by Ric Flair
There was one instance when we made plans for Reid to go to rehab. I was about $13,000 short. I was running out of time. Hulk happened to call me to see how Reid was doing. I told him what was going on. He made a call and then phoned me back. Within thirty minutes, that money was in my account. That helped save my son’s life. When I think of Hulk Hogan and the type of friendship we’ve had over the years, that’s what I think about. No cameras, no microphones, no story lines, no audiences—just someone who helped a friend. I’ll always remember that.
Reid and I boarded the plane. I thought about Vince, Paul, and Shawn. They helped me at different points along the way in my professional and personal lives and with Reid. That type of help brought my son to this point.
We were leaving for Japan. I was going to perform in a tag match, my first match in sixteen months. I wasn’t happy with my last match in TNA versus Sting. The fans never let me down, but with that one, I felt I had disappointed them. I looked forward to this event in Tokyo so I could show the fans I could still deliver. Reid was going to perform in an opening match on the card and begin training in the All Japan dojo. I was eternally grateful for this opportunity.
I arranged for Reid to train in the dojo. I realized over time that Charlotte was a trigger for him. Our family was constantly under a microscope. The media had a history of partially true reporting. Their criticism of Reid’s wrestling and his not being given a chance to learn hit him hard. He was friendly with so many different kids, but there was one group he fell in with that was trouble. I thought if I removed him from that environment and put him in a place where he could focus on doing what he loved—as Reid, not the son of Ric Flair—he could return to the path he was on and remain there. If all went well like I knew it could, Reid would be in Japan for three months.
Once we landed in Tokyo, it was all business. Reid and I attended a press conference hosted by All Japan. We were with Mutoh, Masahiro Chono, Akebono (who had a sumo match at WrestleMania 21 with Big Show), and their champion Masakatsu Funaki. Mutoh and I were there to talk about our tag match against a man I knew very well: Tatsumi Fujinami and the young star Seiya Sanada, who was All Japan’s TV Champion.
The Japanese culture and media have always treated our profession with a tremendous amount of reverence. When an organization like All Japan hosts a press conference in its country, members of the Japanese mainstream and sports press cover the event. I was proud to be there and so proud of Reid. Everyone was impressed with how he carried himself, especially since he was in the early stages of his career.
Before the match, a blood clot was discovered in my leg, and I couldn’t wrestle. Understandably, Mutoh was very worried. What could he do to keep the match on the card? Who could he get at the last minute to fill in for me? I felt terrible. A lot was put into promoting this match and me being a participant in it.
I told him, “My son can do it.”
Mutoh said, “No, no, he can’t do this. He’s too young.”
I said, “Yes. Yes, he can. He was an amateur wrestler. He’s been in a ring. I know he can do it.”
Mutoh finally agreed to put Reid in my place.
I knew Reid understood this from studying the business, but I wanted to remind him that the crowd in Japan is different. They’re not loud like the audiences in the States. I didn’t want him to do something during the match and expect a reaction, and when he didn’t get it, think he did something wrong.
A few minutes into the match, I arrived at ringside and stood in their corner.
It was fun playing off my history with Fujinami and playing up the possibility that we might have an altercation. The crowd enjoyed it. I didn’t get in the ring. This wasn’t about me. At one point, Reid and I took turns chopping Sanada outside the ring. I was so proud to see Reid excel with a young star and with legends Mutoh and Fujinami.
I worked with both men many times. I wrestled Fujinami before more than sixty-four thousand people in the Tokyo Dome in March of 1991. That was during WCW’s working relationship with New Japan Pro Wrestling and the event called Starrcade in the Tokyo Dome. I was the World Heavyweight Champion, and Fujinami was the IWGP Champion. Our rematch was at WCW’s first SuperBrawl pay-per-view almost two months later.
