by Ric Flair
Since my dad owned a Gold’s Gym there, we made trips to St. Martin’s for many years. We went horseback riding on the beach, swam with dolphins, and went on cruise boats that had glass bottoms. The water was so clear we could see schools of fish swimming on the ocean floor.
My mom planned a dream trip to Colorado: white-water rafting and horseback riding in Aspen; climbing to the top of Pikes Peak in matching sweatshirts; and enjoying crêpes at a French restaurant in Vail. I remember how ridiculous my dad looked on a horse.
Of all my childhood memories of summer, there’s one that stands above all the rest—spending days on my dad’s boat, a thirty-six-foot Sea Ray called the Sweet Elizabeth.
The excitement of waiting for him to come home, knowing that the next day we’d be on the boat, was incredible. The next morning, we’d pack Jersey Mike’s Subs, spicy salsa from Harris Teeter, and shrimp cocktail, beer, wine, and Gatorade into huge white coolers. We’d get into the car and drive to the marina. When my dad turned the key and we heard the boat’s engine roar, we knew the fun was about to begin.
Lake Wylie was so beautiful. My dad would let us sit on the bow of the boat. He’d drop anchor so we could swim in the lake, take out the inner tube, and launch our Jet Skis. No one looked more beautiful sitting on the Sweet Elizabeth than the woman who it was named after, my mom. My mom taught me how to water-ski on that lake. I remember my family watching, cheering me on. I was so nervous but so excited. I can still hear her say, “You’re doing it, Ashley. Stay straight, hold on. You’re doing it!” I was so happy. All I could say was, “I’m waterskiing!”
Our life may have seemed like a fantasy to other people. Thanks to my family’s commitment to create a “normal” life, everything was perfect for Reider and me. We thought our world was like everyone else’s. Our home was filled with fun, love, and happiness, and there was no other place I wanted to be.
There was something genuine, a joyous innocence about those days. From time to time, something will bring me back to those tree-laced trails, sitting at our kitchen table, or watching late-night TV with Grandmommy and Reider. I can hear our feet running across the deck to hug dad and Uncle Arn before our next conquest in the backyard. I can hear us singing Alvin and the Chipmunks at Christmas …
It’s funny what you carry with you as the years go on. I will always hold those days close to my heart. It was the best of times. It was a beautiful life.
9
A BLESSING AND A CURSE
The older I became, the more things changed.
October 1999
My dad pulled the car into the garage, and like always, he carried our bags in the house. That weekend, he was on the road with WCW, and I had a gymnastics competition. We landed at Charlotte Douglas International Airport around the same time. My flight arrived a few minutes early. I could see him in one of his beautiful suits with a pocket square. He walked quickly from the other side of the terminal. His recently changed his briefcase from TUMI to brown leather, and he had a large Band-Aid on his head.
I loved holding his briefcase and looking inside. It was filled with pictures of his most prized possessions—his children—and our family holiday cards from each year. You could always find one of my grandmother’s silk handkerchiefs.
During my six years as a member of International Gymnastics, I achieved the distinction of being a Level 9 gymnast.1
At the time, Levels 5 and 6 were basic compulsory, which meant you did routines set to music; Level 7 meant you had your own routine and your own music. For Levels 8 and 9, the requirements were more challenging. You could only perform certain moves during longer routines and could change your music.
I was so proud of the individual and team awards I won. The awards that are closest to me were won at the team’s end-of-the-year banquet. Coach Suzie recognized me with the “Hardest Worker” and “Most Determined” awards.
We had gymnastics meets every other weekend. That weekend, my team performed in one of the largest competitions in the country, the Buckeye Classic. Each year, girls from the team were selected to compete at Buckeye. We stayed at Coach Suzie’s mom’s house.2 Outside of the competition, the weekend always was a giant slumber party. Air mattresses lined the basement floor. We played games like Monopoly and Sorry, watched movies, and enjoyed her mom’s home cooking. Whenever the team had new leotards, we’d have pose-offs before going to bed. Her mom taught us how to play a card game called Russian Banks that was like Go Fish. I loved traveling for gymnastics. It was one of the few times that I spent the night away from home.
That Sunday evening, I had a lot of homework from social studies to math that was due the next day in school. I always spent extra time checking my math homework. That year, I set a reading record for the number of books I read.
My parents told me that I could participate in any activity as long as I earned good grades. I wanted to be exceptional in school and as an athlete, and my parents instilled that in me. When I had an assignment due after a competition, I had to start working on it before we left town.
At that time, I was still adjusting to my new surroundings. The summer before middle school, we moved into a new house in the Piper Glen section of Charlotte. I remember when I saw the house for the first time.
We turned into the circle driveway. I got out of my dad’s Mercedes and walked up to massive columns and a brick exterior with my head tilted back. When my parents opened the giant glass door, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Our house in Providence Plantation was a beautiful home on a cul-de-sac in a neighborhood—this was a mansion. We were only five miles away from our old house, but it felt like another world. Everything was changing.
Reider and I argued over who would have which bedroom. Knowing her children, my mom decided that for us well in advance. Since I was older and the girl, I got the large bedroom on the third floor of the house. Reider had his choice between two other bedrooms on that floor.
