VEGAS INC Coverage
I’ve never experienced a year like 2006, filled with so many incredible professional and personal peaks. In retrospect, it was a high wire, exhilarating time that gained intensity with every passing day.
The whirlwind began sometime around my mind-blowing 40th birthday party celebrations. As editor in chief of Time Inc’s revamped "People en Español" magazine, I was somehow roped into having eight are-you-kidding-me? blowout parties over seven weeks in six cities in three countries, including a celebrity-filled extravaganza at Chateau Marmont in Los Angeles; a 400-person sexy rave at the Cardozo in Miami Beach hosted by Gloria and Emilio Estefan; two celebrations in New York City, one a dinner at a Jean-Georges restaurant hosted by the guys from TV’s "Queer Eye," the other an impossibly chic cocktail party thrown by music executive Charlie Walk in his jaw-dropping downtown loft; and, finally, the W Hotel in Mexico City, which went all out with what seemed to be every famous face from that country in attendance. It was a heady, ridiculous time. All of these soirees were duly chronicled in the press and, yes, life was good. No, not good—delicious.
But wait: The hits kept coming.
Shortly after my parties, I got word two prestigious organizations—Ballet Hispanico and GLAAD—wanted to honor me. Ballet Hispanico, the largest Hispanic arts group in the nation, chose me as the annual recipient of its “Inspiration Award” to be presented at an over-the-top black tie gala at the stunning Cipriani 42nd Street in Manhattan. Surrounded by many close friends including stalwarts Eduardo Xol, star of "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition," entertainment powerhouse Nely Galán, singer/actor Shalim Ortiz and Hispanic TV legend Maria Celeste Arrarás, the only person I could actually see during my acceptance speech in the vast sea of darkness was the indefatigable Liza Minnelli smiling up at me from the head table. I told you life was good.
My affiliation with GLAAD, the powerful gay advocacy group, was and continues to be, a solid one. The board of directors voted to present me the first-ever “Visibility Award” at the sold-out Media Awards it holds annually. The show was going to be covered extensively by the Spanish-language media and my award was to be the main event. GLAAD said I was given this recognition for being an editor in chief who was a leader for fair and inclusive media coverage and, oh, yeah, happened to be openly gay.
Here’s where it got dicey.
As a son of Cuban immigrants, my family had a curious relationship with all things gay: They didn’t have one. As open-minded as my parents were, in the entirety of my upbringing, I don’t recall a single comment about anything or anyone gay. It just wasn’t a factor. Though hardly liberals, my parents were pretty hip to talking about all topics, including sexuality (my fraternal twin brother and I were given a crate of condoms for our 12th birthday—can you imagine?).
As a 40-year-old bachelor living a very comfortable-in-my-own-skin existence in Manhattan, my friends would often ask: “How could your parents not know you’re gay?” “Have you met a Cuban parent?” I countered. My brother was also single, though his love of beautiful women is exceeded only by his extraordinary musical talent. My grandfather, too, was 40 before he married and had four children. So you see, there was a long, proud history of men delaying marriage in my family. But my case was different, of course. How could I possibly be receiving an award for being a role model as an openly gay editor when my own mother never heard the words “I’m gay” from me? I had to tell her. Now.
To strategize a course of action, I went to dinner with Gloria and Emilio the night before I arranged to meet my mom at my brother’s house to finally tell her what I hoped she already knew. Gloria offered to come with me. “Um, thanks, Gloria, but I don’t think showing up with an international music superstar to tell Mommy that her 40-year-old son is gay sends the right sort of message as a role model.” We all laughed so hard we nearly choked.
As my mom sat in front of me as I nervously prattled on about all of my forthcoming accolades, I saw her smiling face busting with pride and I nearly chickened out. But, I forced myself and said, “Mom, you know I’m gay, right?” and I continued chatting away. My mother looked at me with an expression I had never seen on her face as she tried to conceal her complete shock. Could it really be she had no idea I was gay? As it turned out, she didn’t. “I just want you to be happy and safe,” she said softly before hugging and kissing me. I never knew such a tiny sentence could feel so good. I felt—wait for it—free.
Now, half a decade later, I lead a much quieter existence filled with many not-so-public highs. Best of all? I’m deliriously happy in my personal life. For all the fabulosity my decades in Manhattan afforded me, I wouldn’t trade a single lazy Sunday morning reading The New York Times next to the one I love for anything in the world. Because today I finally have what my parents have always had: Everything.