One day a few years ago, I stopped by my folks' house to say hi and my Mom told me with tears in her eyes that my Dad had prostate cancer. I didn't believe this could happen because he was so diligent with checking his PSA numbers--to the point he drove his doctors crazy. But in fact it was aggressive. Shit. I felt everything sink inside me because my Dad was my rock, my unwavering supporter. He was the person I could always depend on through thick and thin, through the arguments (and there were many) and the celebrations. He was consistently there for me like none other. But calmingly he said, "This is not a death sentence. We'll do whatever it takes and we'll get through this."
My Dad's name is Solomon Matthew Carrington, III--a powerful, biblical name befitting a powerful, loving and musical man. With a robust name like that, there is no wonder that he is strong, uncompromising, unafraid, forceful, and efficiently able to withstand or overcome adverse conditions. His name has deep meaning and a positive legacy behind it. I watched my Dad get through his health crisis, just as I've watched him get through other adversities in life, with pride and dignity, and with a certain sense of "coolness" and style. I've always admired him and he's always made me feel that there was nothing I couldn't accomplish. So when I chose to play drums, without any other female role models, not once did he flinch, nor did I doubt that I could succeed at this profession. He was always right there, by my side.
"My father once told me that no one would ever love me as much as him--and I believe him. "
On a winter night in February 1965 my grandfather, Solomon Matthew Carrington Jr., stepped off the stage after playing drums with Gene Ammons, walked to the table where my parents were sitting and passed away--just like that. I was born six months later with "the drums" in my blood and I've always felt the spirit of my grandfather with me. My Dad often nostalgically set up his Dad's drum set, playing them for me or anyone else who would listen. I watched this until one day at seven years old I asked to play them too. He was shocked and elated that I could immediately keep a beat. This helped him to be less disappointed that I was not born the male son that he always wanted. Nonetheless, he took me under his wing, became my teacher and I became his buddy--going to the jazz clubs with him weekly, playing at jam sessions and eventually doing "gigs" together. Even as a pre- adolescent little girl, I realized this was the life. He pushed through doors that should never have been opened, which helped me see that I could not only dream, but could realize dreams that some would consider unrealistic. Thanks to him, I was fearless and did not know any better and have pretty much stayed that way. I recognize that my successes are not just for me, but also for my father and my grandfather because I am the beneficiary of their labor and the inheritor of their talents.
Often he drove five women to these clubs, as there were five women living in the house with him--his mother, his wife, his sister, his aunt and his daughter--a lot of estrogen, daily. Most men would have wanted to be out hanging with their "boys." But my Dad's sacrifices and consistent dedication to furthering my success as a young jazz prodigy was evident. Many people would not have gone so many extra miles. Experiencing this has helped me to be a better mother to a ten year old boy that has to deal with having a Mommy that goes "on the road" as often as I do. And because I had such a great example, I clearly understand why difficult sacrifices are needed in parenting.
My Dad remains one of the funniest guys I know. All of my friends want to call or visit him so they can "get their laugh on." He has "seen it all" and "done it all," and is able to most colorfully convey his stories with a little exaggeration of course. Being from the north, he often brags about his experience in college "down south" in the 1950s. He insists there was a little all Black town in Georgia that was called Thatsyourass, Georgia because when the train passed through this town it would not fully stop and if you wanted to get off there it would only slow down allowing you to jump off onto bags of hay. And if you missed the hay, well....That's Your Ass! He's one of those people that has a nickname for everyone. One friend that has a mole on his nose, Dad affectionately calls "Nipple Nose" and he called me Baby Pee for years, because I had to run in the house after school every day to go to the bathroom. He promised to have a child's pee pot at the front door. And before that he called me Duckie, short for Duck Farmer.
But one of the biggest testaments to my Dad is that many of my girlfriends and musical colleagues, some of whom did not have fathers, look to my Dad as their surrogate father. They stay in touch with him, call him frequently for advice, or just to see how he is doing. He's made the time and has had the patience to share his wisdom and compassion with many others. This also makes me very proud of him.
Being an only child, my parents have been the most consistent force in my life and it's hard not to look at my own mortality as they get older. I don't want that feeling again, when I found out he had prostate cancer. But rather than look to the future, I choose to be in the present and cherish my time with them, honoring them in any way that I can. So today in celebration of Father's Day, I want to thank my Dad for all that he has done to make my life what it is. Thus far, we have had a beautiful, imperfect journey together, with more to come. Once he told me that no one would ever love me as much as him--and I believe him.
Happy Father's Day to all Dads that have put their children first.
Terri Lyne Carrington is a three-time GRAMMY Award-winning recording artist, producer and educator.