Once a truce was reached, Reider and I ran through all the rooms and yelled so we could hear our voices bounce off the high ceilings. My parents smiled and said, “Slow down,” but we didn’t listen. We couldn’t. We saw a never-ending living room for our Christmas winterscape, a billiard room, and a playroom with giant beanbags and a huge TV screen built into the wall. When we saw the staircase, I looked at my brother and said, “Wanna race? First back here wins.” We flew up and down three flights of stairs in record time.
My parents stood in the entryway to the living room. Their arms were around each other. They pointed to different areas and described where new furniture and paintings would be placed. Mom and Dad showed us where another master bedroom was going to be added and where the gym on the first floor would go; it would have all the equipment from his original home gym along with several new machines, including rubber floors and mirrored walls. My parents couldn’t wait to host their first dinner party in the new house.
Once you stepped through the back door, you were on the deck. Beyond the gardenias and roses my mom would plant, and the mist that rested on top of the lake, was the eighteenth hole of the championship Piper Glen golf course. The course, designed by legendary golfer Arnold Palmer, had rolling hills, rocky terrain, and tranquil lakes as far as the eye could see. My parents showed us where the new in-ground pool was going and where the outdoor marble bar with built-in stove would be. A balcony was added to the plans. While my dad proudly unveiled his new grills on the bottom and main levels, I had to ask where my trampoline was going to live. This was not a resort—this was our new house—and it came with a membership to the Piper Glen Country Club.
Each week when my dad came home from the road, we all got dressed in our best evening attire and had pasta night at the club. This was a wonderful family tradition. The dining room overlooked the beautiful Piper Glen landscape that we saw from our deck, but from our table in the dining room, it was like we could touch it. We enjoyed all different types of pasta: linguine, fettuccine, penne, fusilli, and rigatoni. It was like we were on
a tour of Italy. I always created my own masterpiece with alfredo sauce, red bell peppers, mushrooms, and onions. My dad loved having red sauce; Reider loved his white sauce; and my mom loved the meatballs.
Each week, Reider and I felt like part of my parents’ glamorous nightlife. One evening, we were in the car on our way to a Carolina Panthers football game, and I said, “We’re older now. We’re ready to go out at night with Mom and Dad.” I didn’t know how revered my father was on a global scale, but soon I realized by the responses he received at Hornets and Panthers games that he was a celebrity and one of the Queen City’s favorite sons. The Panthers incorporated my dad’s “WOOOOO!” for their Jumbotron. We were so proud that he was our dad.
Brass bannisters, crystal chandeliers, mahogany wood … Piper Glen was a beautiful place. My mom surprised my dad with a fiftieth birthday party at the club, and it’s one of my most cherished family memories. Mom couldn’t wait to curl my hair, and I couldn’t wait to wear the bridesmaid’s dress I wore to Megan’s wedding. I remember taking pictures with all our close family and friends during cocktail hour. I was always amazed the ice sculptures didn’t melt. Everyone was there to celebrate, including employees and business partners from his Gold’s Gyms. My mom took her creative passion and love of family photography to the next level.
After dinner, everyone’s attention was called to a screen at the front of the dining room. Before we sang “Happy Birthday” and cut the cake, my mom played a video montage she’d created of different photos of my dad and our family through the years: pictures of him growing up in Minnesota with Grandma Kay and Grandpa Richard, yearbook photos from Wayland Academy, photos of him throughout his career, their wedding, graduations, holidays, and vacations. With each new period of his life shown, a different song played. You could feel how much my parents loved each other and how much this meant to everyone in the room. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house. I was so proud to be my parents’ daughter.
* * *
The winds of change swirled around Piper Glen. Grandmommy did not come with us to the new house. I think she felt her job was done. She moved to help my aunt raise her son, Dylan. Grandmommy made it a priority to visit and always came to Thanksgiving and Christmas. It took a little while to adjust to being apart. When she left, she said, “Say your prayers. Jesus is always listening.” Thankfully, my parents knew the recipe for pana cakes, so we didn’t miss out. One morning when I told my mom I missed Grandmommy, she told me to remember what Grandmommy always said: “When God closes one door, He opens another.”
When I think of our Piper Glen house, I think of my mom’s Aunt Francine. She had family who lived twenty-five minutes away in a town called Davidson. Aunt Francine visited us for a few days at a time and on long weekends.
Whenever she stayed with us, she and my mom would retire after dinner to the enclosed patio to play a card game called Rummy Cube. One night, they taught Reider and me how to play when we got back from dinner at K&W Cafeteria. I smile when I think of the time Aunt Francine and my mom decorated my bedroom. The duo spent hours in furniture shops, looking at area rugs, and matching paint swatches with the Bermuda blinds that filled the entire house. They brought me in with my eyes closed to show me the amazing décor, which included marble flooring. Aunt Francine was always smiling. She was a ray of sunshine in our lives, and she gave the best hugs.
Even though we moved to a new house, we still went to Providence Day School. My mom drove us there in her new silver Mercedes as hits from Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, *NSYNC, and 98 Degrees played on KISS 95.1 FM. Sometimes we’d listen to the Delilah show on 102.9 FM.
