Stories from the Stage

JYNELLE HERBERT: Next time I look back, my eyes nearly pop out of my head.

Instead of riding atop the horse, she's on its side.

MARK MODRALL: And for four days, we are shivering in our sleeping bags, looking at the same four faces six inches away.

SHANNON CANTAN: And I told him, "Don't screw this up," and he said, "Whatever."

(audience laughs) There's no whatever in baseball!

WES HAZARD: Tonight's theme is "Adventure Ahead."

Outdoor adventures can test our bodies, our minds, and even our spirits.

But the rewards are so often unforgettable.

From mountain peaks to isolated expanses, alone and with others, tonight's tellers will share their stories of adventure and the transformations that await both within and without.

HERBERT: My name is Jynelle Herbert.

I was born in Boston with Caribbean roots.

I am a writer by trade.

I work for a nonprofit, a children's charity, in Boston, and I always like to say, "I help save lives with my pen."

You are a writer, and tonight you're going to be sharing a story with us on the stage.

And I'm wondering, what are sort of the differences in preparing for those two separate kinds of experiences?

The nerves.

(laughs, Hazard chuckles) When you're in a space with other people, right?

There's always energy.

It's not just your energy.

Like, when you sit down to write in front of a computer, you can sort of control your energy.

But when you're in a room, you're vibing off of different people's energy, it might feel different.

Once our audience does hear the story that you're sharing, what would you most want them to take away from that experience?

Gratitude.

Being thankful for the adventures in life, and being okay when things don't always go the way that you think they will.

It's the summer after seventh grade, and I'm almost through my very first time at overnight camp.

I've overcome the fear of leaving Boston and trekking out to the boonies of New Hampshire-- (in accent): "Going back behind God's back," as we say in Trinidad-- to live in a cabin with strangers and weird bugs.

I've ignored the looks of disbelief that come with being one of only two Black campers, the surprise that I actually know how to swim, and all the attempts to hook me up with my "perfect match guy," who just happened to be the other Black camper.

(audience laughter) I focus on the positives.

Yes, the bugs are bigger up here, but so are the stars, without the glare of the city lights.

The air is fresh, so I breathe deep.

(breathes deeply) And I get to learn new things, like archery and riflery and the lyrics to "Cat's in the Cradle" by Harry Chapin.

(audience laughter) It's family weekend, and my family's coming to visit.

Other than a few letters exchanged via snail mail, I haven't talked to them in weeks.

So I'm excited to see them and dazzle them with all the new skills I've learned, including horseback riding.

I've gotten past the sore thighs.

I've learned how to post.

That means lift myself up and down in the saddle while my horse trots.

And I've also learned how to jump horses-- so much fun.

My family line up by the fence to watch me ride.

Even my cousin and aunt are here from Trinidad visiting.

A pleasant surprise.

I'm doing great.

I guide my horse to walk, trot, and canter.

There are those looks of disbelief again.

Don't they know that one out of four American cowboys were Black?

My family, though, they watch with pride.

Even my cousin.

It's time to jump.

I'm nervous because I had only practiced jumping my horse, Misty, a couple of times.

We ride round the bend and line up with the obstacle.

I start talking to myself.

"Time it just right, Jynelle.

"Don't tense up in the saddle.

Ease up on the reins a bit..." (gasps) I feel Misty's legs colliding with a pole, and suddenly I'm falling.

I'm embarrassed.

And I bet my cousin's somewhere in the crowd laughing at me, too.

I don't get up.

I scan the crowd.

I look for my family.

They look concerned, even my cousin.

Then I meet eyes with my mom.

Just one look and I already know what she's thinking.

See, my mom knows a thing or two about falling down.

She lost her mother when she was ten, buried both her sisters before I was even born.

She fell in love, got engaged, but then left the warmth of home in Trinidad to travel to cold, gray England to learn nursing.

After years there, she left the life she had built again to move to Boston and meet her fianc.

When she arrived, she found out that he had broken his promise to wait for her, but only after he had gotten her pregnant.

She was on her own, with a baby on the way.

She worked nights and weekends and double shifts.

As a Black woman and an immigrant, she knew all too well the looks of disbelief and expectations of failure, too.

She put up with the disrespect from doctors who thought themselves better than her and patients who saw her more as a servant than their nurse.

But she saved her money and she bought a house, and she got me into a great school system, always sacrificing, always on the sidelines herself so that I could explore.

There was piano and dance and Girl Scouts and STEM for Girls, and the list went on and on, including this very expensive summer camp.

Now my mom was literally on the sidelines watching me, and I had to make her proud.

So I get up.

I dust myself off.

