The Moth Podcast: Pride and Family
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Welcome to The Moth. I'm Mark Salinger, and on this episode, we celebrate Pride Month with three stories all about the joys of LGBTQ plus family, from long-term partnerships to raising children to friendships that become a sort of found family.

Family can mean so many different things to so many different people, but at their best, they can be a source of strength and comfort in a world that sometimes doesn't understand or accept you. First up, we have Gary Bremen, who told this at a Miami Story Slam where the theme was, appropriately enough, anniversary. Here's Gary, live at the moment. Four and a half months after our first date, we took our first vacation together.

and we went to the Grand Canyon. And at the gift shop there, I saw Roger looking at rings. Not fancy rings, but the cheap mass-produced 998 Grand Canyon gift shop rings stamped with an Indian design. We bought two. It was not legal for us to be married at the time, but those cheapo rings meant everything that a real wedding ring would have meant. But by our 20th anniversary together,

we were allowed to be married. And so we asked 11 friends to join us at Biscayne National Park. Everyone was wearing shorts and flip-flops. We had ice cold coco frio straight out of the nut. We had still warm NOS cinnamon, NOS berry farm cinnamon rolls.

Our friend Rhonda, who was one of the officiants, came up to me and she says, "Give me that ring." I'm like, "What do you want my ring for?" She said, "Just give me the ring. It's part of the ceremony." So I didn't argue. And a short while later, we found ourselves heading across Biscayne Bay to our favorite place in the park, a place called Jones Lagoon. We anchored, we unloaded the paddle boards, and we headed into the lagoon.

We wanted everyone who was there with us to understand why we chose that place, why it was so special to us. And so we anticipated spending about an hour or so just paddling around, just having a good time.

The water in Jones Lagoon is really shallow, it's really clear, you can see every detail of the grass on the bottom, you can see the crabs, you can see the sea cucumbers. Some places the bottom is absolutely carpeted in upside down jellies. There were lots of fish, there were sharks. A great white heron took off from the mangrove tree and squawked and squawked and flew 50 yards down, landed and when we approached him again he squawked and squawked and flew 50 yards down over and over and over again.

It's a beautiful place. And finally we decided it was time. And so we found a spot. Everybody arranged their paddle boards in a little semi-circle. And we stood in the water with the muck between our toes, surrounded by mangroves and other friends. And there we promised to love one another, to explore and dream and discover with one another. We promised to provide a

safe home for our four-legged children and we promised to to travel with one another to the ends of the earth in the end of our days Rhonda asked for the rings and she opened up that little bag and poured the rings out into her hand But the rings in that bag were not what I had given her instead there was a brand new black shiny tungsten ring

engraved on the inside with the number 143, late 1990s beeper code for "I love you." My eyes filled with tears. Apparently I was the only one who didn't know I was getting a new ring that day. After our vows, we stood there and laughed and chatted, and I looked down into the seagrass and I saw

an orange sea star about three inches across. And I reached down and I picked it up in my hand, careful to hold it underwater, and ever the park ranger, I proceeded to explain the water vascular system of echinoderms to all of our guests that were there.

Somebody said, "Oh, that looks really cool with your new ring and the sea star in your hand. Roger, put your hand down there." So he did, and there were pictures all around. It was our perfect take on that classic wedding album photo of two hands with shiny rings on. And when the pictures were done, I gently placed the sea star back in the seagrass. I stood up, I shook the water off my hand, and that ring went flying. One person saw the splash.

Two people said they heard it, but it was only a couple minutes before we realized that the light thick silt on the bottom of Jones Lagoon had swallowed my ring forever. On January 10th, we will celebrate our 25th anniversary together. I anticipate waking up next to Roger. He will be wearing a shiny black tungsten ring.

I'm still wearing the 998 Grand Canyon special. We will look past the cats standing on our chest begging for breakfast to the photo on the opposite wall of two hands holding a sea star, the only evidence we have of the 15 minutes where we had matching rings.

