's just beautiful to watch. It's also how calculators do math.
And so it really broke my heart a little when an older boy who had taken BC calculus his sophomore year came up to me and told me that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to take your sophomore year because he got a four and I'd have to work really, really, really hard to get a five. I was not interested in taking pre-calculus a third time, so I continued on.
And later on that year, a freshman boy asked me whether it was a good idea to take BC Calculus my sophomore year. And after after further questioning it came out that he had actually been offered the spot and wasn't even sure whether he wanted it.
Another freshman girl came up to me with the same question and I told her it was a fantastic idea and if she really was interested she should email the head of the math department. Before we both went our separate ways, me to history and her to Hebrew, she told me teasingly, you better get a five, which is the highest score you can get on an AP, so I can take this class too.
She was only joking. I did in fact get a five on the BC calculus exam? Maybe because I took Algebra II twice

and Precalculus twice and I no longer attend that school but more importantly

that freshman girl she's taking BC calculus there as a sophomore. Thank you.
That was Arava Chaykin. Arava is a 17-year-old from New York City who enjoys math, reading, and learning about cybersecurity.
Her favorite author is Percival Everett, but her favorite book is Chrysanthemum by Kevin Hankes. Her favorite mathematical concept is Pascal's Triangle.
Both the stories in this episode were developed from the Moss Story Lab. It's a free program for 10th through 12th graders.
If you're in New York City, it's in person, and if you're anywhere else, it's virtual. For eight weeks, participants build community and learn to craft their own personal narrative.
It ends with a final telling

that can be open to friends and family. It's a truly special experience that helps students

develop skills which are applicable everywhere from English class to college applications to

making new friends. If you'd like to participate or know a young person who would, go to themoth.org

slash education. The deadline to sign up is September 22nd.
Up next is Iris Hernandez. She told this at a Twin City Story Slam.
Here's Iris, live at The Moth. So in October of 2019, my parents planned a family trip to Puerto Rico.
Now, I was absolutely thrilled for this opportunity. I already loved all of my Puerto Rican family in the States, so for me, the idea of going on a trip with them, plus meeting my extended family that lived on the island, was beyond thrilling.
At my school, I'm the only Latina in my grade. I have this sort of virtual monopoly on Hispanicness.
I can say a few phrases in Spanish and show up at the potluck with some rice and beans and the kids are like, wow, she's really cool. So this going to Puerto Rico was going to be my opportunity to spread my wings, to explore my identity.
So fast forward a few months and it's Christmas Eve. We've just flown in.
We're unpacking at my aunt's house. And I hear my parents talking about a Christmas Eve party that's happening that night or Noche Buena, which if you don't know is a Puerto Rican festivity that sort of culminates all the hard work of the year into a night of festivity.
So as soon as I hear that this party is happening, I grab my party dress, I grab my makeup, and I run to the bathroom, slam the door, and I start getting ready. Now I am going the full nine yards.
I have penciled in my eyebrows. I am doing dark eyeshadow.
There is rouge. There is a red lip.
The waterline is perfect. And my party dress is this little knee-length, flowy number covered in huge toucans across the front, which I thought was very apropos for Puerto Rico.
So as I'm putting the finishing touches on my look, I hear the doorbell ring. I hear people start to enter, talking to each other, snatches of conversation.
I hear the music start playing. I'm hearing bomba, iplena.
So I open the bathroom door a little bit and I peer out and I am floored to see how many people managed to pack themselves into that tiny living room. So I take a deep breath and I open the door all the way and I sort of, I strut my way down the hallway and I'm looking for a particular cousin that I've heard of from my parents.
I know that she's around my age and we both like theater and I think, great, we're going to hit it off. So I'm sort of squeezing my way between the crowds and I make eye contact with her and I smile and start walking towards her.
And she smiles back at me and she opens her mouth and starts speaking in rapid fire Spanish. And I just stare at her with my mouth sort of open because somehow throughout the entire process of preparing for this trip, I had forgotten the important fact that my family in Puerto Rico would speak Spanish.
Like, Spanish, Spanish. I mean, I got like, prima, and navidad, and hola, but nothing that was going to give me any

