Episode 3 - The One Where Mom Gets To Shine

Everybody knows but me is brought to you by Companion Arts, next chapter of podcasts, and every McDonald's Happy Meal Toys sitting undeteriorated in landfills across the globe. Our show is recorded in front of a live studio audience. Oh god help me. We are to these children get these ideas in their heads.

I swear when they get home, I'm gonna, I've never been moist at the end of my life.

When we hit that crazy, steep drop riding colossus, I nearly hurled in front of everybody. Who's so awesome? Considering how many times you have puked in public, I don't think that's a fair sign of how cool it was. Hello, family. Anyone cared to tell me where you've been? You guys were supposed to be home hours ago. Relax, honey. Casey got straight A's for the third semester in a row.

So, I decided to take them all the six flags on the way home from school. What? You went without me? Oh, right mom. Loud noises, huge crowds, fire grease, and powdered sugar coating everything. Totally sounds like you're seeing. I'll have you know, I am a huge roller coaster fan.

By the way, Carson, honey. I love your ingenuity, but next time you and your friends are flipping through the anarchist cookbook, please don't use my nice satay pan to make a smoke bomb. No smoke bombs? It's like Soviet Russia in here. To be fair, she didn't say no smoke bombs. Also, it's not really a fair comparison given the collapse of the U.S.S.R. in Casey.

“Do you want to stay in the good times gang? Or do you want to get left at home with mom next time?”

Good time gang? What is that? Nothing really. It's just... What Carson, Holly and I call ourselves when dad takes us on our fun little adventures. Without me. Come on honey, don't be like that. Everybody in this family has their thing. Casey is the kid genius.

Holly is the wise cracking cynic. Carson is some kind of destructive goblin. And your... The beautiful stay at home mom who cleans up the failed smoke bomb experiments.

Wonderful. Exactly what I always dreamed of.

Four funnel kicks. It's way too many. Uh, mom, there's two Russian gentlemen here who say they've come to fix the HVAC. Pretty things, Mrs. Brown. You call about problem with fairness? Can you direct us to utility closet? I suppose that's all I'm good for. Follow me.

Oh wait, Illya. Look. Do you see? Are sure the drenched in dish-water, yes. And her hair looks like a dish-water, I couldn't ask, but... But can it be... Golden Heaven, Pavel?

You, you've tried! Mrs. Brown, your forgiveness, please. But your bone structure is magnificent.

I'm not sure that's a compliment, but it is the first nice thing anyone has said

all day, so I'll take it. Your bloodline, it is from the old country, huh? Um, he has, actually. You can tell that just by looking at me.

“Wait, mom, isn't your name something funky like Subaru?”

Subaru. A descendant of General Subaru, and we have honor of fixing her heating! Okay, Casey, you want to fill the rest of us in on what the hell is going on here? I believe Count Alexander Subaruff is considered the greatest military commander in Russian history. He ended Napoleon's campaign during the war of the second collision, and was crown prince.

Holy crap, mom! You're great, great, great, great grandpa, kitchen Napoleon's butt! That's so cool! Cool, the next coaster, where they strap you and upside down. Whoa, whoa, whoa, let's not go too far.

I am going to brag about being related to account, though. Actually, your great-grandmother used to tell me that back when we used to have four. Oh, kids, I just remembered.

“You know that James Bond N64 game you guys have been asking for?”

I finally got my mid-season bonus, and I just picked it up the other day. There's only four controllers, though. So, who wants to join Dad in the living room for a little battle royale?

She had her hands full, managing a chaotic, slightly unhinged family, holding everything together while the house threatened to fall apart at any given moment. Think, March Simpson, without the towering, blue, beehive befund. But then again, only cartoon logic can explain how a mother of three would find the time to do that hairdo every goddamn morning.

I'm new fuzz over as way too much. Enjoy it now, because when you're a grown-up, you'll have to take care of yourself!

“March, you're just spying it on your my car key.”

You did the right thing by telling me. When I was a little girl, she was the no-non-sense parent. The one actually keeping us alive while my dad got to be the fun one.

Cracking jokes, playing around, and parenting like it wasn't always a full-time job.

And she was the kind of mom my friends gravitated toward. Safe, warm, letting them be fully themselves while still somehow maintaining order. Like Kitty Foreman mixed with a little sprinkle of Jill Taylor, emotionally present, quietly running the whole show. But somehow, not the main character. Dad is like Mr. Fun, but mom was very like we she've cared a lot about manners,

“about being polite, being courteous, like we learned that from mom.”