That was Gary Bremmer. Gary's a native South Floridian and retired National Park Ranger. He lives in Wilton Manors with Roger, his husband of 27 years, and their cats, Oliver and Amelia, in an urban oasis filled with native plants, birds, and butterflies. When I emailed Gary to let him know that his story was airing, he and Roger were actually in the middle of hiking the Portuguese Camino de Santiago. So it's safe to say they're still going on adventures.

If you'd like to see photos of Gary and Roger, you can visit our website at themoth.org/extras. It's really special for me to hear a story about a LGBTQ+ couple in a long-term relationship. When I was growing up as a bi kid, there weren't a lot of examples in the media of happy, stable relationships like that. I knew that they had to exist, but if you don't hear stories about something, it's hard to imagine it existing for you.

It's strange to think about how quickly everything changed, from not being able to imagine queer love to hearing about the Obergefell Supreme Court decision as I was working in the newsroom at GBH in Boston, feeling wired and ecstatic and having absolutely no idea what to do with myself. I wanted to maintain the image of a calm, put-together radio producer, but I also wanted to leap up on my desk and scream for joy.

Up next, a story from someone who grew up in one of those LGBTQ plus families. Carly Spotsfell's own told this at a Twin Cities Story Slam where the theme was gossip. Here's Carly live at the Moth.

Alright, so I'm 12 years old and I'm sitting on the toilet in the corner stall of the bathroom trying to run away from my science teacher's bad puns when a girl from my class named Caitlin comes into the bathroom with a friend and I realize that she's talking about me and she's saying, "How does she even like exist? How did she come to be? Like, where did they find her?"

mean, and if she doesn't have a mom, does she even know how a tampon works or what mascara is? I mean, how is she going to learn how to be a girl? And to be fair, Caitlin did have two things right. One, I didn't know how a tampon worked because I was 12 and I didn't get my period until I was 14. But two, I don't have a mom. I was actually raised by two dads. The very, the very

gay couple to jointly adopt a child in Los Angeles, California. And when you are on the precipice of change and your family doesn't really look like other families, people talk. So in June of 1995 in Los Angeles, the political climate was like a solid lukewarm.

And my parents appeared on the cover of a magazine in an article entitled "Two Men and a Baby"

In it, it detailed some very publicized rumors and gossip about gay parents raising children. And one quotation that stood out to me is from like the director of social services in Los Angeles and it said something like, "You wouldn't put a child on a 10-story building ledge. You know that it's dangerous. It's just evidence.

and gay parenting is the same thing. And so my parents were like, "Maybe Los Angeles isn't it. Let's get out of here." So they heard about Minnesota. They heard that Minneapolis had really good school systems and a really great LGBTQ+ population. So they aimed for Minneapolis and landed in Wyzetta. Close, but no cigar.

And I was, once again, the only kid in my school that had gay parents. And I remember sitting silently working on a school project, and this kid, Austin, in my class, said really loudly, hey, so like the whole class could hear, and he knew that. He's like, hey, Carly, is it true you have two dads?

And this other girl at my table quickly jumped to my defense and was like, well, yeah, I mean, of course, a lot of people have two dads. And he was like, yeah, but hers are gay. I was like, no shit, Sherlock. But then when I looked around and I saw the class was laughing, I realized that they were laughing at me and not him.

And my parents knew that they couldn't control what other people said about our family. So they just did their best to make sure that we knew how much we were loved. So for every F word that was thrown at them, we got a hundred words of love thrown at us.

And they filled our house with so much joy and serenity that if anyone said anything bad about gay parents, it was just so laughably contradictory to what was happening inside of our house that I quickly became to understand that I think people gossip about stuff they really have no idea about. Because...

What Caitlin and Austin and the conservative newspaper writers of California didn't see was how Daddy Dave always packed an extra dessert in my lunch because he knew that I was going to share with my table mates and Daddy John would cut my bangs so I could like see the world a little bit better. When the world saw two men and a baby and they thought dangerous or weird

They didn't see my parents' eyes filled with pride when I graduated at the top of my class in college. They didn't see how they rushed to my side when I endured life traumas. And so what they said instead was, "Hey, when people talk, don't listen to them, and you get to choose what your family means about you." And they said, "Close your ears." And they always recited a poem to us, and they said, "When people talk,

Say this in your head instead. And it went, "Not flesh of our flesh, nor bone of our bone, but nevertheless still our own. Don't forget for a single minute you weren't born under our hearts, but in it."

