Hello London. The Moth is returning to Union Chapel on Thursday, September 28th for a night of vibrant true stories.

The main stage is the quintessential Moth experience, a two-act show featuring a musical act, where the storytellers and a notable host share true personal tales without notes.

Experience a night of unforgettable Moth tales as they're recorded for future episodes of the Moth podcast and radio hour.

Doors open at 7 and doors begin at 8. Get your tickets now at the Moth.org Bowerslash London.

Welcome to the Moth podcast. I'm Changer Aikou Manika, a journalist, a member of the Moth Board, a professor at NYU, and your host for this episode.

In my job teaching journalism and critical media studies, I try to create a space for my students to learn, to question, to experiment.

And I also try to prepare them for their lives outside of the classroom, where most of their learning will take place.

Because the classroom is wonderful, but so much of learning happens beyond its borders, in social spaces, with family and struggle, at work, even when we're playing.

And those places are also where we find some of our most important teachers.

As students are returning to school, we wanted to highlight different types of learning, from mentors, from family members, from stories themselves.

First up, we have Adrienne Lotsie. She told this at a New York City story slam, where the theme of the night was, only in Harlem.

Here's Adrienne, live at the Moth.

So you could hear them coming from a seem like a mile away.

Thump, thump, thump, thump. You could tell there were rows and rows and rows of them. Thump, thump, thump.

I pulled my bed covers up to my face. Thump, thump, thump, thump. And then I could see them.

I could see them coming. They were coming up the side of the bed. They were coming over the top of the bed.

Thousands upon thousands of pancakes holding guns. Thump, thump, thump.

I rolled my eyes. I'm like, okay, dad, I won't eat all the pancakes next Sunday. Do I have to hear this story again?

My dad was that kind of dad. You know the one who wanted to teach you lessons by telling you stories?

Like the story when you asked for extra money to take a cab home after partying all night and he said, when I was growing up, the subway cost a nickel.

And I could only afford to ride one way. That was my dad. And my brothers and I would roll our eyes and say, oh, here we go again.

But then every now and again, my dad would say, let me tell you about my childhood.

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