The Beat of My Own Drum (37 page)

Every time I perform, it feels like the first time I played. It’s still that exciting, that magical; and I’m still surrounded by butterflies. There is so much music in me, and it never gets old. Before every show I can’t wait to get out there and share the gift that God has given me.

The music industry continues to change, even to transform. And, thankfully, so do I. While I have overcome significant personal hardship and accomplished many goals, I have much more work to do on myself, and many, many more professional dreams
to realize. It feels like I’m just beginning my career—again. What a blessing.

It’s hard to find adequate words to express my gratitude to the fans who have supported me through the years and made my musical journey possible. I suppose certain emotional experiences, even certain thoughts, do defy language—perhaps this is why, in many ways, for most of my life, I’ve let my music do my talking and have always been humbled by how many have listened. Even now, the sound of applause brings fresh tears of gratitude to my eyes. Each morning I wake up, I thank God for giving me another day to continue my growth and healing and to help others with theirs. I’m in awe of the privilege.

There are no limits. No boundaries. No rules. I love what I do, and there is so much music out there still to hear, to play, and to give.

My journey so far has been a transition from pain to purpose, and it’s been my family that has provided the foundation for this healing transformation. Our cohesive little group of Escovedos remains a family band—my brothers and me with Pops onstage and Moms yelling her encouragement from the audience. These days, whenever we play in the Bay Area there are always a few Escovedos and Garderes with her too. Sometimes they’re on the guest list and other times they show up unannounced, having bought tickets in advance, as a surprise. In fact, a lot of our shows feel more like family reunions than gigs: these are the same relatives who cheered when we launched into our Jackson 5 routines as kids.

The difference now is that we’re paid for it, we’re on a real stage instead of the patio, and there’s a marquee with our name on it outside. Strangers part with good money to watch us sing, play, and—yes—even dance a little. We may be in our fifties, but we’re still holding it down as we yell “Here’s our latest routine!” We played to eleven thousand people in San Francisco at the Stern
Grove Festival, where I recorded my father’s latest CD,
Pete Escovedo Live
. Pops, “the Mexican Frank Sinatra,” sang “Fly Me to the Moon” that day. And as I looked out into the crowd and then up to the sky, I thought about my journey so far and all the support I’ve had along the way. I haven’t made it to the moon yet, but I’m just getting started.

We are never more relaxed than when we’re playing Latin jazz with Pops. Those songs are in our DNA. Pops hasn’t passed the baton; he shares it with us proudly. Even if he changes the set list midshow, we’re fine. We know that music like we know each other. Being up onstage together, we don’t just feel at home; we
are
home.

And whenever my brothers and I join my father’s orchestra to perform, or when the four of us perform together as the E Family, I find my mind floating right back to those early days of singing and dancing to Motown in our various homes in Oakland. Once my brothers and I start an impromptu dance routine, Pops grins and moves aside—although sometimes he might join in on a fancy two-step.

Approaching his eighties, my father has that same wry shake of the head and shy smile of an esteemed bandleader and proud daddy. And while we might have to squint through the lights these days to see Moms, we know she’s out there somewhere, dressed to the nines, cheering and hollering alongside Zina, always the first to start a standing ovation.

There has never been a generation gap in our family when it comes to music. The next generation of Escovedos is growing up fast, and my parents are equally encouraging to their ten grandchildren and eleven great-grandchildren—always eager to promote their musicality and their unique creative self-expression. Pops now invites all of his grandkids and great-grandkids to come up onstage, even in the middle of a Latin jazz set. All are creative
and talented, whether they lean toward careers in entertainment or not.

Seeing them performing with us onstage reminds me of how my parents gave me permission from the earliest age to explore my intuitive love of music to its fullest.

And whether it’s onstage in front of thousands or in the backyard at a barbecue, the grandchildren and great-grandchildren are holding their own, teaching us the latest raps, the hottest songs, and the best new dance moves. We’re all trying to learn it faster and better. And it’s usually Moms who, without bothering to take a vote, declares (herself) the winner. Pops is still a prolific painter, and the color is back in his work big-time. The man who used to sketch on pieces of wood or old drum skins now shows his work in galleries and was recently commissioned to complete an exclusive series for a Bay Area hotel.

Moms keeps him alive with love, laughter, walking, and lots of dancing. She’s still trying to compete in any game she can, and she’ll still shoot you that Gardere face if you even think about beating her. Pops hits balls at the driving range while Moms marches around the entire golf course, making new friends and feeding birds. She’s always faithfully out in the audience when we play, singing along, tapping her feet, and sometimes working the guiro with that perfect timing. She prays on her knees each night before bed—asking God to watch over her family and to heal anyone in need. For her, not much has changed through the years. She’s got God, Pops, and her children, and for her this is heaven on earth.

Juan, Peter Michael, Zina, and I have come full circle, each of us inspired by our parents’ faith and their celebration of music, art, and life. Beneath our middle-aged facades, my brothers and I are still those same goofy kids, each fighting for the solo, each knowing which part comes where and how it should be performed. And we’re still the same joyful family who share a passion for music,
who thank our parents for encouraging our talent, and who love each other madly.

That’s why playing with my family means everything. The strength of our family empowers our music. And our music allows us to extend our love to others. Music is a divine gift.