That was Carly Spotswell's own. Carly currently works as a licensed mental health therapist in Minneapolis, specializing in treating PTSD and trauma. She also coaches speech at a local high school. In her free time, you can find Carly adventuring with her dog, trying her hand at arts and crafts, or going for a run on a local trail. If you'd like to see photos of Carly and her dads, go to themoth.org slash extras. After the break, we'll take a look at a drag family. Be back in a moment.

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Welcome back. Our final story is about a found family, one that can help you unearth the best parts of yourself. Chris Condie told this at an Austin main stage where the theme was up close.

Here's Chris, live at the mall. June in Texas is sort of miserable for someone who doesn't like the heat. And waking up on this particular day, sweating out drugs and alcohol didn't really make things that much better. But this wasn't the first time I'd been in a position like this. For the last decade or so, I'd struggled with drinking and using drugs to the point that I had made a real big mess of my life.

What I didn't realize was underneath everything lay this insidious whisper of internalized homophobia, meaning I hated the fact that I was gay. Now, don't get me wrong, I knew I was gay since I was like five years old and my childhood crush, Agent Fox Molder from the X-Files, taught me that I was definitely into boys and girls were more fun to just do cartwheels with during recess.

I remember in seventh grade, I was sitting in the back of the class during study hall at the end of the day. And I remember starting to talk to this kid. I don't remember his name, but we both wore Adidas. And I thought that was enough in common for us to start up a conversation. So we start chatting and it kind of turns a little flirty. And it was cute and it felt really good. And then all of a sudden he hits me with, are you gay?

And sheepishly I reply, "Yeah?" Then he says, "Oh my god, you are gay." All of a sudden the bell rings, saving me from this terrifying moment. And as kids are kind of gathering up their belongings to exit the class, this kid starts yelling, "Chris is gay! Chris is gay!" I was mortified. I was found out.

Luckily, the general chaos of middle schoolers screaming and gathering up their belongings and leaving the school kind of was swallowed up by his own taunts. This taught me that I wasn't going to tell anybody that I was gay, maybe ever. However, passing through the uncomfortable stages of puberty, I eventually came out to my parents in my ninth grade year of high school. They basically wrote me off as just going through a phase, but I knew it was much more than that.

After high school and into my 20s, I start drinking and using drugs to the point that people around me suggest that maybe I should go to a 12-step meeting. So I go for a little while, but it didn't really stick because I got to this part in one of the steps where it says I have to turn my will over to this God that, you know, I don't believe in and I thought hated me for being gay. It didn't really make any sense to me. Like, why would I do that?

And so I eventually start drinking and using drugs again to the point where I live at a rehab for a moment. I'm living at a homeless shelter. I felt worthless. I felt like my life didn't really matter.

This leads me to waking up on this particular day in June, sweating out drugs and alcohol, feeling sticky from the pores, and then just feeling hungover. And I woke up on this particular day, and I knew that I was going to die a slow death.

I had felt this sort of darkness wash over me. Somehow, in a moment of clarity, I think maybe, maybe I don't have to do this. And so I think of a friend that maybe I can call. This friend's name was Celso Zepeda, Cel for short. I had known him, I'd met him in a 12-step meeting before. He was gay, he was sober, and he had a car, and I didn't know anybody who had all three things.

So I thought, yeah, maybe he knows how to do life, right? So I scroll to his contact on my phone, hit the number, and as the rings sort of echo off into eternity, I keep thinking, why am I doing this? Anxiety welling up in me. Why am I calling this person? They don't know me. What am I even going to say to them? All of a sudden, a voice breaks my craziness.

And Sel says, "Hello." And I say, "Hey! I don't know if you remember me. I'm Chris. How's it going?" Sel says he remembers me and asks me how I'm doing. And before I could think of anything intelligent or witty to say, I just blurt out, "I don't know how to live my life anymore!" It's quiet, and Sel calmly responds, "Maybe that's a great place to be." And I think, "That's a fucked up thing to say to somebody."