Before my camp counselor can even ask, I say, "Yes.

I want to try again."

I'm back on the horse.

Misty and I round the bend and line up with that obstacle.

This time, we soar.

Camp flew by after that with a couple of memorable incidents.

There was an awkward kiss with my "perfect match" camper.

(laughter) Which confirmed we definitely were not a match.

(laughter) And a showdown with a leech in the back of a speeding van.

I won't get into details.

(laughter) Years went by, and there was tennis and theater and college and study abroad, and multiple scandalous spring break trips.

A few people here know exactly what I'm talking about.

(laughter) And then grad school.

And Mom didn't even blink when I said, "I'm going back to grad school again."

Before Mom passed away, we had so many adventures together.

One trip found us in Aruba.

Mom, in her 60s, decided that she was going to go horseback riding for the very first time.

Before we get on our horses, I give Mom a few tips.

"Okay, Mom, the guide and I are going to go first.

"Now, horses can feel your energy, so keep calm.

"And if it gets a little bumpy and you feel yourself shifting, just lean the other way, okay?"

We head out.

I'm enjoying the scenery unfolding in front of me.

It's like being in a postcard.

I look back to check on Mom, and she's leaning to the left a little.

"Mom!"

I yell, "Adjust!

You're leaning."

(audience laughter) Next time I look back, my eyes nearly pop out of my head.

Instead of riding atop the horse, she's on its side, one leg gripping its underbelly, the other desperately clinging to its back.

She looked like a stuntman in a shoot-'em-up Western.

(audience laughter) Before I can turn my horse around, thump.

She falls into the dust.

I'm off my horse and by her side, "Mom, are you okay?"

I help her up-- she's not hurt, just embarrassed.

"Mom, why didn't you lean the other way?"

I ask.

(in accent): "Oh-ho!

"I thought you said, 'Lean the same way.'

(laughter) Like when you're driving and you pick up a skid on the ice?"

(laughter) Silence, then relief.

We laugh, deep belly laughs that ripple through our entire body.

The tour guide, he's not laughing.

(laughter) We help Mom on her horse and continue on.

Mom and I were so lucky to have many more adventures together.

There was the time we went on a harrowing helicopter ride over the Grand Canyon, and there was the time she jumped on the back of my jet ski, even though she didn't know how to swim.

Talk about trust.

And during chemotherapy, there was the time she climbed Mount Washington-- not all the way to the top-- but we hiked, my mom, myself, and my twin boys, and I was so proud of her that day.

I'm so thankful for all the adventures Mom and I got to go on together and the example she set for me, the life she made possible for me.

So during those times in life when it feels easier to stay lying in the dust, the memories of her compel me to get up and dust myself off.

Thank you.

(cheers and applause) CANTAN: My name is Shannon Kameha'ikana Shayne Cantan, currently living in Hyde Park, Massachusetts, but I was born and raised on the Big Island of Hawai'i in a small town called Ka'u.

I am studying for LSAT, and hopefully will begin law school next year.

And I understand that you do stand-up comedy, is that right?

I do do stand-up comedy, yes.

So I have to ask, how has your perspective as a blind comedian influenced your material and your approach to comedy?

I remember in Florida, I was probably nine months in, and I was avoiding the topic of blindness a lot.

'Cause I'm, like, "I don't want to be the blind comedian."

But I went up on stage and I bombed.

And this O.G.

comedian came up to me.

He's, like, "Hey, young blood, "you gotta address the elephant in the room, man.

People want to hear your truth."

And that impacted a lot of what I do.

I can talk about being blind.

It just so happens to be who I am.

Just like I am Hawaiian, I am Filipino, I am from Hawai'i.

None of those are the jokes, but it does weave into my material.

This is the story of the time I got to witness the historical Boston versus New York battle for the very first time, live.

Score was 8-6.

It was the bottom of the last inning.

There were two outs, and Boston just battled back from an 8-3 deficit.

The athletes were leaving everything out on the field.

It was everything you could imagine that battle to be.

Except it wasn't the Red Sox and the Yankees.

(laughter) (chuckles): No.

It was the Long Island Bombers versus my Boston Renegades.

Oh, yeah!

(cheers and applause) That's... Not only did I get to witness, I got to be part of it.

The Boston Renegades and Long Island Bombers are two beep baseball teams.

Now, beep baseball is an adaptive form of baseball for the blind.

The balls beep, the bases buzz, the pitcher and the catcher are on the same team as the batter.

So they're not trying to strike us out.

Yeah.

(laughter) That's not what they do.

This is the first time I got to play an adaptive sport.

I'd been playing sports all my life-- ran track, wrestled.