During this tag match, when they saw Reid move around the ring, I think Mutoh and Fujinami realized his enormous potential. They saw how agile he was and, thanks to his amateur wrestling background, how he followed that up later in the match with rolling German suplexes that ended on a great-looking bridge into a pin-fall attempt.
The match was well received by the audience and by All Japan. As a sign of respect, we all shook hands. I felt great watching the postmatch interview backstage and seeing Reid next to Mutoh with cameras flashing and members of the press around them. He was going to do very well in Japan.
I was so proud of Reid. Most importantly, he was proud of himself. People in the locker room congratulated him and shook his hand. He deserved that. It was a phenomenal way for him to begin his tenure with All Japan.
The next day, they told me that Reid would be in the dojo for two months before having a match and that it was going to be tough. I didn’t think he’d be in there that long, but I didn’t say anything. What would’ve been the point of me telling them he’d be out of there in two weeks?
Before I left for the airport and home, I told Reid, “Stay focused. You can’t get sidetracked here. In this country, they put Paul McCartney in jail for smoking a joint. Stay focused so everyone here can see all the potential you have. I know you can do it.”
Reid began training in the dojo. When I left, I thought Reid would be out of there and have matches in two weeks. I was wrong. My son was out of there and in the ring in five days.
He loved the structure of the environment and immersed himself in wrestling. Reid was also enamored of the Japanese culture. He loved teaching kids and began instructing young children in the fundamentals of wrestling.
He and his sister were posting about each other’s training on social media. Reid was in All Japan, and Ashley was in NXT, Paul’s WWE developmental program of the future.
Reid’s work was so well received and his work ethic was so highly regarded that his stay was extended for another three months. Even on his days off, he still trained in the gym. Our family was so proud of him. An expanded stay also meant that his talents would be featured in matches as part of his first tour with All Japan.
Reid continued to receive high praise for his work. He performed well in singles, tag team matches, and in six-man tags. He learned how to perform and have compelling matches with opponents of different shapes, sizes, and in-ring styles. Reid was thrilled. He couldn’t wait to go back to Japan in April to continue his work. And I knew he was going to miss his young wrestling students in the dojo.
Reid’s last show in Tokyo was on March 22. I made arrangements for him to come home so we could go to WrestleMania 29 in New Jersey together. Ashley was selected to be part of the NXT roster, performing in matches during Axxess, the fan experience that runs during WrestleMania week.
Reid made it home to Charlotte. Once he settled in with his mother, he saw family and continued his workouts. He was so excited about showing the people he worked with back home what he’d learned while training in Japan.
On his first day back in Charlotte, Reid continued his training. He was completely focused on what he was doing and wanted to make sure he returned to Japan in better shape than when he left.
I saw him the next day, and he looked great and sounded even better. It was wonderful to hear the experiences he’d had in Japan. We were all happy that his girlfriend, Whitney, visited him during his final two weeks there. She was considered a member of our family and was devoted to my son. He was devoted to her too.
The following night, I took Reid to dinner at Del Frisco’s Steak House. I could tell he was going to keep to his training regimen and diet for his trip back to Japan. He drank water all night.
We were heading
out in the morning to work independent shows in Maryland and Pennsylvania. Then we were going to New Jersey to meet up with Ashley. We couldn’t wait to see her perform at Axxess.
I so looked forward to this weekend. Of all the years I brought my kids to WrestleMania, this year it felt like I was going to be watching them: Ashley performing in the ring and Reid reconnecting with people at WWE and sharing with them everything he did with All Japan.
A part of me still couldn’t believe we were going to WrestleMania. I knew that this was my son’s dream from a very young age, from wanting to go to every show with me to amateur wrestling and being a four-time national champion to training with amateur great T. J. Jaworsky. He worked with personal trainers—you name it: if it involved professional wrestling, Reid was all about it. But Ashley?
After a couple of weeks of training, I asked her how it was going. She said, “I love it. I should’ve been doing this all along.”