actual clue to what she was saying to me. So I kind of collect myself and I go, ay prima, perdóname,

necesito hacer algo, un momento por favor, and I run back into the hallway. I immediately whirl around and crash into my mom who's coming out of the back bedroom, and when she looks at my face, she can see that something is wrong because the perfect water line from before has migrated to somewhere slightly north of my nostrils.
So I, of course, you know, she's been speaking Spanish the entire time she's here, so when she goes to ask me how I'm doing, it comes out as, Ay, que fue mi hija, estás bien? And that was the last Spanish straw for me. I start to sob, and I go, Mom, can you please speak in English? And then I rush past her back into the bathroom that I was in not five minutes before.
And I sit on the counter and I look at myself in the mirror and all the things I've done to get myself ready feel stupid. I was putting myself together to look the perfect Puerto Rican daughter, niece, cousin, what have you.
And I couldn't even speak the language of my country. I was a poser.
So the party continues and Eventually eventually I leave the bathroom. I come out.
I serve myself some food. I sit in the corner, and I listen to my family sing karaoke songs that I don't know the lyrics to.
While this moment certainly didn't ruin the rest of my trip, I had similar hiccups along the way. For instance, I'd go to a restaurant and I'd try to order in Spanish,

but I'd make some mistake that would let the waiter or waitress know that, oh, she doesn't speak Spanish, we'll speak to her in English. And I appreciated their empathy, but every time it happened, it was another blow that I couldn't speak my native language enough to even order myself food.
I would look around and I would see tourists with their sunburned foreheads, with their tropical shirts, not so unlike my own toucan dress.

And I just, every time, it felt like I was defeated yet another time. So when I came back to Minnesota, I decided that that would be no more.
I pulled out of Latin 4 at my school and I went to Spanish 1. And I worked through that and I took accelerated courses and I worked with my dad over the summer and I took AP Spanish and while today I would not say I'm fluent I'm certainly proficient and I'm very glad to be here and while I haven't been back to Puerto Rico since that time four years ago, I hope that soon I can return to the

island and I can show my family all the language that they motivated me to learn for their sake, but mostly for mine. Because now when someone asks me, are you Puerto Rican, I can say, yeah, I am.
Thank you. That was Iris Hernandez.
Iris is a curious, eager college freshman with a love of learning and all things storytelling. She is committed to connection and growth via theater, martial arts, and service.
She's thrilled to share this story about her culture and her own vulnerability. That's it for this episode.
Remember, both Arava and Iris' stories were developed from the Moth Story Lab. If you're a 10th through 12th grader and this has inspired you, just go to themoth.org slash education for all the info.
The deadline to sign up is September 22nd. We hope to see you there.
For over 15 years, Anna Stern has worked with programs that amplify and promote young people's voices, their stories, and their dreams. The current chapter of Anna's story features her three cats, Andre 3000, Big Boy, and Seal, getting her hands dirty with her pottery craft, speaking different languages, babbling with her fiancé to her almost one-year-old, and working at the Moth.
The stories in this episode were directed by Melissa Bram. This episode of the Moth podcast was produced by Sarah Austin-Genest, Sarah Jane Johnson, and me, Mark Sollinger.
The rest of the Moth's leadership team include Sarah Haberman, Christina Norman, Jennifer Hickson, Meg Bowles, Kate Tellers, Marina Cloutier, Suzanne Rust, Brandon Grant Walker, Leigh-An Ann Gelley, and Aldi Caza. The Moth would like to thank unlikely collaborators for their generous support of the Moth education program.
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 give back.

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.

The Moth Podcast is presented by PRX, the public radio exchange,

helping make public radio more public at prx.org.