All My Life (28 page)
When I did Annie Get Your Gun, the director used to say to me that I was a perfectionist and that I needed to let that go. She was so right. I should let it go. I was somehow able to let it all go in Annie Get Your Gun and I had the time of my life. However, when I did Dancing with the Stars, try as I might, I somehow wasn’t able to give up those high expectations for myself. In a way, that proved to be very valuable to me. And at the same time it was extremely humbling. Oh my goodness, was it humbling. It was the first time I had taken something on where I didn’t do well and it happened in front of millions of people—live! I advanced to a respectable level, but I would watch Warren Sapp dance so well with a great big smile on his face—which is how I usually dance, but not here. I was really challenged by the discipline and I couldn’t find the freedom and the joy within that discipline.
Tony and I were voted off the show in week seven after eight individual dances and a couple of additional group dances that were new to the format that season. I felt very bad, but truth be told, it was time for me to go. I felt relieved because I knew my heart and it wanted and needed to be someplace else—back in New York with Liza and her baby.
When I called Liza that night to tell her we were eliminated, she said, “I know, Mom, and I’m glad. And I think you should know, I didn’t vote for you these last two weeks.” We both laughed.
“I understand, honey. I want to come home,” I said. And I did. Still, looking back, I’d do it all over again.
A few weeks later, my dear friend and Liza’s godmother, Patty; Liza’s mother-in-law, Valerie; and I hosted a postbirth baby shower for Liza. Shortly after we encountered the deer on the dune, I decided to write down the details of that experience so I could keep the particulars fresh in my mind. I wanted to share this very special story with Brendan about the day he was born. The story just poured out of me and onto paper during my long plane ride home. I asked a friend in the art department at ABC to help me compile a bound book that would tell the story along with a few pictures from that day that I had gathered from family and friends. I presented the book to Liza at her baby shower. She said she couldn’t believe what I had put together and it made me so happy to see how thrilled she was to have that keepsake. I was so glad to somehow find the right words about how unforgettable that day was and how it will remain in my heart forever.
Under dramatic circumstances of a different kind, Liza’s first son, Royce, was born in 2006 on my birthday, December 23. While he was the best gift I could ever imagine receiving, I was in Las Vegas at the time enjoying another unexpected gift.
Since I never really had birthday parties growing up, Helmut planned a surprise destination birthday party for me in Vegas with twenty of our closest friends. Liza was originally due in late December. Just before we left, Liza’s doctor told her that she might have the baby a week earlier, maybe as early as December 22. Helmut questioned whether he should keep the plans to surprise me, but Liza insisted that he follow through with the trip.
“Don’t tell Mom about my new possible due date,” she said to Helmut. “You know she’ll never go if you do.” And she was right. So when Helmut and I flew to Las Vegas, not only was I in the dark about the wonderful surprise that waited for me there, I was completely unaware that my daughter might go into labor.
Helmut planned a perfect evening, taking our friends and me to see Tom Jones. Tom was fantastic, and even sang “Happy Birthday” to me during his show. The next morning, I called Liza to check in. This was a very normal thing for me to do. When we are traveling, I always let my children know we’ve arrived safely and call them to make sure they’re well. That’s when Liza told me she had known about Helmut’s surprise birthday party plan all along.
“Mom, there’s something I need to tell you. I’ve just gone into labor.” This was the morning of December 22.
Unbeknownst to me, Helmut had chartered a private plane that was kept on standby just in case Liza did, in fact, go into labor. We continued to check in with her every couple of hours to see if there was any progress. We spent the rest of the day enjoying the company of our friends. By chance, a few of us stopped into a store and spotted a beautiful bracelet that had amethysts (Liza’s birthstone) and turquoise (her baby’s birthstone) all around it. I turned to my friends and said, “This is a sign. I have to get this for Liza. I want to bring this to her when we go to the hospital.”
By the end of the day, the baby had not yet arrived. After dinner, we went to the casino with our friends, and by eleven forty-five, everyone was taking bets on whether the baby would come on the twenty-second or if would it be on my actual birthday, the twenty-third. One of our best friends, Frank, was looking up to the heavens and saying, “I don’t want Liza to be in pain longer than she needs to be, but could she please wait fifteen more minutes so the baby can be born on her mother’s birthday?” Of course, we just wanted her to be safe and for the baby to be healthy. By two o’clock in the morning, there was still no baby, and we all went to bed.
