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We thank you. Welcome to The Moth podcast. I'm your host, Eleazar Kazmi. Wherever you are in life's path right now, if you turn around, you'll see a string of decisions that led you to where you are today. The choices we make, big or small, give us agency over our bodies and our beings today to storytellers who had to make very difficult and vastly different choices. Our first story is from Jill Tional. Jill told us at Historicism in Ann Arbor, where the theme of the night was The Heat is on.

Here's Jill live at the.

Richard Nixon resigned on August 9th, 1974. I know this because a year later I was lying across the back seat of our station wagon, hot ass vinyl seats.

Drenched in sweat, pretending to be asleep so my parents wouldn't talk to me, my father wouldn't turn on the air conditioning because it bothered my mother sinuses and she was sitting next to him in the front seat on the radio initially was WGRZ, then public radio. No one had spoken for the hour or so that we were in the car, except for when my mother asked me if I was OK. As we got off the highway, I heard the theme song for All Things Considered as we pulled into our driveway, the host said that that was the first anniversary of Nixon's resignation.

I didn't care about that. I wished I were riding my bike or playing tennis or just lying in the grass, looking at the clouds. But there I was in that back seat. My face stuck to the seat, sweat running into my eyes, listening to a story about Nixon. We were on our way home from the hospital where I'd had an abortion, I was 14 years old, I only had sex once and he was my first boyfriend and we weren't allowed to visit each other unless at least one parent was home.

But he was persistent and I was curious. And so even though I liked sports more than boys, I gave it a try. As soon as I missed my period, I knew.

And back then pregnant girls were sent away. And if they came back, it was either with no baby or they suddenly had a baby brother or sister that polite people didn't ask about. My parents wouldn't do any of that, but everybody expected me to become a lawyer like I'd announced in second grade, I couldn't be pregnant. I had planned on riding my bike all summer and I was a good kid, I learned on a roll all the time. I was all sitting in track and volleyball.

I played softball for St. Joe Park. I meet nationals in tennis. I play the cello. I couldn't be pregnant. I was going to ride my bike all that summer and just play in the sun until I was blue, black and the sun made my hair red, I couldn't start 10th grade with girls whispering and pointing at me. I had to do well at that school. I had to make my parents happy. I couldn't be pregnant. I was going to ice skate at St.

Joe Park that summer and I was going to play crack the whip. I just couldn't be pregnant. In the shower, I tried to will my body to force everything out into the tub. I used to knitting needles to try to pierce my cervix and cause a miscarriage, I'd heard that taking poison, maybe Drano would end it, but it wouldn't quite kill me. One morning after I'd sneak to the downstairs bathroom to throw up, my mother met me in the living room.

She took me by my shoulders and said, What's wrong? Are you pregnant? For the first time, her holding me in her arms didn't help. She took me to a doctor out of town, a very small, soft spoken woman whose beautiful Indian accent carried me to someplace far away. Maybe she'd say I was just sick. But she confirmed what I already knew. Over the next few weeks, I tried to will my heart to stop or have a stroke like my Aunt Shirley, I cried so hard I threw up thinking maybe I could convulse the pregnancy away.

We never talked about whether I would have an abortion, we just knew my mother told me the date and then on August 8th, she told me not to eat. After five p.m., nobody talked in the car on the way to the hospital. I gladly escaped into general anesthesia and I tried to stay there, but then we pulled into the driveway. My mother got out and opened both back doors so maybe I could catch a breeze and I thought my father had gone in the house with her.

But when I finally set up, he was standing right there staring out into the yard. I swung my legs out of the car, but instead of helping me up, he knelt in front of me. I prayed that he wouldn't talk. Do you like sex? Oh, my God, I gave the only answer to that question from my father. No, don't worry, you will. You're supposed to like it. I love it. But that's because I'm a grown man and I love your mother.

Oh, God, please make him stop talking.

Please just make him stop.

