We lived in a little town called Autlán de Navarro in Mexico. Then my dad, José, moved to Tijuana, so we all went there. Then he moved to San Francisco by himself. He was always doing that. I learned from my dad that men need to discipline themselves about relationships with other women. From when I was born in 1947 to the 60s, he was away for long chunks of time. We didn’t know whether he was going to take us back or find another woman and abandon us. But, later, after we joined him in San Francisco, the family stayed together.
My dad was Mr Charisma. He played violin. I adored him because of the way he carried himself, the way he dressed and smelt. He knew he was magnetic. He had a way of giving you a wink that let you know life was going to be all right.
My dad was my musical influence a gazillion per cent. Being a musician wasn’t what I wanted to do, it was what I wanted to be. I wanted to be adored like he was. He died in 1997 but people still come around with stories about him.
What I learned from my mom, Josefina, was total determination. She used to say, “I know we’re poor but we’re not going to be dirty, so get up and clean the house!” Her favourite mantra was: “Make yourself useful.” She would come into a room, clear her throat and everybody would pay attention. We were very scared of her.
I’m not supposed to keep a laundry list but there were six or seven things that I fell out with my mom about. That separation lasted from 1962 to 1981. She didn’t have the skills and tools to communicate. She was either angry or more angry. For a while, I was like her, which didn’t go well in the same house. I felt like I was being bullied. Stuff to do with my dad, she took out on me. We didn’t have the wisdom to offer one another understanding.
After I was molested by an American tourist who’d become friends with my parents, instead of taking me to somewhere nobody could hear, she confronted me in front of my sisters and brothers. I was the victim, but they were hearing that I made it happen. That stayed on my mind for a long, long time – that she didn’t have the compassion to say, “I feel so bad that I didn’t read the signs.”
We did arrive at forgiveness. But I couldn’t say that to her. One time I made a mistake by saying, “Mom, thank you for everything. I forgive you.” Her face immediately went like a lioness ready to attack, like “What do you have to forgive me about?” I began to study with a spiritual teacher and was able to offer her support. In any family, someone needs to step up. We didn’t have that until I started learning eastern religion. We began to communicate and touch hands. Women need to be validated.
My son, Salvador, is 31, my daughter Stella is 29, and the youngest, Angelica, is 24. They are all involved in music. I told them it was in them and to stop fighting it. But it took them a while to accept that. I said, “I’m not going to push you like my father pushed me but the sooner you get to it, the faster you will create diamonds.”
Marriage is sacred. When you’ve found your twin flame, it’s important to honour it and nurture it every day. Deborah and I were married 34 years, and I’ve been married almost five years now to Cindy. Divorce was foreign to us, yet Deborah needed to find her own place in the sun away from the Santana thing. It’s not easy to live with a person that everyone wants to take a picture of, where people move you out of the way to do it, especially if you have a lot of insecurity. We’re polite but not good friends yet.
• The Universal Tone by Carlos Santana is published by Orion, £20 (eBook £10.99)