And I say, what? And he says, you know, maybe life has beaten you down so hard that finally you might be able to take some suggestions from someone who's gotten sober and stayed sober. He says, maybe we should just meet in person. I can kind of explain it better. So we make plans to meet the next day. I make it to his apartment complex, knock on the door to his apartment. The door swings open. In the doorway is a tall, broad-shouldered, smiling man. He says, welcome, honey. Come on in.

So I step into his apartment. It's very tidy and very cold. And in the corner of my eye I see a little chunky cross-eyed cat appropriately named Pancake, seemingly judging me as if it knows the kind of year I've been having.

I walk into this foyer area between his bedroom and his bathroom, and Sel tells me to have a seat on the stool. So I sit down, and I glance to the left, and on the counter is some makeup brushes, some makeup, and I think, what's about to happen here? And he says, all right, girl, I'm going to tell you my tea. I want you to tell me your tea, and then I'm going to tell you my tea, and in between, I'm going to do your makeup. And I think...

I don't remember signing up for RuPaul's Drag Race Sober Edition, but what the heck. So, Sel starts doing my makeup. Immediately I can feel powder sort of permeate the room as Sel starts to apply makeup to my face. It's cold and wet, like sweat that you can't wipe off your face or like crumbs on your lips that you can't wipe away with a napkin. It's uncomfortable. About as uncomfortable as the stories that I start to tell Sel.

I start to tell him about the homelessness, the living at rehabs, the losing jobs, the trust in my family, and no matter what story I would tell him, Sel would just calmly respond with the, "Uh-huh," or, "Yeah, I felt that way before." I get done telling my story, and Sel starts to tell me his. And while our stories were different, I most could relate to his inability to stop using drugs, no matter what the consequences were.

Sel gets done doing my makeup and he stretches a wig across my scalp. He says, "Stand up and look in the mirror." So I stand and turn and reflected in this mirror was a beautiful, stunning drag queen. You can clap. Because I looked pretty. I felt pretty, I felt gorgeous, and I didn't feel so worthless anymore.

It was almost like Sel had given me permission to be my queer authentic self. You know, using and drinking was kind of an escape from myself, but somehow in that moment, being in drag, being this very public queer symbol was this healing moment for me, and it allowed me to be my queer self. And not only did I feel pretty... Girl, I know I looked good, okay? Yeah.

So we did what anybody would do when they were feeling themselves. We had a little photo shoot. So we turn on some Madonna and Sel lets me try on a bunch of different wigs and outfits and we're like voguing and doing the whole bit. And it was wonderful.

While I didn't know it that afternoon, over the next couple years, Sel and I and a few people would travel to halfway houses, 12-step meetings, homeless shelters, and scoop up these newly sober queer people and bring them to our sober drag shows and sometimes put them in drag. It taught us that we could have fun and that life didn't have to be over when we were sober.

And soon a gaggle of drag queens were just terrorizing South Texas. It was wonderful. While sobriety has had its ups and downs since then, while I was dancing with Cell in the room, Madonna playing in the background, Pancake still judging me from that freezing cold apartment, I knew that for the first time in a long time, I didn't have to do life all by myself anymore. Thank you.

That was Chris Condie. Chris is a queer Brooklyn rapper imbuing hip-hop with raw authenticity, punk bravado, and technical lyricism. Blending introspection with hypersexuality, their music explores themes of addiction, identity, and queer liberation while championing visibility and self-acceptance. If you'd like to hear some of that music, we'll have a link on our website, themoth.org slash extras. That's it for this episode.

Thanks for listening, and from our family to yours, happy Pride Month. Mark Sullinger is the podcast producer of The Moth, the co-creator of the audio drama Archive 81, a lover of museums, and someone who feels very strange reading his own bio. Chris Conti's story was directed by Chloe Salmon.

This episode of the Moth Podcast was produced by Sarah Austin-Duness, Sarah Jane Johnson, and me, Mark Sollinger. The rest of the Moth leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Christina Norman, Jennifer Hickson, Kate Tellers, Marina Cloutier, Suzanne Rust, and Patricia Oreña. The Moth Podcast is presented by Odyssey. Special thanks to their executive producer, Leah Reese 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.