Me (5 page)

I truly began to understand how many children live in other parts of the world. It was not easy, and may have been a heavy hit of reality, but I loved the experience. It was very special because I was the youngest of the group—at that time I was twelve—and the boy ahead of me was fourteen. There is a big difference between twelve and fourteen, and almost all the kids they invited were my age or even younger, so I was quickly establishing a special connection with them. They had such a different sense of wisdom than my own, and I can say I learned so much from them.

I didn’t feel bad about having so many more material possessions in comparison to the little they had. I felt good because of what I was able to share with them! But I also started to realize that although I had many things they didn’t have, they possessed so many other things that I was missing—for example, freedom. Everything is relative in this life, and what is normal for you may be a treasure for someone else. Although they were lacking possessions, they had the freedom to go wherever they wanted whenever they chose. And even though I loved the stage, and the fans’ endless admiration, the life I led was very strict. For us, a typical day began with school lessons at eight in the morning, and then we’d autograph records before lunch. In the afternoons we would have photo shoots, rehearsals, and media interviews. These children, on the other hand, did whatever they wanted, as life on the streets gave them absolute freedom. Granted, that liberty comes with a great deal of hardship, but back then I couldn’t help but notice how I had to ask for permission to go around the corner, and they could do whatever they wanted without checking with anybody. We were being watched at every moment and there was a series of rules we had to follow for security. So even though I had such a wonderful life, unique and joyful, I undoubtedly also found great beauty in their absolute freedom.

I don’t know if I realized then the impact these experiences were going to have on my life in the long run. I don’t think that at that moment I thought, “This experience is going to affect my life forever.” I believe it wasn’t until years later that I realized how deeply the time spent with those kids affected me, as these experiences planted the seed for the philanthropic work I began to do later and continue to do to this very day.

THE YEARS I spent with Menudo were a time of many changes and many lessons learned. First, because Menudo
was
my adolescence, a very important phase in the evolution of any child. But it was also important because of the sense of discipline it instilled in me and the professional growth I experienced. What I learned there undoubtedly created the foundation for everything that came afterward. I never would have arrived at where I am today had it not been for everything I saw and learned with Menudo.

Now, as I write these pages, I see that I had a very intense and unusual adolescence, but I can guarantee that back then everything seemed to flow quite naturally. In the midst of this chaos, I never ceased to be a young boy with needs, curiosities, fears, and the questioning that is normal for any boy that age. Somehow or other I had to become a man under the hot lights of the stage, far away from my parents, and in the gaze of thousands and thousands of people. We were boys of only fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen years, and we had about 250,000 girls throwing themselves at us. Was I ready to fill this role? Although back then I would have said yes, I later found out that I was far from being ready.

When I got to Menudo, I didn’t know anything about sex, which to a certain extent was perfectly normal, given that I was just twelve years old. But more than anything, in my house sex was never something we would discuss. Incredible, isn’t it? Today I find it very funny. My father is a very handsome man—a man who has lived and had his fair share of romances and today has a beautiful woman by his side. I am sure he could have taught me a thing or two about sex. But with all of that—be it because of modesty or shyness—in my house that was not a subject that was ever touched on.

He probably thought I was too young back then to have this information, which I understand, but the truth is that sexuality was a subject that was already coming at me from all angles, be it from television, conversations with friends at school, or older cousins and siblings. Today, children are that much more exposed to this type of content than the generations of the past. With the Internet, just the tap of a key can bring you into a world you had never imagined. That’s why it’s important to know that when your son comes to you with a question like the one I came to my father with back then, it is almost guaranteed that he already knows the answer: What he wants to see is how
you
are going to answer it. The child is testing the waters to see how cool you are. This is why I think it is crucial to speak to your children openly, so it is you who gives them the information they seek and not some total stranger.

In my family, communication has always been very open. I have always had great communication with my mother, and nowadays my communication with my dad is exemplary. But sex was just not something we could talk about back then. My father is an incredible human being. He is a professional psychologist and he has a very particular way of looking at the world, very open. Everyone loves him. For many years he worked with institutionalized people in Puerto Rico, and God knows what kinds of stories he must have heard. But I am convinced that it is because of these experiences and because of his special soul that he is so kind to the people around him. He has always been a person who has dedicated himself to his family, and my relationship with him today is a testament to all that he gave me and continues to give me. I am thirty-eight years old; my father is sixty-one; and even though we were not together for a large part of my adolescence, we have made up for lost time and today we are very close.

Anyway, even though I was a big star back then because of Menudo, I was a late bloomer. Many of my friends had already played the role of heartbreakers and had even been with girls. All of them, actually, except for me. In other words, of all my friends I was the only virgin, and I received constant pressure from them. They would ask me over and over again: “When is it going to happen? When are you going to be ready?” Until the day finally arrived when I had sex with a girl. She was nice, but my decision had a lot more to do with the pressure I felt from my friends, as well as simply the pressure in our society that says a man is never supposed to say no if he is given the opportunity to have sex—even more so since I was a part of Menudo, and there was an unspoken understanding that the most successful of us was the one who got the most girls. I knew I had to fulfill this duty, but I felt uncomfortable and could not enjoy this moment that according to my expectations was meant to be more romantic, with perhaps a bit more fireworks.