I woke up like a shot the next morning. It was exactly six a.m. in Las Vegas and in Los Angeles, where Liza was living. I still hadn’t heard from her and her husband. I woke Helmut up and told him we needed to reach Alex right away. I didn’t want to be one of those annoying mother-in-laws, but I felt certain that Liza had had the baby. When we phoned, Alex’s voice mail picked up. I left a message asking him to call with an update whenever he had a moment. Twenty minutes later, our phone rang.
“How’s Liza?” I asked before he could get a word in.
“Royce was born at six o’clock this morning.”
Liza had been in labor for twenty-two hours, the exact amount of time I was in labor with her. When I spoke to my daughter, she sounded so peaceful and calm. I could feel the baby in her arms. I couldn’t wait to get back to L.A. to be with my baby and her firstborn son—our first grandchild. Helmut and I showered, got dressed, and were on the plane within an hour of hearing the blessed news. When we got to the hospital, she looked like a radiant and beautiful new mom. She was more gorgeous than ever.
As a mother, I always made it my first priority to protect my children’s privacy. I chose to have a public career. They didn’t ask to be born to me. I wanted to let them grow up and choose their own paths. They were never accessories or props to bolster my image or career. My children, and now my grandchildren, are the center of my world.
But what would Liza’s babies—my grandbabies—call me? When I was cast as Erica Kane, I thought I had been given the role of a lifetime—that is, until I discovered the greatest role of my life, becoming a mom. I didn’t think there was anything in this world that could possibly top the love and warmth I have in my heart for my children until I discovered the joy and pleasure in taking on the best role ever—Grammie.
I read an article by Jamie Gregory in Town & Country magazine entitled “Do I Have to Be Called Grandma?” Jamie quotes different people from all walks of life about their experience of becoming a grandmother. Somehow that “label” calls up images of being old and gray and sitting in rocking chairs. As I’ve told you, I’ve never liked labels. As I look around, the grandmothers I see and know look nothing like that. Many are beautiful and vital young grandmothers like Jamie Gregory. The reality of having these children in my life is spectacular—it’s the label that took a little getting used to. Besides, in our family, my mom has always been known as “Grandma” and my grandmother was called “Nana.” Those names belonged to them, so I had to decide what I would be called.
There was a lot of discussion around the dinner table about it. All I wanted was for the children to feel warm and happy when they spoke my name. We went through a litany of possibilities, including Lulu, Mimi, Grandy—an adorable name my daughter came up with—and so on. We knew too many dogs names Lulu, so that was out. Liza didn’t get Mimi, so that was out. Grandy was great, but not quite right. Somehow, I thought it implied grandness at arm’s length. No thank you. That isn’t how I wanted those children to think of me. And then I remembered my cousins often called my nana “Gram.” Occasionally, Andreas refers to my mother as Gram, too. Whenever she heard that name, she would light up. That made me smile, too. I thought there was a nice ring to it, so I thought “Grammie” was a great name. It would be easy for them to say and something about the word just feels right to me.
I see those two little boys and I thank God for them in my life. I love when our family gets together for casual dinners. I look around the table, whether it’s a Sunday pizza party or barbecue at the beach, and I soak in the sound of all of us gathered together, laughing and celebrating life. It’s those moments in life that are such an important part of giving children a sense of who they are, who they will become, and a great sense of well-being. And that makes me so deeply happy.
And, as I write this book, my daughter, Liza, is about to have a baby girl. We are over the moon with happiness. Liza and I are looking forward to experiencing moments with her daughter that we shared together when she was a little girl—going to see the Nutcracker at Lincoln Center, tea time at the St. Regis Hotel, ice cream sundaes and frozen hot chocolate at Serendipity, her first shopping and lunch excursion at Bergdorf’s, and her first tutu. Can you tell we’re excited?
Africa
In 2009, Helmut and I were asked to participate in a life-altering journey to Africa with Feed The Children, a nonprofit relief organization that cares for more than one hundred thousand children in Kenya’s slums every day. Feed The Children delivers food, clothing, medicine, and other basics we so often take for granted to needy families in Nairobi and elsewhere in this African country. We were asked to go on this trip as part of a special television documentary produced by David McKenzie, a well-known producer of the Daytime Emmys among many other notable projects. David is a spectacular producer and a very warmhearted and caring human being. He was there to provide an up-close and personal look at Kenya and its wonderful people and the challenges they face every day. The special would also feature the extraordinary compassion of those who are saving abandoned babies from certain death, hunger, AIDS, and missing or dead parents. Several of daytime television’s biggest names, including Montel Williams, Anthony Geary, and Kelly Monaco traveled with us, too, along with Christopher and Kyle Massey, Erik Estrada, and Devon Werkheiser. Our intent was to help raise awareness of the desperate situation faced by Africa’s poor and of this very worthy organization’s efforts.
