Me (3 page)

MY PARENTS SEPARATED when I was two years old. Needless to say I remember nothing of what was going on in my life at the time that happened, but I do know that I started spending a great deal of time with my grandparents on both my mother’s and my father’s sides. My grandparents played a key role in my life. I don’t know if it’s cultural or simply spiritual, but my relationship with them was always—and continues to be—very important to me. I will never forget what they taught me, and I will strive to pass their teaching on to my sons.

My paternal grandmother was an intelligent woman, independent and confident, a woman who was well ahead of her time. She was into metaphysics long before it became fashionable. She was also an artist; she painted and made sculptures. I remember her as always being busy, doing one of the thousands of things that interested her. She didn’t understand the concept of “staying still” and always had some kind of project going on. My great-grandmother—her mother—was a teacher, so my grandmother was practically raised in a classroom, listening to her mother’s lectures. She graduated from high school at fourteen, and even wrote two books and became a senior professor at the University of Puerto Rico. Remember, we are talking about a time when society dictated that most women could only aspire to be mothers or housewives. She was a surprising woman, so brave and such a visionary, that one day she decided to pack her bags and move to Boston to study education. In those times! But she moved to Boston and lived there until she graduated with a degree.

I recently had the opportunity to dine with Sonia Sotomayor, the first Latina judge of the United States Supreme Court, and when I told her about my grandmother’s accomplishments, she was shocked. “A Latina woman studying in Boston in the forties? Your grandmother must have been a strong woman,” she said. And I of course felt very proud, because she was right: My grandmother was definitely an incredible lady.

Although she was born in Puerto Rico, my grandmother’s family was originally from Corsica. We Corsicans are famous for being stubborn, and my grandmother was no exception: She was a very strong woman who was never afraid of anything. To me, she was always an example of what it means to be strong. For example, after fifty-some years of marriage, she realized she was no longer feeling fulfilled, so one day she got up and said to my grandfather: “You know what? I want a divorce.” In those days people got married for life, “until death do us part.” It wasn’t like today, when people get divorced for almost any reason at all. But my grandmother didn’t care what other people thought or said. For whatever reason, she wasn’t happy and she decided to do something about it. So my grandparents got divorced. After that, my grandfather would visit her every day, but the new domestic agreement remained, with her living in her own home, and him separately in his.

My grandmother passed away more than ten years ago, after having lived a long, full life, well into her old age, and if there is anything I am grateful for, it is that she lived long enough to see and be a part of my success. Once, she even got on a plane and came to see me perform on Broadway when I was doing
Les Misérables
in New York. And let me tell you, she was definitely not a fan of airplanes! She once told me that she was terribly afraid of them since the day she flew back to Puerto Rico after finishing her studies in Boston. Apparently, there was some kind of electrical storm during the flight and the plane shook intensely. From that day on, she vowed she would never get on a plane again! And so it was. She only traveled by boat, that trip to New York being the one exception.

It makes me sad to think I wasn’t able to see more of her during her last few years. I was working so much, always coming or going, always running, never having enough time to do the things that really matter. I did get to see her every now and then, in passing, but never again did I have the chance to spend days or weeks at a time with her, the way I did when I was a little boy. I remember one time I went to see her accompanied by a police escort. When I arrived at her house with the security unit, I yelled: “Grandma, I’m here to see you!”

“Oh, son!” she said. “How wonderful!”

But right away I had to clarify: “I’ve come to see you, Grandma, but I can’t stay too long. I have to go soon.” Like always, she didn’t make me feel guilty about having to leave. She simply thanked me for the visit and gave me a great big hug.

“Okay,” she said, “it was wonderful to see you. Eat, you’re too skinny.”

That was my grandmother.

Another time, when I was on a trip in Puerto Rico, I had a helicopter land in her neighborhood’s baseball field just to see her. It was the only way I could do it because I had no time. While en route from one side of the island to the other on a business matter, I suddenly told the pilot: “I have to see my grandmother. Land in that baseball field!”

And just like that, I got to spend another moment with her.

There is nothing like grandmothers. To this day her teachings continue to serve me well. Some of the sweetest memories I have of my grandmother are of the two of us sitting there, me doing my homework and her painting or working on one of her projects. I often think of her wise words and her advice and feel as though I somehow carry her inside me. It’s such a blessing to be able to feel her so close.

The only thing that does pain me when I think of her is that she never got to meet my children. There are so many things about her that I would have wanted them to know, and no matter how much I tell them about her, I feel that I will never be able to fully explain. For example, when I was younger, she would sing this beautiful lullaby to my cousins and me. I often close my eyes and try to remember it, but I become frustrated because I can’t. I can perfectly recall the tone of her voice and the expression on her face as she sang to us, but no matter how hard I try, I simply cannot remember the lyrics or the melody of that song. I just can’t. So I pray that this song will one day come back to me in a dream. I ask: “Dear God, Grandma, wherever you may be, if this is true or not, if you exist or not, if you are there or not, please remind me of that song. I want to sing it to my children.”

It has not come yet, but I have not lost hope. I know that the afterlife exists, and that she is watching me with a great big smile on her face, because she can see that her first grandson walks through life with the same determination that she possessed, being a strong and independent man, just as she raised me to be.

MY FAMILY ALWAYS supported me when I began my artistic career. They came to recognize that music was more than just a game for me. Seeing that I was so passionate about it, they encouraged me to follow it, and that alone gave me a lot of strength: The simple fact that they believed in me gave me a lot of security and nourished my self-esteem. This is why it was no surprise to them when I started doing television commercials in Puerto Rico at the age of nine.