It heals the hurt. It soothes the soul. It transforms pain to purpose.

I’m no longer trapped in the cocoon that held me captive for so many years. Thanks to God, family, friends, and the rhythms of my drums, I learned how to experience joy and trust. I am convinced again of my own innocence. I’m soaring free.

Now, when darkness overwhelms me, disquieting my mind by summoning painful memories, I don’t have to keep the light on or wait for daylight before going to sleep. I seek solace still in God, in family, in prayer, and in the rhythms of my drums, pounding out beats that emphatically convey a message to that little girl of my past. Telling her she’s beautiful after all. Encouraging her—me—to keep flying.

Tell Someone

If you have been affected by any of the stories in this book, there are places you can go to seek help, and I strongly encourage you to do so. If you are a minor who was or is currently being abused, find an adult you can trust. This might be a family member, a teacher, a counselor, or even your family physician.

You might prefer to speak to a person in a position of authority whom you have a sense of respect for—like a police officer or a teacher, or even a school crossing guard. Whoever it is, please confide in this person. I know it’s scary to do this, and your abuser may have threatened to hurt you or your loved ones if you do tell, but don’t stand for it! They are only trying to protect themselves.

The
best
thing you can ever do is to expose them as soon as it happens. It is important that you know that what happened to you is not your fault and you don’t have to live with it anymore.

I also encourage adults who have suffered some kind of abuse in their recent or distant past—whether emotional, verbal, sexual, or physical—to begin seeking help. Start talking about it. As you reveal your secret, you can begin to free yourself from all of those painful feelings that stem from the abuse.

I used to think that by not talking, the feelings would go away.
But it turns out that the opposite is true. In my experience, when you keep abuse a secret, you are still in bed with the abuser, your actions are still being controlled, and, consequently, you’re protecting that person and denying yourself the healing you most definitely deserve.

God bless.

Acknowledgments

Thank you first and foremost to my Heavenly Father, my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I thank you for my life, my breath, and for waking me up this morning. Thank you for your sacrifice and for the countless blessings you’ve bestowed upon me. I am your eternal servant, and I know that with you, all things are possible. Thank you for family, for music, and for shining your light when the darkness overcame me. When the pain was too much to bear, and I wasn’t yet ready to find the words, you gave me the language of music. And I thank Lynn and Pastor Bam for leading me to you when I needed you most. God has blessed me with such an extraordinary journey so far, and I’m thankful in advance for all of the blessings, lessons, unexpected twists and turns, and each and every precious breath to come.

Thank you to my family: Moms and Pops, my wings; my brother Juan, my hero and my heart; my brother Peter Michael, an inspiring man of God who makes me so very proud; and my beloved sister, Zina—it’s an honor to watch you soar. Thank you to all my family—my sisters-in-law Patrice, Angie, and Sarah; my aunts and uncles whose support paved the way; my nephews, nieces, cousins, and my godchildren. All of you are God’s greatest gifts in my life.

To those relatives and friends who’ve passed—I miss you dearly and feel you watching over me. I carry you in my heart.

To my dear friends Lynn, Ms. Portia, Carol, Connie, Sandra B, Twinkie, Anna Maria, Ia, Kat, Rhonda, and Courtney, thank you for your unconditional love and for always having my back. To Ruth Arzate, for introducing me to Judith Curr, EVP of Simon & Schuster. What a blessing.

The E team, Gilbert Davison, Anita First and Joel Gotler, for your legal expertise. Now let’s make the movie!

To my fans, who are dear to my heart: It’s challenging to find the right words to express my gratitude for your support through the years. I guess some emotions do defy language—maybe this is why, in many ways, for most of my life, I’ve let my music do my talking. As I reflect on this book—what once felt like an almost impossible endeavor—I’m humbled that it has made its way into your hands (or if someone’s reading this to you, or you’re hearing an audio version—my preferred medium, of course!, into your listening). I hope that in my story you find something for yourself—validation, inspiration, acceptance, and hope. From the very bottom of my heart, I thank you for letting me share my story.

To my
Elevate Hope, 510 Oakland
&
Elevate Oakland
Kids: Thank you for bringing meaning to my life and allowing me to live my life’s purpose. Thank you for your trust, your creativity, and your unstoppable spirit. Keep realizing your dreams and pursuing your passion for life.

And to anyone who’s been through it, or is still in it, keep your light shining. Know that you can heal, you can come out of the darkness, and that you can take your greatest pain and transform it into your most divine purpose.

To Oakland, California, and the Bay Area: I’m grateful that your landscape was my canvas. Your sidewalks, garages, front rooms, and backyards were my first stage. Thank you for your people,
your unique rhythms and melodies, and your incomparable soul—the backdrop of my life.

If I could go back to my five-year-old self, I would tell her:

You are loved beyond words, you are safe again and pure. It was not your fault and you did not deserve it. You will learn to trust again.
You are not bad, you are good. You are light. You are God’s child and He loves you and so do I. It’s okay to cry; this is part of our healing. Know that the physical pain will soon be gone and the emotional pain we have experienced will heal in time. Just wait and see how our spiritual walk will bring us to our purpose. One day, we will tell our story and in our telling, somebody else will be inspired to tell theirs. Your light won’t be dimmed for long. In time, the true light will shine.