Ashley and I had an appearance the month before in Melbourne, Florida. When I heard her greet autograph-seeking fans and say her ring name, it took me back to when she’d called and told me what her ring name was going to be.
She said, “Dad, my name’s going to be ‘Charlotte.’”
I said the first thing that came to my mind. “That’s perfect.”
PART II
GROWING UP FLIEHR
AND SO IT BEGINS …
March 29, 2016—Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport
The wheels just touched down on the runway. It’s the greatest time of year for people in the sports-entertainment industry—WrestleMania. Before I can get out of my seat, so many emotions seem to be converging at one time. How should I feel? I’m overcome with anticipation … excitement … happiness … sadness … and perhaps the strongest of all, the fear of uncertainty.
I’ve been to WrestleMania many times as a spectator, most notably to watch my dad’s final match in a WWE ring and, on two separate occasions, to see him inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame, an honor only he has received.
I remember the first time I set foot on WrestleMania’s sacred ground. It was WrestleMania XXIV. I was just twenty-two years old when I took the stage with my siblings to greet the crowd on my dad’s behalf as the 2008 Hall of Fame Class was announced. I was so nervous. Being in front of more than seventy-four thousand people at the Florida Citrus Bowl was like standing on a beach and looking out at the ocean—all you saw was a sea of people. It was awesome. It meant so much to us to stand together to celebrate my father’s life’s work. I never envisioned that one day I’d be the one to perform in front of such a large crowd.
What some people don’t know is that since that night in Orlando, Florida, I appeared once before at a WrestleMania as part of Triple H’s grand entrance. It was at WrestleMania 30 in 2014. As a goddess, I wore an extravagant gold mask and a skirt of flowing crimson silk as the King of Kings entered into battle against Daniel Bryan. Though it was an uncredited role, I was sure it would’ve made Cleopatra green with envy. But that was then—and this is now.
This year, 2016, is the thirty-second WrestleMania, and I’m the reigning WWE Divas Champion. Sunday will mark one of the select times in WWE history that a women’s championship is being defended at WrestleMania and only the second time the Divas Championship is on the line. The match for the Divas crown is one of the most anticipated of the show, and I couldn’t be prouder to be part of it.
The music of Guns N’ Roses has been one of the sound tracks of my life. As I thread my way through the airport to pick up my car, the song “Patience”—my current anthem—is playing in my head. Being here and knowing what Sunday means reminds me that sometimes I still can’t believe where I am in my life. I was my dad’s biggest fan, but I never wanted to be a WWE Superstar. This is a far cry from the roads of Charlotte, North Carolina, where I once called home. It’s not anything like the volleyball courts I thought I would compete on forever.
This trip to Dallas represents an unlikely journey to WWE. It’s all coming back to me—the relationship with my dad, a marriage I shouldn’t have been in, the fear of the unknown when I first reported to Tampa, Florida, for training, establishing myself in the rings of NXT, and the hurt when someone who I looked up to professionally said I wasn’t ready to be on WWE’s main roster. I wonder what would have happened if this had gone another way, if someone else—not me—was chosen to end Nikki Bella’s historic Divas Championship reign.
It’s now, when I’m in the car, that I can see my picture along with other WWE talent posted outside of AT&T Stadium. I know there’s more work to be done, but I can’t help but feel a sense of achievement. I think about the people who believed they should’ve been holding this championship instead of me, the people who thought I was a joke and just another wrestler’s kid looking for a handout, and the people who tell me the only reason I’m doing anything noteworthy is because of who my father is. But that doesn’t take away from this moment. I won’t let it.
I wouldn’t be here without the work of the Four Horsewomen; without Nattie (better known as WWE’s Natalya) believing in me, without support from my parents and family, and Dusty Rhodes, and Becky Lynch being there every step of the way, and most of all, without the encouragement from my brother and best friend, Reid.