One day, an ad ran in the newspaper saying, “Agency seeking talent for TV commercials.” My father read it and asked me, “What do you think?” I thought it was a great idea, so I answered: “Let’s do it, Papi, let’s go!” That very Saturday we went to the audition. The audition was just to see if the head of the agency would even accept me, and from that moment on, I would start going out on auditions for the actual television commercials. They stood me in front of a camera, asked what my name was, my age, and which school I attended, and honestly, I don’t remember what else. I suppose they had me act or read something . . . Maybe they gave me a small scene, the typical things they have you do at an audition. What I do remember well is that I felt very confident. I was not nervous at all. When I finished I returned home, and just days later I was called up again for my first audition.

The first commercial I did was for a soft drink. It was four days of shooting, four intense days, because they would start at six a.m. and end late in the afternoon. Unfortunately, I never got to see the commercial because it was for the U.S. Latino audience and Mexico. But what I do recall is that at the end of it all, they paid me $1,300. And that was not all; every six months I would receive another check for $900 (residuals). It was an amazing job! I was doing something I genuinely enjoyed, and on top of it all I was getting paid well—I couldn’t have imagined anything better. A whole new world had opened itself to me.

Many more commercials would soon follow: one for a toothpaste, one for a fast-food restaurant. . . . One commercial would lead to the next one, and the next one, and the next. Once I was in the game, the opportunities started cropping up, and in a year and a half I had done eleven commercials, which I know thanks to my father, who has them all written down! It was so long ago that if it were not for his meticulous record keeping, I would never be able to remember them all. I had a lot of success doing commercials, and after a while I started to become recognized in the field. Since I already had experience and I loved being in front of the cameras, the producers were always inclined to cast me, and that of course kept giving me even more confidence and experience.

Those commercials gave me my first brush with fame. When I’d walk down the street, sometimes I’d hear people say, “There’s the kid from such and such commercial!” or “Look! There’s the boy from that soft drink ad!” In those days, I got a kick out of being recognized. Since back in the day televisions had no remote controls, people had to sit through the commercials, unlike now, when we can simply switch the channel from the comfort of our sofa. This is why people started to recognize me—more and more with each commercial—and I have to admit that I liked it. Today there are moments when it is hard for me to find even a moment of peace and tranquillity to go sit in a park or play a game of pool with my friends. People recognize me, and this means I have to sacrifice certain things that for other people are normal: like eating at a restaurant, going for a walk, strolling on the beach. . . . Not because I don’t want to do them, but because in doing them I don’t find the peace and tranquillity I seek. And even so, I do them anyway, but I can never be anonymous. Anonymity is something I oftentimes miss, but the truth is that fame has brought me so many other blessings that I have no complaints; at the end of the day, it is a part of my work, and it is therefore something I enjoy. Most people are kind and friendly, and most of them respect my right to privacy. It always feels good to hear someone tell me that I mean something to them, whether it’s because one of my songs helped them find love or because they enjoyed one of my concerts. That is all very important to me because it is the reason why I do what I do: I like giving people a little bit of joy and I enjoy myself in the process.

Fame is a curious phenomenon. When you have it, there is so much you can do with it. It is not just about people recognizing you in the street or about the photographers taking pictures of you. Fame is also a tool that, if you know how to handle it well, can serve to reach millions and millions of people to convey a message, by communicating and connecting with them. That is something I try not to forget. Of course, a lot of sacrifices must be made for the sake of fame, on both a personal and a professional level, but at the end of the day, what matters is knowing how to use it for what’s truly important.

MY FATHER ONCE told me: “I curse the day you got into Menudo. That day I lost my son.”

He was absolutely right. To a certain extent, he lost his son and I lost my father.

In those days it was hard to know what was coming. We could not even begin to imagine what lay ahead. I only saw the countless opportunities, the thousands of amazing things that still awaited me, and the great path that was opening up before me. No boy—not even when he is a grown man—can discern what will happen when his life’s path is altered.

It was impossible to understand how much it was going to take for me to reach what I wanted. At that moment, all I knew was that I longed for it with all of my being—my heart and my soul. I had worked hard with great effort and determination and I knew how far I wanted to go. Being onstage was my dream and I was willing to do whatever it took to get there. In this sense, Menudo was an obsession—it was all I could think about. Between the ages of ten and twelve, I could barely sleep just thinking about how badly I wanted it.

When it finally came, it ceased to be a dream and became my everyday reality. It was a moment that would determine the course of my life.

What it gave me was magnificent—experiences and emotions that deeply marked me and made me a better person. What it cost me was my childhood. But I gained invaluable lessons through what I learned and what I lost. And just as I would never want to lose any of the beautiful memories I have from those years, I also don’t want to forget some of the troubles I endured. Difficult times gave me the ability to appreciate joyful ones, and they also helped to strengthen me as a man. It’s just like everything else in life: If it weren’t for the bad things in life, we would never be able to appreciate the good ones.

When I was young, my mother always said: “My son, in this life everything is possible. But you have to know how to do it.” She said it because she knows me well; she knew that back then I wanted everything, and in those days everything was Menudo.

I drove my father crazy to take me to the auditions. I would plead with him: “Take me! Take me! Take me!” I would beg him in every possible way imaginable, and begged so much that I don’t know how he didn’t throw me off a cliff. Until finally one day he said: “All right, let’s go.”

I was so happy.

This was 1983. Today it is hard to understand what Menudo was at that time, but the truth is it was unlike anything else out there. I would even dare to say that to this day it remains a unique episode in the history of music. Before there were any bands like New Edition, the Back-street Boys, New Kids on the Block, ’N Sync, or Boyz II Men, there was Menudo. It was the first Latin American boy band that reached international fame. The band was so successful that there was talk of “Menudomania” and “Menuditis,” and it was often compared to the Beatles and Beatlemania.