We ventured out into some of the world’s most impoverished cities to meet one-on-one with the people who live there. We spent time with the founders of Feed The Children, Larry and Frances Jones and their daughter Lari-Sue. Jones shared his philosophy with us: no matter what color or religion, a hungry child needs to be fed. In fact, his organization feeds eight hundred thousand meals every day to children in 112 countries around the world. He told us that he and Frances started the organization after seeing a story on the poverty in Africa and learning that the children there were not receiving the food donations they were supposed to be getting from other groups. Larry gathered his own resources and built a program that ensured the food he received in donations would be sent to the communities and families who so desperately needed it. I couldn’t help but wonder how in this day and age there are still so many people starving in the world. I felt sad and angry about their circumstances, especially as the week went on, but I also felt relief that there were caring people like Larry and his family doing so much good to correct the situation.
One of the most moving experiences I had while we were there was visiting the various orphanages and schools that Feed The Children maintains all over the country. The primary goal of these homes is to reunite orphaned children with their families. Sadly, there is an AIDS epidemic in Africa, which impacts so many families that this goal is not always possible. Many children have lost one or both of their parents. Some have no other relatives who can afford to care for them. Oftentimes, it is the husband who contracts AIDS and infects his wife. In the worst of these cases, the husband’s family disowns the wife. She can also be ostracized for her condition by the larger community, making it difficult for her to find work to support her children. There are even instances when the family takes all of her belongings and pushes her out into the streets. The heartbreak of the AIDS epidemic runs very deep.
David knew Africa very well, as did Lari-Sue, who has been traveling there since she was a little girl. Our first stop was Nairobi, where I met a little boy named Bernard whose mother agreed to let us take him to the local orphanage run by Larry and Frances for some much-needed medical attention. As heartbreaking as the decision to let him leave home must have been for her, I am certain she did it because she knew that this was his only chance for survival. You see, Bernard was two years old but could barely sit up. He was so malnourished that he couldn’t even walk. My mind could barely comprehend the unimaginable suffering this innocent child had endured. I believe his mother’s decision was the most selfless act a mother could take, as she knew the orphanage would feed her son, give him proper medical attention, bathe and clothe him—all things she could not do on her own. I felt for them both.
When we got Bernard to the orphanage, I was told that many of the children we were meeting would likely spend their whole childhood there because they were either discarded or they needed to remain there for their own good. After hearing that, I was curious to know if Bernard’s mother would be allowed to visit her son. I simply couldn’t imagine a mother giving up her child under those circumstances and not being able to see him whenever she wanted to. I was so happy to hear that not only could she visit with him, she was actually encouraged to do so. Feed The Children provides transportation for parents to get to and from the location. I hold great hope that after Bernard is treated and on the road to recovery, he and his mother will be reunited.
I played with all of the babies in the nursery for hours, holding, hugging, and kissing as many as I could wrap my arms around. It was so hard to leave them that we all actually broke down when it was time to go. Every motherly instinct I had made it near impossible for me to leave those babies behind. It was the most difficult thing I’d experienced in a very long time and something I will never forget.
While we toured the orphanage that day, I met a wonderful Italian woman in her eighties who periodically came there because she loved these children very much. I was told that she was a countess. Although she was obviously very wealthy and I was certain she had made substantial financial donations, she came specifically to cook homemade meals for these kids. She made spaghetti and tomato sauce from scratch and fed hundreds of hungry children and the staff members, too. The countess was terrifically inspiring. Seeing what she was doing made me realize just how much of a difference even one person can make in these children’s lives.
After rescuing Bernard and spending some time with the other children at the orphanage, it was time to say our good-byes and move on to the slums and villages in the surrounding areas. The slums we saw were unlike anything I had ever seen or experienced. They weren’t slums in the way we Americans often think of them. They were far worse. Families live in shantytowns composed of mud huts with thatched roofs or shacks with tin roofs. Many had no doors. In some cases, there was only a piece of fabric strung up where a door would have been. The people who live in these structures are the fortunate ones because they at least have a place to call home. There is no running water, no plumbing, and no electricity. Residents have to collect rainwater so they have “fresh” water for bathing and drinking. I was both shocked and devastated to see the children in these slums walking through the streets barefoot while sewage water ran on both sides of the road, leaving them even more prone to diseases from parasites absorbed through their feet. God only knows what is in the water that runs through the debris-and waste-filled streams, but it certainly isn’t safe.