It wasn’t long ago that we both, in our own way, were in such dark places. Reid pushed me to pursue a WWE career, and now I’m living his dream. I sense his presence most when I’m performing—walking to the ring, feeling the canvas underneath my boots and the ropes across my hands. WrestleMania week is when I get the strongest sense that Reid is by my side. I think it will be that way for the rest of my life.
Even now, days away from the biggest date on the WWE calendar, I feel a sense of uncertainty about my match.
Backstage this past week at Monday Night Raw, Stephanie McMahon and Triple H laid rumors to rest: as of this Sunday at WrestleMania, female competitors would no longer be called WWE Divas. The Divas Championship would be retired. Instead, we would be referred to, like the men, as WWE Superstars. They unveiled the stunning white, gold, and diamond prize, which would be worn by the new WWE Women’s Champion. I don’t know if I’ll be the one leaving Dallas with that beautiful title or if I’m performing at WrestleMania to hand the championship over to someone else.
There are a lot of questions that will be answered in the coming days. I will make sure that I do what I always have to ensure that my story continues—and that’s to work hard. One thing I already know—before I go anywhere or do anything—is that the journey that’s brought me to AT&T Stadium and the path I will travel after it mean everything to me.
8
A BEAUTIFUL LIFE
Our life may have seemed like a fantasy to other people.
October 1996
I can still hear myself saying, “I’ll race you to the back door, and you’ll never beat me!” My little brother’s infectious laugh matched the sound of our small feet. We ran as fast as we could to get through the wooden gate that fenced in our backyard. If we weren’t pushing each other out of the way during our sprint, we’d run to the front of the house to climb our favorite tree. It had the perfect branch to lie across like we were in The Jungle Book.
Our neighbors were a German family named the Lindenbecks. They had three children: Axel, Michael, and Caroline. I named my short-hair Siamese cat after Michael. The cat became so infamous in the Fliehr house that he was included in one of the oil-painted murals my mom gave my dad as gift. It hung above the fireplace. The Lindenbecks’ house was overwrought with trees like a cottage tucked away in the woods from Hansel and Gretel. Every morning at dawn, Reid, whom I called Reider, and I made trails from their house to ours. We either ran on foot or raced across on our bikes. These were epic adventures into an enchanted forest, and it was up to us to find our way home—and the trails were too scary to run through at night. But that was only the beginning. With the back of our brick house on the horizon, our determination propelled us throug
h our backyard, across the sprawling lawn, past my dollhouse, through the swing set, around the pool, and up the deck stairs into our house. Every moment was dedicated to wreaking havoc on the Lindenbecks’ yard. Whatever risks we thought we took during our explorations were worth the reward. It was breakfast time.
When I think of those mornings, I can see my mom’s face in the doorway so clearly. My mother had long, natural brown-and-blond hair with bangs and crystal-blue eyes. Her smile was brighter than any star in the sky, and she had olive skin. Those mornings, she’d have on an oversized yellow cotton T-shirt that hung past her knees. It had a giant Mickey Mouse face on the front of it. She was so beautiful, she didn’t need to wear makeup.
My mother was born at Fort Jackson Army Base in Columbia, South Carolina, and was raised in Havana, Florida, a suburb of Tallahassee. She was the oldest of six children, and her natural maternal instincts were honed helping raise her five siblings. My mom always dreamed of having children of her own.
My parents were married in 1983. My older siblings, Megan and David, were in my parents’ wedding party, as were Jim Crockett, Ricky Steamboat, and Roddy Piper. Roddy Piper became a confidant to Reider later in life. My mother’s best friend, Susan Beck, was also in their wedding party. Early into their marriage, my mom had a difficult time staying pregnant and suffered through several tubal pregnancies. When I was older, it was explained to me that a tubal pregnancy is when a fertilized egg attaches itself outside the uterus and can’t survive. Left untreated, it can be life-threatening to the mother.1
My mom endured a great deal of physical and emotional pain, and she faced an enormous amount of uncertainty, wondering if she could sustain a pregnancy from conception to delivery.2