I even played high school football against sighted athletes.

I played center.

So if my quarterback wanted me to block to the left, he tapped my left hip.

He wanted me to block to the right, he tapped my right hip.

He wanted me to block straight ahead, he didn't tap me.

(audience laughter) Yes, I guess he didn't do it, I guess.

So it was 8-6.

Bottom of the last inning, and the next batter up was supposed to be Tony.

And as Tony was walking to the plate, one of the bases had a malfunction.

And as they were fixing the bases, I heard the dreaded words I was hoping to never have heard.

(sighs) "Tony, out, Justin, in."

Oh, those words were dreaded for me.

When Coach Rob said those words, I'm, like, "The base is not the only thing malfunctioning.

His brain is also malfunctioning."

I mean, that's... "Who's Justin?"

you're wondering.

Justin is my brother.

(chuckles) We both grew up in Hawai'i, in a family of six.

Three of us happened to be blind.

I was the athlete-- Justin was the academic.

He wasn't known for hitting baseballs.

He was known for renting Mariah Carey albums from the library.

(laughter) Yeah.

All I want for Christmas is to never hear that song again.

That's, that's... (laughter, applause) I learned about beep baseball.

This was both of our rookie years.

I learned it from a professor of mine whose husband just happened to be blind.

The way Justin learned and got involved was, he just happened to accompany me to one of the practices, and Coach Rob offered and said, "You want to try it?"

And he said, "Sure."

It wasn't my idea, guys, that wasn't...

So Justin was walking up to the plate.

And I said, "Don't mess this up, this is..." Up, up to this point, my entire high school football career, I had the same amount of wins that we had traffic lights in my little hometown of Ka'u, which was zero.

(audience laughter) So, I, I needed this win.

And I told him, "Don't screw this up."

And he said, "Whatever."

(audience laughter) There's no whatever in baseball!

He walked up to the plate, and we were doing a thing called cadence.

That's how we know when to hit in beep baseball.

You say, "Coach," and the pitcher says, "Set, ready, pitch."

And somewhere in that, you pick a spot to swing.

For example, I'll start my swing right after "pitch," and my brother probably will start his swing before he even gets up to the plate.

He doesn't have much bat speed, but... (laughter) "Set, ready, pitch."

"Foul ball."

And I'm standing there, and I'm, like, "Oh, no.

What do I want for dinner?"

That's...

I gave up before, you know, like, "I want steak tips," that's... (laughter) "Set, ready, pitch" "Foul."

Everyone's, like, "Man, he could do this."

I'm, like, "You don't know him like I know him, man."

(chuckles) (audience laughter) "Set, ready, pitch."

"Foul."

And another foul, and another foul.

Everyone on our bench is saying, "He could do this."

And I started to believe maybe he can do this, but I don't even know if he knows how to run, so that's... (laughter) "Set, ready, pitch."

He makes contact.

And he's running.

And he scores!

Yeah!

So... (cheers and applause) Score is 8-7.

And we ended up tying the game, and we went into extra innings.

And it was my turn!

(audience laughter) To go to, at bat!

And as I'm walking up to the plate, he tells me, "Don't screw this up."

(laughter) And I said... (blows out): "Whatever."

Which is more athletic way of saying that, so it was okay.

So I'm walking up to the plate, and you can't hear anything.

And I feel my heart racing.

"Set, ready, pitch."

Swing.

"Foul ball!"

I just hear someone say, "Man, these Cantan brothers love drama, man."

Yeah.

(audience laughter) I took a deep breath.

"Set, ready, pitch."

Crack!

Made good contact, and I'm running.

And I touch the bag, and we win!

We... (cheers and applause) And by we, our team won, I won, and my brother also got his first win.

And in that moment, I realized that just because you think you know someone doesn't mean you should underestimate them.

Thank you.

(cheers and applause) MODRALL: My name is Mark Modrall.

I'm a computer programmer from Littleton, Massachusetts.

I started going to storytelling shows in 2012, and I ran out of relatives who hadn't heard that one before.

And hopefully I've gotten a little better at it since then.

Having told stories all this time, what is something that you still very much look forward to when you're getting ready to share a story?

I never know if I'm going to succeed at it, but the hope is always that you find people who will actually connect to it.

They'll say, "Oh, I had something like that," or, "I can identify with that," or, "I can relate to that."

If somebody can come up to me after a show and say that, that makes it all worthwhile.

Where do you look to find your stories?

MODRALL: This is one of the things that I love about the storytelling community.

You're given one two-word theme, and the wonderful thing is just to see what that brings out of everybody.

You know, there's all sorts of life experiences percolating inside me and everybody.