She was a pretty girl and I liked her, but the truth is that there was no sense of closeness or intimacy between us, and that’s why I don’t think it was such a special experience. I remember I was left with a “That’s it?” kind of a feeling, and thought, “This is what everyone was talking about? Ugh, this is awful!” Obviously, it wasn’t the girl’s fault; it had to do with the circumstances at hand. I found the whole scenario uncomfortable and even a bit funny. I am sure there are many more people, be they gay or straight, who can identify with their first time not being so special . . . and how could it be, when we have no idea what we are doing? It goes without saying that later on I encountered women with whom I felt things and had an amazing connection, and when I discovered the intense sensation that can be shared by a man and woman during sex, I was able to be with more women and take pleasure in their company.

MENUDO, IN THE meantime, continued to release albums and go on tour. Even though superficially the group and I seemed to be doing well, on the inside both of us had problems. By 1987, the group’s album sales were starting to fall and we had to switch record labels. Eventually, these problems made us have to change our image completely. Our costumes and hairstyles became more “rock” and our music changed as well: We left pop music behind to dedicate ourselves to a harder genre. We released the album
Somos los Hijos del Rock
in Spanish, and for the fans in the Philippines we did a version entitled
In Action
, which had songs in English and Tagalog. Shortly after, we released an album in English called
Sons of Rock
, which resulted in another hit, called “You Got Potential.” The success led us on a forty-city tour throughout the United States. It was a very exciting phase because we were able to reinvent ourselves to reach our fans through a different kind of music.

What did not change during those years was our way of working. Of the many things I learned in Menudo, the discipline is what has had the greatest impact on my career and character. We never said no. It did not matter what they asked of us; the response was always positive. We would say, “Yes, let’s do it!” and we would take off to wherever for whatever—a promotional appearance, a radio station interview, signing autographs for fans at a record store, rehearsing—we would always jump at the opportunity. Many times we would do all these things on the same day. We would start at dawn on a radio station; we would run to photo shoots with the press, from there to the record store, and later to a hospital for a charitable appearance, and then to the rehearsal and sound check for that night’s show. It was exhausting. Many times we would work for fourteen hours, five or six days straight, and on the seventh day we would get on a plane or bus to head to another city.

I worked so intensely when I was in Menudo that by the last year I was already fed up with being in the band. I still loved the performances, the music, and being onstage; but to be completely honest, I was simply exhausted. I just couldn’t take it anymore. The band manager asked me to stay for one more year because some of the other boys were leaving the group at the time, and even though it was something I really didn’t feel like doing, I said yes. My original contract with the band was for three years, but I had already spent four years with them. That last year made it five years total.

The truth is, I only stayed because I had a lot of respect and love for both the band and the crew. Obviously, after spending years on the road together, we had become a family. Besides the professional relationship we developed, we also had a lot of care for one another, and I did not want to leave them hanging at a moment when they needed me. So I stayed for one more year, but on my own terms, which I insisted on, and which they were willing to accept. When I began with Menudo, there were only two of us in the group who spoke English. So the other boy and I were the ones called on every time we had to do an interview in English, and in the meantime the other boys were allowed to stay in the hotel room, relaxing and watching TV. That didn’t seem fair to me. I wanted to rest and watch television, too! So for my last year with Menudo, I asked the manager to assign that job to someone else. Basically, all I wanted to do were the shows. Fortunately, they accepted my conditions and that’s how we did it.

It was not arrogance on my part, nor did I want to be difficult. I just really wanted to leave the group. Aside from being tired of the grind, while the rest of the guys gave themselves the good life with sports cars, motorcycles, and everything else, I was receiving a salary of just $400 a month. The reason is that when I joined the group, my parents and their lawyers decided, in order to prevent any misunderstandings, to put my money into a trust from which I could only withdraw $400 monthly; everything else would stay frozen in the account until I turned eighteen. It made me furious that they gave me so little money when I was working so hard. I know there are a lot of people who work a lot harder than I did and earned less than what I got in those days, but you have to understand that I was a young boy and my point of reference was the other members of Menudo. So I felt I did not have anything, and it made me angry.

In my mind there were plenty of reasons to want a change in my life. I was tired of the pace, I was tired of not having money, but more than anything I felt I needed a new challenge. The years spent with Menudo had changed me in so many ways: I was on the brink of adulthood and all I really wanted now was to have a chance to think—to really think—about who I wanted to be and what I wanted to make of my life.

So, in July of 1989 I left Menudo. My last concert with the band was in the Luis A. Ferré Center for the Arts in San Juan. It was the perfect venue for me to finish my career with the group, since that is where I had debuted with them. It was finally time to close the chapter and move on.

After the show, I returned home without a clue as to what I was going to do with my life. Yes, I had to finish high school, but as far as my career went, my future remained uncertain. For the time being, I needed to reconnect with my family and relearn how to live with them again. This is a difficult task for any teenager, but I think the circumstances made my adaptation even more difficult. It had been five years since I had last lived with them, and the experiences I had lived through had nothing to do with the life I had at home with my family. I felt disconnected, lonely, and even a bit lost.

Many people believe that the song that best describes me is “Livin’ La Vida Loca,” but really they are mistaken. The one that comes closest to describing my life is a song written for me by the great artist and composer Ricardo Arjona, entitled
“Asignatura Pendiente”
(“Pending Assignment”). The lyrics brilliantly capture the day in 1984 when I left Puerto Rico for the first time.
From your tiny hand waving good-bye / That rainy afternoon in San Juan / With the kisses that I carry with me.
Without knowing it, the day I left Puerto Rico I was leaving behind those who loved me; I was leaving my childhood behind. I looked forward and saw only blue skies and a massive universe open to all possibilities. Now that I was back at home, that same sky looked gray and confused, and the many possibilities that before had looked open to me were now dissipating into the horizon.