Like you couldn't go to a shit with mom. Dad, you could do anything, and mom, you could not. I felt like she did the brunt work of the parenting and the work and the cooking and all that. Oh yeah. Those years, we're characterised by those super-positive, super-loving, like, perfect childhood, gardening, and very present at school.

She would come to all, she knew the teachers and...

And always very even keeled. Dad was this bombastic actor, and mom was always chill, and even keeled.

You know, just very present with help with homework. I always thought she was so smart and pretty, and like she wasn't loud, but she was just always there. I could go on for hours about this, about how my mom and so many women made something incredibly hard look easy, and how much of that was actually choice versus expectation, and the sexism baked into all of it. About how much easier it still is to be seen as a great dad than even a decent

mom. But okay, I'm getting heated. Bookmark that for later. For now, my mom was the sitcom mom you wish you had, until she wasn't. But like finding out, my mom was a descendant of literal Russian royalty when I witnessed two strange men straight up bowing to her, and like the real life women we know in love. She was much more nuanced, unpredictable, and perfectly flawed. My very own, not made for primetime TV mom. From next chapter podcasts and companion arts,

this is everybody knows but me, episode 3, the one where mom gets to shine. I have to be honest with you. This is one of the parts of my story I'm most scared to tell, because my dad was the most undeniably likable man on what felt like planet Earth.

“He did tremendously bad things, but by the end of his life, with his illness and his secret”

finally out in the open, there was this reckoning, and with that reckoning came something else.

sympathy and reminder of how easy it is to love someone when you know you're about to lose them, and especially when you finally do. My mom's story doesn't come with that same emotional arc, and I'm scared that when you hear certain things about her, you might not know how to feel. I didn't either. I spent most of my life not knowing how to feel about how I could love her so deeply, and still live with what she did. So if you find yourself holding two conflicting truths

about her at the same time, good, that means you're understanding her correctly. Doing this now as an adult, how I feel about my mom's story is completely tangled up in losing my dad. My dad, Mark Brown, died in our home in his reclining chair surrounded by my family on January 2nd, 2013. Grief is complicated after a very long illness.

part of you still believes it hasn't. That it was some false alarm, a dream. That somehow, this thing that you've been living with will still keep going. And then reality sets in, but not in the way you expect.

“Time, flattens. Everything feels both incredibly important and completely meaningless.”

Like you're waiting and waiting and waiting for a new episode to come out of your favorite show, but all you get a reruns instead. You become the strange cocktail of emotions. Moments of collapse. Like can't get off the floor fetal position sobbing mixed with flashes of memories you'd give anything to redo. Like the fact that the two days before my dad died,

I spent New Year's Eve with a guy I barely knew, instead of spending the last New Year's I would

ever have with the most important man in my life. I have to remind myself even now that I was

a teenager who desperately wanted a normal life while also living inside something that was anything but normal. And that somewhere somehow, I really believed this wasn't going to happen. But after it did, I would sit there in the living room where he died and stare at his reclining chair. This fixed set piece in the middle of everything, knowing I never wanted to give it away. Like if we did, the image of him sitting there would disappear too.

But I also knew I would never, effort, effort, and that chair. Like I was still sitting in the audience after a taping ended, staring at the stage, a cozy sitcom living room frozen in place, waiting for him to walk back in and get his laugh. Then suddenly, you're planning a funeral. My sister and I took on a task that distracted us in the immediate from such a men's grief. Learning a medley of our dad's songs

to play at his funeral, or rather, celebration of his life.

“No one like asked us to do this, but we are his children, aren't we?”

I mean, the Jackson 5 never let a little thing like healthy emotional development or supportive

family dynamics get in the way of a solid dance routine, did they? And look how they turned out. My mom took the reins for the first time in as long as I could remember and helped take care of everything else. The parts of death, no one talks about that I wouldn't wish on any person grieving. The logistics, the phone calls, the paperwork, the lawyers, for all her flaws and there were many. My mom showed up in that moment. She'd been caring for my dad through years

of illness as much as my siblings and I had and in many ways more. And now, it was over. And what we were left with was something I didn't expect. Freedom. Not the exciting time that you celebrate. The kind that asks, "Okay, now what?" Because I don't think my mom planned for her life to look the way it did up until then, living for years in the same house as her estranged, dying husband and caring for a man who despite moments of a men's had also hurt her.

Deeply. And suddenly with his dad, it felt like she had been given a second act. A chance at a

life she hadn't got to live the first time around, like the camera finally turned toward her.

