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The first year was hard for me to deal with. The second year was a little bit easier, but still difficult. It took me five years to get it out of me. It was a difficult moment, a difficult time.

I was the first one in my family to go to college.

We arrived the way most emigrant families did. My father came first, and the rest of us - my mother, my sister and me - followed a year later.

I had the good fortune of having a happy, closely knit family.

And so I missed those best years and I find it difficult for me, in groups, to be comfortable.

Every other year, I was the new boy. I found that the only way to survive was to embrace it, make a little fortress on the outside and to pretend to blend in but not to invest too much because you'll be somewhere else next year.

I come from a big family of storytellers and, growing up, I liked hearing about the years before I was born.

I was the first boy in the Kennedy family to graduate from college.