That’s how we were raised. To be funny and tease one another and laugh at ourselves. I don’t think anyone should take themselves too seriously or be too defensive. It’s quite annoying and shows insecurity. My mom taught us to laugh at ourselves and allow loved ones to show us when we are being asses, and it was very effective. We would be having a big Sunday dinner with extended family over and my mom would say, right in front of me, “Oh, guess what happened with Sara this weekend…” And the whole family would know whatever stupid thing I had done to get myself in trouble, and they would weigh in and it would become a family talk. But often it was very helpful, and it definitely made our family closer. I’m all about being open and transparent. I know families who try to hide all of their faults and keep secrets from each other, and it’s very toxic. Families should be there for each other and should know what’s going on with everyone so that they can help each other.
We love laughing at ourselves but sometimes things are the opposite of funny, here’s a story that will go down in infamy in the Evans family.
At around nine years old I’d come through physical therapy and was back performing almost every weekend. My parents thought it was time to get someone with more experience to help refine us and put more professional shows together. So they hired a manager for us. I have no idea where they found him or how. He was just an average guitar player, and I think he could sing a little, but what he didn’t have in talent, he made up for in BS. He really took over and I guess he convinced my parents that he knew better than them. None of us liked him; he was a slave driver and also kind of a pervert.
My brothers and I drove from Missouri to Nashville with him one time (just the three of us), and I was probably around ten years old, Matt thirteen, and Jay fifteen. I guess the trip was to try to get some meetings with some bigwigs in Nashville and see if anyone would be interested in signing us. Well, on the way, we stopped at a motel for the night, and he told my brothers to go to the lobby to find snacks. While they were gone, he told me to get in the bed with him and he said, “Give me a goodnight kiss,” and he pulled me to his mouth and gave me a very long and very disgusting kiss straight on my lips. I knew instinctively that this was so wrong, and luckily my brothers came back to the room right after that. I jumped up and crawled in bed with them and slept between them so I wouldn’t have to be anywhere near the pig. From that point on I never liked him, even though he was our “manager” for several years. I never wanted to be alone with him.
My sisters used to get up on stage and sing “How Much Is That Doggie in the Window” for a special moment in our shows, and he would always come up behind them and grab their bottoms. He was definitely pervy. But when you’re a kid you don’t feel like you have the power or the authority to question adults in your life. So we just went along with it. Years later I told my mom about the kiss. She was appalled and wished I had told her sooner. It’s so sad and scary to me how often this kind of stuff happens to kids and they don’t tell anyone. I know for me I felt ashamed and scared and embarrassed. Now as a mom, I would kill anyone who harmed my children, and I would hope they would tell me anything. I think that’s something parents should definitely start talking to their kids about from an early age.
Me, Lesley, Matt, Jay, and Ashley
Performing is always hard work, and we were staying out till all hours. Our typical bar gigs ran from 9:00 p.m. to 1:00 a.m. on Friday and Saturday nights. We played a first set from 9:00 to 9:45 p.m., and then we’d take a fifteen-minute break and start a new set. The night was cut into four sets like that.
One such night, we were starting our second set when I realized I needed to use the bathroom. But it was too late. It was time to start the show again.
Matt was behind me to my left, playing bass, where he still stands to this day every show. I turned and caught Matt’s eye. He gave me a questioning look like, “What’s wrong?”
I mouthed to him, “I have to pee!”
He squinted, not understanding, so I said it again. His eyes grew large.
“No!” Matt said, and his head snapped toward our manager, who was playing guitar on the other side of the stage. We both knew he would be furious if I left the stage right then, so I grabbed the microphone and started singing, trying to force myself not to think about it. But how could I last for forty-five minutes?
My heart raced. I couldn’t remember ever needing to go to the bathroom more than this moment. I didn’t think I could hold it till the break. Then I’d try getting through another song.
Finally, it was too much. I couldn’t hold it any longer. The band was playing. I kept singing, but I stopped swaying, and right there, I peed on stage!
Thank God I was wearing a skirt and boots, because no one could tell. The pee went straight into my cowboy boots. Nobody even noticed.
I turned to Matt with a horrified expression and mouthed, “I’m peeing!!!!!!!”
“What?!” He’d understood me but was understandably in shock. His eyes were wide as he looked toward my feet and then back at me, and my face surely told the story. However, with our natural talent and hours of practice, we hadn’t missed a beat.
It was the longest set of my life. Finally, we played the last song, and I hurried as fast as my sloshing boots would move to the women’s bathroom. I still couldn’t believe that I had peed on stage—and no one had noticed! I washed up until my boots and legs were dry enough to go back out.
“Hey, Sara!” It was our manager up on stage on his knees, cleaning up a large wet spot. I stopped cold, fearing that everyone, and worst of all our horrible manager, knew my awful secret.
“Watch out up here. Matt spilled an entire pitcher of water on stage. Can you believe that?”
He shook his head in disgust as Matt brought some rags he’d gotten from the bar. I realized that my brother had intentionally spilled that pitcher of water to cover it all up. And there was our manager cleaning up!
“You are such a dork!” Matt whispered under his breath when I came on stage. “Why didn’t you just go to the bathroom?”
“I couldn’t hold it, and I didn’t want to get in trouble for leaving!”
Matt just started laughing, but then it was time to start the next set.
We continued to the end, putting on a good show like we always did.
The next morning, we told our parents what happened. Everyone laughed about it, especially about the manager having to clean up my pee when he thought it was just water. Served him right. It was overall a very funny story that I’ve told a million times, but it was also kind of traumatizing. I mean, I was just a little girl, and I had no one there to help me clean myself up or take me to the bathroom, or to tell our bully of a manager to let me go to the bathroom anytime I wanted. I think that whole experience really reinforced the idea that I had to be a people pleaser at all times, and never let anyone down. That idea would have more significant ramifications further on in my career.
Chapter 4 DREAMS BROKEN, DREAMS REBORN
It was the 1960s in small-town America. If you didn’t go to college, you got married right out of high school, which was exactly what my parents and most of their friends did.
My parents grew up in New Franklin. My dad, Jack (Jackie) Ray Evans, was the third oldest of four children. He was raised by Minnie and Albert Evans (Grandma and Grandpa). Grandpa Evans was a farmer, and Grandma was a school cafeteria cook.