“Imagine, a sitcom mom getting her own spin-off? Who'd be crazy enough to let that happen?”

So the question became, "Who is Gilbrow?" When she finally gets to start over. And to understand that, we have to go way back to where her story actually begins. In this part of the sitcom, the screen would ripple and slowly fade. A title card would appear signaling it's a flashback episode that says, "Years, early." I just felt in love with your mom right away. She was the sweetest, kindest person

one woman, ever. And he had some, he dated some people for a while, but he was,

“and he said, "I've never been in love before." My ancestor, my dad's oldest sister,”

has a way of highlighting the best of my mom. And that brings me a lot of joy. That someone could see past the bright shining light of my dad to see my mom for who she really was. And as much as I am like my dad, I know that I have a lot in common with my mom. Maybe more than I sometimes realize. Like me, my mom was a valley girl. Raised in the San Fernando Valley,

likely pioneering valley-centric catchphrases before gagging me with the spoon, and as if ever hit the mainstream. And while the women and my mom's family were born in Los Angeles, my great-grandma, my grandmother, my mom was born while her family was stationed out of state

“in the air force. Like my dad's dad, her father was also in the military. And somehow,”

another more shocking similarity, my mom was born in Ohio. In the same town as my dad, whose equally nomadic family spent time there on their wayward journey west. And in the same hospital as my dad, just three years after. And yet, they met 29 years later on the other side of the country. Which feels like the kind of coincidence that, if this were a TV show, you'd say, was a little on the nose, like, okay, writers, we get it. When my mom was too, they moved to

North Hollywood where her brother was born shortly after. I got to speak with my mom's brother, my uncle Mike and his wife, my aunt Jenny, about my mom's upbringing. They were generous and supportive of what I'm doing, but didn't want their voices included in the project. And I completely respect that. I also don't have many other people to go to for this part of her life. So I'll be retelling you pieces of my conversation with them instead. According to my uncle, my mom was a

happy go-lucky kid in the beginning. He remembers happy Christmas's while decorated trees covered

“in ornaments and that classic tinsel I now see in old photos and think, "Ooh, honestly,”

kind of chic. Let's bring that back." But very early on, they learned the importance of rules. There were clear guardrails and you stayed within them. And when my mom was as young as five, he noticed a shift. She sort of, as my uncle put it, fell into herself. Looking back now with what we understand today compared to the 1960s, his senses that my mom may have had depression from a very early age.

Of course, that wasn't something people talked about then. And diagnosing a young girl's mental health would have been nearly impossible. But she carried a noticeable sadness with her from childhood. This is new information to me, and it breaks my heart. But it's also not surprising. If you can't tell already, my mom's side of the family was a much smaller cast than my dad's full house. It included my uncle Mike, my grandma, and my grandpa. When it comes to her family,

I can't say I've ever known my mom's mom to be very warm, especially compared to my dad's family where physical affection and I love yous are a part of every conversation.

My uncle Mike is brilliant, accomplished, witty, and was always willing to pick up a basketball and

shoot hoops with me growing up. But with their mom, it wasn't quite as easy breezy. To give you a sense, growing up, I wasn't allowed to call her grandma. It was grandmother only. Pretty icy, huh? That instantly tells you a classic grandma type is never going to be this ladies' ammo. To be honest, I don't know if I've ever heard her say I love you. And I've never met my grandpa. He still talks to my uncle, but by the time I was born, he had chosen not to be a part

of my mom's life. I've seen one photo of him. That's it. After a brief time living in Maryland for my grandpa's job, my grandmother divorced him in the late 60s and moved back to the San

Fernando Valley where she still lives today. And this is something I've always admired about her.

She was single parenting in a big city at a time when divorce wasn't common. And being the main

went back to school, got her MBA, built a successful career in real estate, and provided for her

“family while raising two young kids. In that way, she was about us, right years ahead of her time,”

more Murphy Brown than Mary Tyler Moore. In my mom's childhood though, Saturday mornings were decidedly not for cartoons. They were for cleaning, cleaning, and more cleaning. They learned how to make their beds with hospital corners so well, even Danny Tanner would eat his heart out. It is now 0700, and it's time to attack the enemy, grease, grime, slime, sludge, and that's just Joey's room. And while my mom had some typical teenage traits, like loving teeny-bopper magazines

and boys, according to my uncle, she would spend what felt like 23 hours a day in her room. With the lights dimmed, door closed, room, a total mess. She was withdrawn, but also different in a way that didn't quite fit the family she came from. In a house built around academics and discipline, led by an uber-strict mother, my mom was a bit of an outlier. The only artsy one of the bunch, and those kind of interests didn't seem like they had a place to land.