And then you get an evening where you have... (mumbles) ...eight people come together with an innocuous one- or two-word phrase, and you get the huge, you get the small, you get the intimate.

It's just amazing to see the range of human experience you can get out of two words.

When I'm 12, 13, my dad tells me that my great-grandfather helped found this YMCA camp in Wisconsin, and as one of his line, I am expected to attend.

(audience chuckles) By the 1970s, his camp evolved into this kind of Outward Bound/summer school kind of hybrid.

As you grow up, the camping trips get longer and farther afield.

And to everyone's surprise, including mine, I take to it like a fish to water.

Not the craft shop or capture the flag stuff, but the camping.

Only in my case, it's like this miss it when I'm gone, hate it when I'm there.

Because every camping trip has those days when it's 50 degrees and raining.

Days when you are up to your waist in mud, and you know it's going to be a while before that comes off.

(laughter) Every summer I get to that day and I think, why?

Why did I do this to myself?

At 15, my dad tells me, "Okay, that's enough.

"I didn't like granddad anyway.

(audience laughter) "It's time for you to get a summer job.

"Go work at McDonald's.

"It'll teach you hard work and drudgery and teamwork and responsi..." All these parent-y kind of things.

And I do not buy it.

I tell him, "When I drag myself over hundreds of miles, "and all of our gear, "that teaches me hard work.

"And drudgery-- so much drudgery.

"It takes two to make a canoe go.

"And when we are 100 miles from the nearest town, "we are literally responsible for each other's lives.

And we take that seriously."

This fight goes on for years.

At 17, the trip that year is supposed to be canoeing for 450 miles across the Northwest Territories.

They drop us on Nueltin Lake, mid-July.

The ice had just broken up the week before.

There are still icebergs in the water.

The sun sets at 1: 00, and you can watch the sun set, go over the North Pole, and come up on the east side at 4:00 a.m. And there are no trees.

Like, little scrub things, like, yay high, and that's it.

And with no trees, there is nothing to stop the wind.

Gale force winds, 40, 50 miles an hour.

They whip up at the drop of a hat, and they last a week.

We find that out the hard way.

A couple of days into our trip, one of these storms whips up, and we are forced to hide behind this little hill.

We set up our tents, we put all our stuff in it.

We go back to finish unloading the canoes.

It's just a couple of minutes-- I turn around, and one of our tents is hanging by the last shock cord, in the air, with all our stuff in it.

So we have to bring them down and pitch them right next to the water.

And for four days, we are shivering in our sleeping bags, looking at the same four faces six inches away.

And I have to be honest, I cannot take the togetherness.

(audience laughter) I get a little stir-crazy.

One day, I just walk up that hill into the storm just to see what's on the other side.

And I find this giant granite boulder.

And I sit down-- it's overlooking this little pond.

And down below, I see these two arctic terns bobbing for food in this little pond.

And I have no idea what they can eat out of a glacial pothole.

But all of a sudden, one of these terns banks 90 degrees and comes shooting up the hill, ground level, right at me.

This bird's got, like, a two-foot wingspan.

It's white and light gray, it's very sleek.

It's like the sports car of pigeons.

(audience laughter) Our eyes lock, and I think this bird is attacking me.

A few feet in front of my face, it throws its wings out wide and it shoots straight up into the storm.

And then it's windsurfing, two feet over my head.

And I can hear the wind ripping through every single feather.

And it is hanging on for dear life, it's all it can do.

And it's there for, like, 30 seconds.

And then it wheels off, goes back down the hill.

And I think, that's once in a lifetime.

A couple of minutes later, the other tern does the same thing.

(audience laughter) Up the hill, in my face, over my head.

(grunting) And then back down.

They do this for, like, an hour.

I brought my camera.

I lie back on the boulder and I take a whole roll of film, taking pictures with these birds windsurfing over my head.

And then they just fly away.

And I search around this boulder.

I'm looking for a nest, something, anything to explain why they would do that.

I don't find it.

I think, maybe they just want to see what's on the other side?

I go back to camp.

And everybody's still shivering in the tents.

And I try to explain this.

I try to tell this story, but I'm 17.

I just, I don't have the words.

I can't get across that feeling of peace, that sense of being touched by something rare.

I get home, I take that roll of film to be developed, and it's blank.

The leader hadn't caught.

And at first, I'm hurt.

And then I wonder, could I have caught that feeling in pictures?

I know I couldn't get it from McDonald's.

(audience laughter) You see, that moment brought it all together for me.

I realized you don't get to that experience without going through the wind and the rain and the mud.

And the next year, I go back.

But this time, I know why.

Thank you.

(cheers and applause)