Education is not mandatory in the region. But the lucky children who get to attend school are taught to respect their teachers from a very early age. I learned that it only takes thirty-three dollars a year to send one child to school there. That money covers their education, uniform, supplies, a hot meal, and a pair of shoes. The schools are full of children from ages three to twelve. The schoolrooms aren’t fancy. In fact, the ones we saw all had dirt floors. The teachers are assigned one age group that they teach every subject to. Some of the children share a single pair of shoes with their brothers and sisters. At lunchtime, there was no pushing or shoving. The children stood in line in a very orderly fashion and patiently waited for their meal, which was primarily a bowl of beans and corn. For some, this was the only meal they would eat all day.
When we arrived at the school, the children ran to greet us with a song. They were so full of energy. It warmed my heart to listen to their voices. Even though they have virtually nothing, they sang with complete joy. Despite the things they lack, you can see how bright their eyes are. Their smiles are big and full. Their hope is far from gone. I can’t help but wonder where such resilience comes from.
When we visited the first school, I brought the children four brightly colored rubber balls, the size of soccer balls, to play with during recess. It was an easy gesture that was received with so much appreciation that the children lifted me up on their shoulders and carried me around like I was Pelé after a winning game. Earlier I had been asked to talk to the eleven-year-old children. Middle-school children in our country are often challenging to talk to, so I worried about whether these children would embrace my presence and open up to me or if they’d be shy. I wasn’t sure what I would discover, but I was absolutely willing to find out. I asked the children if they thought about what they wanted to be when they grew up.
“I want to be a pilot,” said a young fresh-faced girl.
“I want to be a doctor,” another said.
The children were delightful and so full of hopes and dreams. There wasn’t the attitude some kids their age tend to have elsewhere in the world. I asked if any of them liked to sing, dance, and perform because that’s what I liked to do a whole lot more than math or science! They laughed at my attempt at humor and then asked me to teach them an American song. Someone suggested I teach them “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” I sang a few bars and they learned it right away. Singing with those children was an unforgettable experience.
A friend of mine who had been to Africa several times suggested that I bring lollipops to give to the children we would meet along the way. It was something so simple yet so meaningful. I came across a beautiful little girl standing in a doorway, wearing the prettiest little cotton dress. Her mother must have found a way to press it because it didn’t have a single wrinkle. When I handed her the lollipop, I could tell by the curious look in her eyes that she’d never seen one before. She didn’t even know that she should remove the paper covering. So I unwrapped the lollipop and showed her how to eat it. It didn’t take long for this precious child to understand that lollipops are yummy. As she stood in front of me eating her treat, her brother came over to see what we were doing. And then another little child showed up. Before I knew it, there were several more kids who circled around us, each wanting a lollipop of their own. Believe me, I was only too happy to grant them that simple wish.
Seeing the joy in these children’s faces was one of the most fulfilling moments of my life. The producers of All My Children had written a trip to Africa into the script in the hope that while I was there I could shoot a scene for the show. Erica was supposed to speak directly into the camera. I was positioned near a trough, with streams of water running by me. I was standing on the dirt next to the water when I noticed a little boy walking by. He stopped to watch what we were doing. I motioned with my hand for him to come over to where I was standing. He came a little closer but still kept a good distance away. I could see that he was intrigued by the camera and wanted to be included, so I motioned for him to come even closer until he was finally standing right next to me. I started to do the scene with him in the shot. All of a sudden there were a few other children standing off to the side and across the stream. They also kept their distance until I motioned for them to come over, too. The kids leaped over the stream, and before I knew it, there were thirty children in the scene. The producer and I decided this was a much better and more interesting shot than Erica speaking one-on-one to the camera.
When I look back on this experience, the overwhelming thing that has stuck with me is the openness and warmth of the children I met while touring Africa. They’re not bitter about their circumstances because they don’t know any other way of life. Their eyes aren’t dead, the way that one might expect those of the poor and hungry to be; they’re full of love, life, and light. They are bright and smiling all of the time. I keep a framed photo of Bernard in my dressing room so I can be reminded of him each day when I go to work. His smiling face brings a smile to mine. I look forward to a time when our eyes will someday meet again.