Let alone be nurtured. Time out. You know how my dad was the music guy in my house? Well, little did he know, my mom's music taste is way more my style. So rad. And now, as I'm

“riding this, I'm like, wait, as mental illness the key to incredible music taste. Because if so,”

I've got a couple diagnoses myself. But I digress. She didn't quite follow what was popular. She had a pool towards synth toward moody misunderstood rock stars like David Bowie, and new wave sounds like she was discovering the next big thing. It's no surprise that later, as an adult, she built one of the most incredible record collections I'd ever seen. While my uncle was getting straight-as, and eventually heading to Stanford,

my mom wasn't to stand out student. It sounded like she didn't do much of anything at all. She didn't have many friends. She was painfully shy, kept to herself,

never really found her thing. So at 19, my grandmother kicked her out, and to be fair,

that wasn't an uncommon mindset for her generation, although way harsh grandma, I mean, grandmother. Back then, if you didn't quite meet your potential, especially in a world that didn't understand things like depression, you were expected to toughen up and get it together. So she went to live with her dad, tried and failed again at finding motivation to be like her academic family at a local college, even explored her artistic instincts by working as a

colorist for cartoons. But she was young, so misunderstood, and still stayed in her room more often than not, lights dimmed by herself. Eventually, her dad kicked her out too, leaving her to figure it out on her own. Whether it was the pressure, the independence, or just the necessity of surviving something in her began to shift once she was on her own. She moved out by herself, literally down the street from where I am right now,

and started working on finding her thing. After growing out of those awkward teenage years, what became one of her most notable things, maybe whether she wanted it or not, was her looks. The world tends to reward what it understands. When something clicks gets a reaction or is met with attention or validation, it can start to define you. Not because it's the truest thing about you,

but because it's the thing people respond to. For me, and I think for my mom too, that thing eventually became our appearance. It isn't all we are, of course, but it is one of

the first ways we're seen. Once that happens, it can start to crowd out everything else.

“Being smart just wasn't something that got acknowledged or reinforced. At least, that's what”

it felt like for me. Over time, it caused me to question my intelligence and to internalize that

Did my painfully shy mom actually want to be a model? Maybe? Or did she move toward it because

it was one of the first places she was met with affirmation? In my experience, big maybe.

I know I had zero desire to model when I was younger, but I did it because the only consistent validation I got from adults in my life was about my appearance. So I understand my mom choosing that path. And from my vantage point, that feeling didn't go away. Growing up with her, her looks still mattered to her a lot. It was a big part of how she saw herself and how she moved through the world for better and for worse. She told me she hated being in front of the camera,

but it loved her. She was assigned to the Wilhelmina modeling agency, both work and was finally doing something. As a kid, I marveled at her modeling photos, how effortlessly beautiful

“she looked with just a slice smile and eyes that told a million sad stories. And I think my”

grandmother was proud of this. Finally, proud of something she could point to and understand. I think that because that kind of validation is some of the only validation I've ever gotten from her to. Even after coming to one of my comedy shows, a sketch show around its second city, which she asked to see. The only quasi-component I got was about how I looked. You looked good, but geez, can you not afford full pants? She said, while I was wearing jeans with one rip

in the knee, but still. For my mom at least, things were on the up and up. After some success in modeling and my god, I still treasure looking through her portfolio to this day. She decided to leave it behind. But she was in her mid 20s, dating, had gained confidence and learning from her own

“incredibly business-minded mother, she decided to start her own business. And that's where she”

met a charming, struggling actor working for a sports announcer. Mom told me that when she met Dad, she had her very successful plant business. She was doing indoor, and then she was very successful when she met Dad, and she was supporting Dad financially. Yeah, she did up all Dad's student learn. Dad was like not. He was just doing the whole struggling actor, and Mom was like,

"I have a very successful business, and I don't know at what point that stopped, but I always found

that impressive." Yes, my sweet little brother Carson, that is impressive. My mom was running her own business in the mid 80s, thriving, financially independent, keeping literal things alive for a living, including, apparently my Dad. Which, I'm sorry, feels like a metaphor that is doing

“a lot of heavy lifting in this story. She had a natural green thumb and built this plant”

care business, caring for greenery, and massive venues like the Staples Center. My Dad's that he took one look at my mom and basically turned into a full-blown cartoon wolf. Eyes popping out of his head, heart beating out of his chest, going "Oh, who the hell who the hell you got?" According to my uncle, this era of her life was her peak. Her relationship with him was stronger than ever. Her relationship with her mom was shockingly good, and she was dating a man

that my aunt and uncle instantly adored, like immediately. Like you don't understand how strong a reaction they gave me when my Dad came up in a conversation centered around my mom.

