A life in the day: Donny Osmond
Wesley
October 14, 2007
A life in the day: Donny Osmond
The 49-year-old is currently touring the UK. He and his wife, Debbie, have
five sons between the ages of 28 and 9, and one grandson. They live in
Provo, Utah. Osmond hosts the BBC2 game show Identity, and his album Love
Songs of the '70s is out now.
Caroline Scott
When my eldest, Don, leaves the house at 7 to go to work, he always trips
the burglar alarm, which throws me out of bed. We live in a gated community,
with a back yard looking out over the Wasatch mountain range. If the house
alarm doesn't get me, I'm woken by the sun coming over the peak of the
mountains.
I pre-record TV programmes on TiVo so I can watch the Today show while I'm
eating my cereal. That's kind of a ritual. I like to load myself with
humour, facts, all kinds of interesting stuff before I start my day, but I
leave breakfast to my wife. I'm capable of burning water. That's from years
of being on the road, when my idea of cooking was ordering room service.
Home is a very protected environment for me. It's a part of my life that has
to be private, because it was once so invaded. When I'm on the road it's
different - I've never been one to shun fans because, excuse me, they were
the ones who got you there in the first place. I suffered from social
anxiety disorder for years, and having Debbie and a stable home life was the
only thing that kept me sane.
My twenties were awful. The worst time of my life. One minute you're selling
out stadiums, the next you're a joke and it's embarrassing to go out in
public. I had some ghastly experiences. I thought everyone was laughing at
me. They probably were. Even if they weren't, I derided myself constantly.
It's inevitable when you've had a teenybopper career.
All the screaming and adulation was pretty darn exciting at the time. But as
I grew up, I hated what I was. I started wearing torn jeans, I didn't shave.
My publicist even put together a campaign to get me busted for drugs to
dirty up my image. I almost went for it. Then I thought: "Hang on, I may
have been told what to do and what to sing, but the bottom line is, I did
it. I got up there and wore those clothes and sang those songs. I might as
well embrace it and own it."
All the Osmond jump suits disappeared into a landfill somewhere, but down in
our basement we have a life-size poster of me in the most cheesy outfit
ever. I'm wearing a purple, sequined top hat, which even in our heyday was
terrible. One of my kids found a box of Donny and Marie T-shirts, and he
said: "Hey, Dad, can I wear one of these to high school?" And I said: "Sure,
if you want to get beaten up."
In the morning I get to work in my basement studio. I like it small because
everything's at my fingertips - all my hard drives, databases. I designed
and built the rig myself. I'm a closet geek.
Every two weeks we have someone come in to clean, but other than that we
have no help. My wife and I are pretty strict. We didn't want to raise lazy
kids - they're a liability. Last night while I mowed the lawn, Brandon, my
23-year-old, edged, and Christopher, the 16-year-old, cleaned up around the
pool. They're good boys. My wife's still got all these girlie baby clothes
in her "hope chest". Actually now she calls it her "hopeless chest". We're
just waiting for a granddaughter.
I'm extremely health-conscious. Absolutely no alcohol, tea or coffee, and I've
never smoked. On the other hand, if you put a tub of Häagan Dazs in front of
me, I'll eat the lot. I'm like: "Come on. Hurt me!" Most days I'll have a
sandwich for lunch - which my wife doesn't make. If I expected her to wait
on me, she'd probably say: "Go find another wife."
I think my [Mormon] religion protected me when I was younger from a side of
life that was a dead end. I have a very, very strong marriage. Debbie's the
only one I've been with and our relationship is precious to us because of
that. We've had arguments over the years, but we never remember what they
were about.
If I'm working on a project, I'll go to the pool house, which is beautiful,
with lots of windows. Or I can be found fixing something. I find it hard to
shut my mind off. But I've closed the door on anxiety, because it doesn't
really matter to me now what people think. There were times, when I was
playing Joseph on Broadway in the '90s, when I would walk out on stage
knowing I would die. I thought my heart would stop. Emotionally, I'm in the
best place I've ever been. Fifty's fine. Bring it on. I had Botox once, but
never again. The Osmond smile went away!
It's not like it used to be with my brothers. When you have your own family,
you're so consumed with your children, you don't talk as much as you'd like.
Evenings are hectic. I still have to sit on the youngest to make sure they
get homework done. While I'm doing that, my wife's doing dinner - talking on
the phone or watching TV is not an option.
I always stay up late. I read or I'll watch TiVo again - I love British
comedy shows like Graham Norton. My favourite was The Kumars. I went on a
while back and Grandma and I started singing Crazy Horses. She grabbed me
and pinched my butt and we started rolling about on the floor - it was very
provocative. I had letters from Mormons saying: "What did you think you were
doing?"
I wear nothing in bed. I can't wear pyjamas. And I can't stand silk sheets,
too slippy - although that can be good sometimes. But we have a little
nine-year-old who still creeps into our bed when he's not feeling well.
According to my wife, I kick and I toss and turn. But I don't remember
anything. I always have my BlackBerry by my bed to jot down ideas and
schedules before I go to sleep. If I can put things down, I eliminate the
worry from my mind, so when I finally hit the pillow, it's pretty hard.