Read The Beat of My Own Drum Online
Authors: Sheila E.
The Beat of My Own Drum
This is how I see the world from behind my drum set.
© Rob Shanahan
The Obama family jamming with the E family, Washington, DC, 2012.
Life is good! From pain to purpose.
© Rob Shanahan
Playing with Pops at the Greek in Berkeley, California.
Happy with Carlos Santana.
The group all together. Sheila E. & Con Funk Shun, 1977. ©
Connie Guzman
© Rob Shanahan
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Contents
About Sheila E. and Wendy Holden
For Moms and Pops, who taught me everything I know and gave me the gift of music
To my sister-in-law Dr. Sarah Spinner-Escovedo: Through the belly-laughs, the tears, the reflection, and the closure, thank you for helping me to articulate my story when words sometimes failed me. Your questions gave me answers. And in your listening, I found my voice.
A special thank you to Wendy Holden for putting my words into book form. It was an honor to work with you. To Judith Curr and Sarah Durand, thank you for giving me the opportunity to share my story. You are Angels.
Rolling river God, little stones are smooth,
only once the water passes through
So I am a stone, rough and grainy still,
trying to reconcile this river’s chill
“RIVER GOD”
SHEILA E (WRITTEN BY NICHOLE NORDEMAN)
Author’s Note
This memoir is based on my recollection of events spanning more than five decades. As I reflect on the past I acknowledge the fluidity of memories, which often take on different meanings and contexts. My memory of a moment may differ greatly from others’ recollections of the same event, since we all see through different lenses. Where conversations cannot be remembered precisely I have re-created them to the best of my ability. Where people need to be protected or to avoid offense, I have altered names. Any mistakes are my own.
Prelude
An introductory piece of music
F
or a long time, and well into my adult years, I was afraid of the dark. I had to sleep with a light on, and I was drawn toward it like a moth. Some nights, I’d wait until sunrise before going to bed.
Over time, I realized that the blackness was only a reminder of a different kind of gloom—a relentless, debilitating fear that stemmed from some unspeakable memories. Within a blessed childhood, a few isolated incidents had filled me with a secret shame that might have imprisoned me forever had I allowed it to.
With the gifts of music, God, my family, and friends, I learned to readjust the skewed image I saw whenever I looked in the mirror. The girl in my own reflection found a sacred outlet for all her guilt and rage by beating on a drum—just as my father had conquered his childhood demons before me.
Now I’m grown and no longer shackled by my past. I no longer think of myself as ugly. I have rediscovered joy and trust. I am persuaded of my own innocence. The darkness doesn’t frighten me anymore. I am not a moth after all.
I am a butterfly. I am filled with color and light. I am soaring free.
1
. Crescendo
The loudest point reached in a gradually increasing sound
You came into my life