But also, of course, they did. Everybody loved him. My Dad somehow always finds a way to be

the center of attention, even in my mom's episode. So, they got married, and it looked like a magical, intimate, beautiful day. The kind of wedding you'd see in a sitcom flashback montage, soft lighting, smiling guests, everything exactly as it should be. But when I talked to my aunt and uncle about it, I learned there was a moment that didn't quite fit the version of the story I had told myself all these years. When as an adult, I still

fondly look through their wedding album to see memories of a time when everyone was just happy. This moment, they told me about, feels like one that could quietly shift so many things to come. We kind of cut to the wedding, and I asked about grandmother walking mom down the aisle, so I guess apparently for mom's dad, that was something he found out as mom was walking down

my daughter." I thought mom and her dad's relationship was very fraught, more than what Uncle Mike

“was alluding to. I don't know what the truth is, but I thought that it, yeah, I thought they”

maybe they had a really choppy relationship, and then that's why she chose grandmother to walk down the aisle. From what I picked up from that was, at this was like peak mom and grandmother's positive relationship. I don't know what that mean, maybe means for a person's psyche, or they're just like gaining wanting somebody's approval so badly, and maybe chose grandmother, but basically after that, mom's dad like stopped talking to her completely. That was a final straw for him,

and this is another thing that just broke my heart, and mom kept reaching out, kept reaching out to her at him, and trying to be like, "I'd like to have a relationship," and he was just like, "No, I'm good." Wow. The key would respond, I guess, but it would just be like, "I don't want anything to do with you." And you know, Uncle Mike has a relationship with him still. I didn't really ask much more about that, because I'm seeming there kind of getting mad at

about this man at this stage. We've never met him, doesn't even know our names,

like whatever your issues with mom are, like you can't even try to have a relationship with us. Yeah, I don't know. They just gave me, I just, my heart broke for a lot.

“I mentioned my grandpa earlier. If I should even call him that. The truth is,”

I can't really say much about him, because I don't know him at all. No one really talks about him. And my mom had always alluded to their relationship being really complicated, but to completely cut off your daughter at the exact moment she's starting her own family, that's not just complicated. That's something else. And I can't help but wonder. What could she have possibly done to deserve that? My mom, painfully shy, deeply sensitive,

already carrying more than she showed, was left to absorb that kind of rejection right as she was building a life of her own. It feels like one of those quiet, foundational cracks. It doesn't

announce itself at the time, but shows up later in ways you can't always trace back.

And as a kid, even without knowing this part of her story yet, I think I was already picking up on something my mom and I had in common. That sense that adults don't always show up the way you expect them to. Who knew Archie Bunker and Al Bundy were more realistic character depictions than Uncle Phil and Alan Matthews' ever were. And was it a fully formed thought of mine yet, but it was there, and would only get louder over time.

At least on the surface, things with her mom were improving. And she was building her own family. One that for a while seemed like it could fill in some of those empty spaces with chaos and love. My sister remembers that first tiny house in Van Eyes so vividly. Do you guys remember the booth that we had? I was one, so you don't remember. Yeah, the kitchen was such a cute house. We had a booth with green leather, it's breakfast

and a book booth. And I just remember sitting there and mom would always be cooking, looking over

the window, and I would be singing at her, whatever I was doing. I just, I just really fond memories of mom just kind of being very like effervescent in that house. And that's the version of my mom I hold on to in these early memories. She was a ferocious reader, an incredible cook who secret ingredient in everything somehow with sour cream. And she loved the rain. Not just like, ooh, cozy weather. She loved it. Like actively chasing it, loved it.