I started to become interested in a variety of sports, and Reider did too. He played football and baseball, and by the time he was ten, he was one of the top amateur wrestlers in the United States for his age group—and a national champion.
Something happened that I never expected. I had just won a race against one of the boys during recess, and I heard somebody yelling. I looked around but couldn’t understand what the person was saying or why it was being said. The bell rang, and recess was over, so I ignored it. The next day, I crossed the finish line in another race, and I heard it again, this time clearly and from more than one person. It was being repeated like a chant, and as I looked around, it was getting louder. I said to myself, Wait, they’re talking about me. They’re pointing at me. I put everything together and felt a burning sensation in the pit of my stomach. For the past two days during recess, the boys had been calling me “Beast.”
Whenever I stepped up to the starting line for a race, walked to home plate, or shot a basketball, I heard a chorus chanting this word. I promised myself I wouldn’t get upset in front of everyone. I’d use it as my motivation to do even better, to beat them at their own game, and I did.
But away from the high fives and cheers from my friends, it really hurt. I always did what my parents taught me. Say “Good game” or “Nice race” to the other person. Besides, this was recess. We were supposed to be having fun.
I learned that in a school environment, this could take on a life of its own. It was tough being in the same class with these kids and seeing them with their group of friends in the hallway. What I hoped would pass over a weekend or school vacation carried over into the next week and the week after that. Weeks turned into months. Any time I saw those boys on the playground, I’d hear the chants of “Beast! Beast! Beast!” I tried to be positive. This was just happening at recess. That changed too.
Each year, I received the President’s Challenge Physical Activity & Fitness Award, which was given to students who placed in the ninety-eighth percentile of all national participants. When my name was called, I walked to the front of the auditorium and received my award. There was that voice again. It managed to transcend the applause, and there was that word, Beast. I ignored it and went back to my seat where my friends congratulated me. That’s when I asked myself, Will they always call me Beast?
The next week, one of the boys started to make fun of me because I had hair on my arms. He ended his litany with the familiar chant. I made sure that he didn’t see how much I was hurting. Reider fought with him after school. Later that day, my mom got a call from the principal. Reider was suspended from school for three days. It was one of the few times I saw my parents argue. My mom understood why Reider did what he did, but she was upset that he got into serious trouble at school. My dad, on the other hand, thought Reider did the right thing and shouldn’t have gotten into trouble for defending me. After that day, I never heard that word again. All thanks to my brother.
I was teased. I know worse happens when kids are bullied, but that experience created a layer of insecurity that still clings to me. I’ve always felt the most comfortable playing a sport or being in a gym, and yet there were times when I hesitated to push myself too much. I wondered, Will I become too muscular? Will someone think I’m a beast?
Girls are not less attractive because they’re talented athletes or are in phenomenal physical shape. Even thinking about it now, it’s upsetting that happened because I was the tallest kid in my grade and I was skilled in sports. I think of what would have happened today with the tidal waves of negativity that can be created on social media.
The next month, after a meet in Savannah, Georgia, I realized I didn’t love gymnastics in the same way. I asked Coach Suzie if I could speak with her after practice.
As I’ve said before, it’s funny what you remember. I was wearing my favorite practice shorts—red Umbros with the pockets on the side. I told Coach that I didn’t feel the same about gymnastics anymore. I was getting so tall and knew I was going to keep growing. Even though she and the girls were so special to me and I loved being on her team, I didn’t think I could continue as a gymnast. And I fell in love with volleyball. The next day, with full support from Coach Suzie and my teammates, I went to the other side of the gym. The years being a gymnast under Coach Suzie gave me a discipline that has stayed with me and helped create a
skill set that makes me unique as a WWE Superstar.3
When I was thirteen years old, I went to the same building as gymnastics but moved to the other side of the gym. I became the youngest member of Coach Kevin Brubaker’s Charlotte Allstar Cheerleading. I fell in love with the sport right away. The physical strength, speed, balance, and timing that were required to do something that looked so easy to someone watching fascinated me. Cheerleading was similar to gymnastics. What drew me in even more was the continuity required of the entire group to create an amazing routine. As a member of their team, the Teal Squad, I wanted to work extra hard to make sure I caught up with the other girls and knew the routines as well as, if not better than, they did.
The Charlotte Allstars competed all over the country. Before I knew it, I was a seventh grader on a plane headed to Nashville, Tennessee, on the all-girls senior squad. The night before a competition was exhilarating: practicing our routine until it was perfect, feeling the music and moving to it on beat, and right before bed, getting our hair and makeup ready.
The competitions were part rock concert, part sporting event, and part live theater. When the music started, I felt like I was shot out of a cannon. Hearing the crowd roar during our performance was like nothing I’d ever felt before. I thrived on the challenge of contributing to a perfect performance, knowing that months of dedicated practice boiled down to a two- or three-minute chance to shine brighter than the opposition. The ultimate sense of accomplishment was when we ran back to our bench and Coach Brubaker high-fived everyone and said, “You nailed it!”4