One day when you're older and more mature, you'll want to have sex again. But that's my point. You're too young to make that decision. I still wanted him to stop, but I settled down. When you're ready, just tell us and we'll get you some birth control. You got that? I nodded. And don't you believe all these little boys talking about they love you and you so pretty, don't you fall for that and don't start thinking that you're cute.

Smart beats the hell out of cute every time. And you're very bright.

We love you. You're going to be OK. I don't agonize over having had an abortion. Sometimes I wonder how my life would have been if I'd had a kid when I was a kid. But then I think about what a good life I've had, I wasn't capable of raising a child and I wouldn't ask my parents to do it for me at times I think about laying in that back seat in a puddle of sweat and tears, trying to wish everything away.

And even though I hated the choices that I had, I'm thankful that I had them. Thank you. That was Jill Tional Jill comes from a family of storytellers. She's lived in a lot of places and has worked as a criminal defense attorney. Actor, writer and dogwalker, her adventures have provided plenty of material for her stories. Jill's father passed away recently. She told us that one of the things she loved about him was that he always said what needed to be said, even when it was hard or uncomfortable.

And he had a strong opinion about pretty much everything. She said that a lot of his choices for his family were difficult to understand, like moving the family to Germany for a year or taking them to Haiti during a time of unrest, but that they were all made in the name of education and growth. And when it came time for Jill to make a choice about her pregnancy, she said, My father fully supported my decision. He understood that it was mine and mine alone to make to see some photos of Jill and her father head to our website, The Mossberg.

Up next, our Jake Hargett told the story on a story slam in Seattle, where the theme of the night was Love Hurts. Here's Hagy live at the mall. I am an expert at long distance relationships, I've been in one with my parents for nine years now. So I called up my dad and usually I talk to my parents one at a time, but on this day I call my dad, he's on the balcony. It's it's morning. He's in India.

He's having his morning tea. And I tell him, call mom, I need to talk to you guys. And my dad says, is everything OK? What's going on? And at the time, I was searching for a new job. So my parents first thought was that I was calling to tell them about a job offer. And then my mom comes running in and she says, what happened? You get a job? And I said, No, Mom, I need to tell you something.

I've met someone that I like. Her name's Tagil. She's Hindu. Like most young people, hiding from the existential dread of talking to strangers we met online.

Not not on not on a hinge or tender, but on Reddit and.

And unlike most single serving conversations, just like one of our teams are exhausted, that happened online, our conversation turned into a beautiful friendship legacy that grows into a tree.

In fact, our first conversation went so well that by the end of it, I had offered her a partner stake in my imaginary potato based food truck, Sputnik.

We'd spoken the first time in September, but by New Year's Eve, we were comfortable enough to spend four hours on the phone together discussing New York Times. Thirty six questions that make you fall in love.

And on the question of what role does love and affection play in your life? We talked about our past relationships. I told you I had never been in one. I told him my parents expect me to marry someone who was sick, someone from my own faith. And she said, it won't matter. The rules won't matter. When you find the right person, the rules won't matter. At the time, I didn't know that she would be the person with breaking the rules for.

We and she was she was kind, she was generous, she was giving she's beautiful inside and out. She studied psychology. She worked with children with autism. Some days she would come back bruised with the children that she was working with, but with a smile on her face because she loved what she did.

And I'm sorry, I'm thinking.

But she and she would she would remain calm in the face of adversity. And she'd remind me to stay calm as well, particularly when things didn't work out, like finding a dog sitter in Seattle when our old dog sitter had to cancel or sending me said sending me voice notes before every interview when I was searching for a new job.

If I wasn't where you condo, I'd say she sparks joy.

And I'd love blossomed like a flower on that tree when I told her that I was going to tell my parents about us. She said, you know how much that scares me, right? And I said jokingly to her, you know, we'll just if my parents say no, we'll just wait it out 10 years. Everybody is going to calm down.

