On this episode, in honor of Black History Month, we’ll be showcasing three stories from Black storytellers, all on the universal theme of growing up. This episode was hosted by Suzanne Rust. Storytellers: Whitney Mcguire comes to terms with her buddhism. Aubrianna Piton cleans up garbage for the summer and reconsiders her relationship to food waste. Jacoby Cochran and his family build a home at Rich City Skate. To learn more about listener data and our privacy practices visit: https://www.audacyinc.com/privacy-policy Learn more about your ad choices. Visit https://podcastchoices.com/adchoices
Full Episode
Welcome to the Moth Podcast. I'm Suzanne Rust, and in this episode, in honor of Black History Month, we'll be showcasing three stories from black storytellers, all on the universal theme of growing up. First up, we have Whitney McGuire, who told the story at a community and education showcase in New York. Here's Whitney, live at the Moth.
I'm 13 years old, and I just got off of the school bus. and I'm ascending forest green paint chip stairs up to a forest green paint chipped porch, being careful to avoid the cobwebs in the corners of the doorway. And I smell the spicy sweet scent of sandalwood incense coming from the doorway. My mom is in the kitchen mopping.
She greets me and she hands me a tattered rag, and I know I'm going to get an assignment. go wipe down the mirrors, clean the toilet, blah, blah, blah. I know this ritual because we do it often.
Every Thursday at 7 p.m., my home, our home, is briefly transformed into a Buddhist community center where some of the strangest characters from the west side of Dayton, Ohio, descend upon our living room floor to chant strange words from Buddhist sutras and study Buddhist texts and share from their hearts their struggles and their triumphs. Sometimes we even enjoy some good Japanese food.
Most of the time, I stay for the duration of the meeting, but recently, I've been retreating to my bedroom more often during the meetings, but I always come down for the food. I don't know when I started lying about my religion, but I do remember why. My mom and I were at Kroger's. We were in the checkout line. And she spots someone that she used to know. They strike up a conversation.
The woman starts telling her about her church, which is not an unusual topic of conversation for a predominantly black working class community full of great migration families from the Bible Belt South. And then the woman asks my mom, well, what church do you go to? And my mom proudly tells her that we're Buddhists.
My mom converted to Buddhism when she was in her 20s, when she still lived in New York City. And so I guess this person knew my mother before then. And it was almost like in slow motion, I watched this woman's reaction turn from friendly to hostile. And I watched her mouth form the words, well, you're going to hell.
I don't remember what my mama said to this lady, but I do remember how I felt, small and ashamed. If telling someone about my religion could elicit this type of reaction, then I'm going to keep this close to my chest. As I got older, I started going to church more often with my grandma and my dad. My mom and I were the only Buddhists in the family.
And then when I went to Buddhist meetings, I would listen intently, trying to poke holes in the logic, trying to understand why I was born to be an outcast. By the time I got to middle school, I was so excited. I was in this new group of friends, and I just was so excited to be a part of that group.
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