“I remember that it was like the 1997-1998 year, Christmars of the baby, but it was Elmino year,”

where we had like the craziest rain that I'd ever seen in my young life. And from then on, when it rained like crazy, we'd mom loved the rain and we would get in the car to drive and find where it was raining the hardest. What? Yeah. She's a little storm chaser. Yeah, we would we would drive around the valley with mom, and she would just be like, we would be like, it looks darker over there and drive and find the clouds. Which is like cool butt dangerous, maybe I don't know. Our city's

not designed for a drainage, but mom just loved the rain and wanted to be in the boat. Because it's

we would drive around just finding the rain. Yeah. Time out. Have you ever thought about what

“those rare mom episodes were even about in sitcoms? I like to think this scene was pivotal in”

her special episode. Different from the usual mom goes on strike or gets sick and the house immediately falls apart. Or she has a surprise glow up aka her hair down and a dress on and everyone's like, wait, you mean mom was beautiful the whole time? Instead, she's seeking out the chaos, not expected to fix it. She's finding the beauty and genuine unexpected dark places. And for a short while, like I mentioned in my dad's episode, life felt sitcom picture perfect. Those early years,

before everything fully unraveled, feel warm when I look back on them. Safe, even.

Like a lot of things in my life, that feeling didn't last as long as it was supposed to, because around the time I turned nine, in 2002, things started to shift. My dad's drinking was getting worse and my mom had gotten into a car accident and was prescribed medication for the pain. She was already on anti-depressants and with everything happening at home, it wasn't some sudden dramatic change. It was slower than that. The kind of change you don't clock right away but feel.

She just started to disappear. And as a kid, you don't have the language for that. You just

know something is off. Around this time, my mom tried to launch another business.

Rather than using her green thumb, she pursued another venture as a stay-at-home mom that she could do in her garage. Personal training. I just remember her being off, like, dazed, like, it's all I remember. I remember her doing these workouts. And I was just like, something's wrong with mom. But I didn't know what it was. And she got a lot of packages delivered.

“And my god, you're right. I think I assumed it had to do with the workout stuff. It was not”

workouts stuff. It was drugs. And Jenny said the same thing. You could get drugs through the mail, or through the internet, and mom got a lot of packages delivered. I remember, yeah. So it was, it was just like a slow creep. You know, it wasn't like one day. She was fine in the one day. It was full blown addiction. No. It was this, like, kind of dazed, kind of off looking into outer space mom for a little while. And then just full blown, yeah, incapacitated drug addiction. I really think

that dad's big, the bigness of dad's addiction being so loud. And so violent. And scary. Like, shielded our, my memory, at least, of mom as a problematic addict at that time. Like, obviously a little like, what's going on with you? But she was the safer one at this moment. Yes. Like, you knew she wasn't all there, but she was safer. But to us, as kids, just trying to figure out which parent to turn to or hide from, it slowly became the lesser of two evils. And just like the

alcoholism and the abuse, it became our everyday. This was our normal, but somewhere deep, deep down. We also knew it wasn't everyone else's, which meant it became something else too, another secret to carry. My mom's addiction. I have like a really deep memory of wondering, like, do these other people now? Like, do these other clients of hers? Do? Are they thinking what I'm thinking? And I really hope they're not. Like, I just remember feeling, so it's such an

early age of feeling, like, subconscious. I really, yeah, yes, I really hope other people don't notice

“what I'm noticing, but how almost like foolish to be like, why wouldn't they?”

I glanced out at the doorway and she slid up to the bar. Her hair was black. Her skin was pale. Her lips were red and one was scar. She said, "I'll have a shot." And then appear in what's your son and do. You have dropped here and where to park a bar. The cold open scene we heard at the beginning of the episode is a fictionalized version of very real moments from my life, scripted by our lead producer, editor, music supervisor, and sound

Maddie Worth as my sister Casey, Garrett West Camp as my brother Carson, Casey Rose as me,

“Yoki Danoff and Max Wolfson as the repairman, and Pete Musto as her shows announcer.”

Sound design for that scene was by Earl Davis. Our associate producer is Elana Neppons,

original theme music by Kyle Murdock. Our show artwork was created by Aaron Hill.

“Our video producer is Emily Reeves, our videographer is Dalton Polivka.”

Our animator is Justin Cortese, our marketing team is Tink Media, and our executive

producers are Jeremiah Titel and also me, Holly Brown. New episodes of everybody knows but me,

“come out every Wednesday. Follow the show on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, youtube.com/everybodynozpodcast”

or wherever you get great content like ours. Do you have a story of family secrets or darkly funny drama that you want to share? We want to hear it. Email us at everybodynozpod at gmail.com and make sure you leave us a rating review or drop a comment telling us what you like about the show. Follow me at Holly Brown comedy and the show on all social media at everybody knows but me and come back next week to find out what crazy hijinks the Brown family is in for

and hear more of the stories we tell ourselves to survive. [GUNFIRE]