Then we can do whatever we want. And then we get to the phone call with my parents.

Mom, I found someone that I like her name, stagecoaches. She's Hindu silence. And then my dad asks, who is she?

What does she do? What her parents do. And my mom still hasn't said a word. And he says, well, you know, it's too soon. Right now. You guys are just mad or you have just been talking. Let's see how this plays out. My mom still hasn't said anything. So I say, mom, say something. And she said, what do you expect me to say? And just anything. What what are you thinking?

And she says there's nothing to see right now. Your dad said it, you know, let's just wait it out. We cut the call. What I didn't know after this was that there was a storm brewing a thousand miles away. And for my mother, who made so many sacrifices to see her son succeed, she had plans for us. And me marrying someone outside of my faith was not one of them. And I called my mom the next day and she told me that after we had spoken, she couldn't sleep the night night before she tried and tried to reconcile with the fact that this might be happening, but she just couldn't let it go.

And I asked her just because she's Hindu, something she didn't have any control over. And she said it's a logical and irrational, but emotionally, my heart just can't accept it. And I just can't do this. Taj was always better at seeing the future than I was. She always like to think of contingencies. She'd ask me, what if you talk to your parents and it doesn't work out? What if this is the last time we're speaking?

And I promised her that it wasn't. But this next time was going to be. Tadjo, I spoke to my parents, they said they can't accept it. They said that even if they did, it would be incredibly difficult for us that the rest of the family might not accept that the relationship would be under a microscope and everybody would just be waiting for us to fuck up. And even with all of that, with the change that they would require and the sacrifices that it would demand.

I don't want acceptance to come at the cost of changing you. I'm sorry, Tadjo, is this over then said how much is it over? I can. By heart, she cut the cord. At this point in time, it's probably easy to think of my parents as the villains, but. Imagine it from their perspective. Imagine you've built this beautiful house that represents everything that you believe in your identity all the time, it's everything. And someone you love and trust unconditionally holds a stone in their hand, threatening to destroy everything it represents.

And then there's too much force. And I can't imagine what it must have felt like for her to be told that you as you are not enough. When I knew that for me she was. And then there's me having to choose between the love that made me who I am today and a love that I chose. And nothing hurts more than choosing between the two loves. Ted, you know, I haven't spoken in a year, but I still think about her.

There are days when I wish for her to just be happy and that she does whatever she wants to do. But then there's days when I think about the fact that what we said to each other, we said if our parents say no, we'll just wait it out 10 years. It's been one year now. Nine more to go.

That was her report card. She was in New York and works in technology, but says he's a storyteller at heart. We're not working or telling stories. He likes to spend his time walking his dog, hoping he doesn't bark at every UPS truck that passes by. When our listening team first heard the story, we needed to hear more from Harge. He wrote us to say that although he and Ted still haven't spoken, he still thinks of her often, he said.

Tej and I were both very aware that there was a chance that things might not work out. We agreed we prioritize our parents over each other, even though it meant we couldn't be together. Life works in funny ways, so who knows what will happen. But right now I view our time together as cherished memories that will last a lifetime. Before we end today's episode, I want to take a moment to thank Jill in charge for trusting us with their stories.

Not all stories have a happy ending or tie up neatly in a bow, and it takes a special kind of courage to share them with the world. Their stories remind us that even though we may not agree with the choices of others, we better ourselves each time we try to understand them. That's all for this week. If you're looking for more math, you can check us out on Facebook and Twitter at the Moth and Instagram at mothe. Stories from all of us here at The Moth have a story where they week.

Alisa Kazmi is a former moth assistant, producer and alumna of the Moth Education Program. She began telling stories with them off in 2015 and her story, pastels and Crayons, has been heard on the Moth Radio Hour and published in Teen Vogue and The Moth third book, Occasional Magic podcast production is by Julia Purcell. The Moth podcast was presented by PUREX, the Public Radio Exchange, helping make public radio more public. PUREX Doug.