Second Nature

by Ric Flair

As a team, we traveled together, volunteered in the community together, and went to church together. From someone like me, who was thirteen years old, to the oldest girls on the team, who were eighteen, we were all sisters. The team rules were similar to gymnastics. Coach had a strict travel dress code. We had to wear black shorts. They couldn’t be torn or have holes in them, and they couldn’t be revealing in any way. Our team shirts had to be clean, pressed, and tucked into our shorts. If you were late to practice, the airport, or a competition, there were penalties in terms of added conditioning drills.

  I’m proud that when Coach Brubaker led our team into a building for a competition, the other teams from around the country knew what they were going to get: a machine that won three national championships. I remember our brush with local celebrity in Charlotte when we performed the halftime show at a Carolina Panthers game.

  Looking back, it was during this time that I began to grow up a little faster than most people my age. I wasn’t doing anything wrong or bad, but when you’re thirteen and you’re around girls who are seventeen and eighteen years old, you’re not talking about the same things. They were talking about what boys they were going out with on dates, going to parties, curfew, and having sex—and that’s a different type of education. I couldn’t contribute anything to the conversation, so I’d just listen.

  Once I found a pair of women’s underwear rolled up in a Ziploc bag in the laundry room in our house. I didn’t understand what it was or how it got there. I just figured that it had to do with stuff that the girls talked about during our cheerleading trips, so I put it back.

  I was always comfortable around older people. Those girls took me under their wing. They never made me feel like I was younger or an outsider. The girls on my teams thought I was cool because I dressed like them and did well as a member of the team. In some ways, I matured very quickly. This resulted in my having a difficult time relating to the kids in my grade at school. I wanted to be with the older kids and do the things they were doing. I still had my friends at school, but physically, mentally, and emotionally, I was often somewhere else.

  During spring break, all the older girls were going to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. I begged my mom to let me go. After several sessions of trying to justify why I, as a seventh grader, should be allowed to go, she offered an interesting proposal. My mom told me that I could go if my sister, Megan, drove me, stayed in a hotel room with me, and drove me back. I also had to agree to be picked up by the 10:00 p.m. curfew. To this day, it’s one of the quickest agreements I’ve ever entered into.

  Being a Charlotte Allstar wasn’t without some bumps and bruises. One day in practice, I fell and knocked my teeth out.5,6,7 Coach Brubaker ran right over to me. My teammates circled around us. The next person at my side was Coach Suzie. She rushed over from the other side of the gym.

  I didn’t realize it at the time, but working under those coaches and competing with those girls taught me self-discipline and teamwork. It reinforced how important it is to have pride in what you do and strive to be the best. I also created lifelong friendships.

  It was time to add another sport to my seasonal calendar. As a seventh grader, I laced up my Nike high-tops and stepped onto the hardwood as a member of the Providence Day Chargers junior varsity high school basketball team.

  I didn’t want the fun to end there. After basketball, I wanted to try a sport that I enjoyed watching on TV but never played before: tennis.

  My family was so excited that I wanted to try out for another school team. My dad took me to Sports Authority and bought me a white-and-blue Prince tennis racquet. The first day of tryouts, I showed up ready to play. Or so I thought. To put it nicely, my lack of experience showed from the opening serve. I was terrible. I got cut in the first round. It is the only team that I didn’t make. As I left tryouts, I could hear Grandmommy’s words about God closing one door and opening another.

  The school volleyball coach, Mrs. Stockton, asked me how tryouts went. When I told her I got cut, she said, “Why don’t you come over and give volleyball a shot?” She called my dad and told him I should try volleyball and that I needed knee pads, sneakers, and high socks. So I went into the gym and started learning the fundamentals. From the moment I saw the team run a play from the sidelines, I thought this was the ultimate team game. I had to get out there. Volleyball moved fast. The sport combined speed, power, and athleticism. I liked the equal emphasis on playing great offense and playing great defense.

  I went back to tryouts the next day. As the new kid on the court, I held my own and made the team. I couldn’t wait to get home and put on my uniform. I was so excited about my rookie season.

  During this time, we attended even more WCW shows. My dad’s close friend Doug Dillinger was the head of WCW security and always made sure we had official WCW shirts and hats if we wanted them. I remember Ted DiBiase asking me how I was doing in sports and telling me about his sons. We couldn’t turn a corner without Curt Hennig playing a joke on Reider and me, and J. J. Dillon wanted a full update on how I was doing in school.

  When we weren’t at WCW events, we watched my dad and all our friends each week on WCW’s Monday Nitro and Thunder television programs and every month on pay-per-view.

  We loved sitting around the TV together. I used to get chills when I’d hear his music. Reider loved getting up from his beanbag to emulate my dad’s strut. Sometimes we’d do it together, and he’d want to make sure we did it in stride. His favorite was reciting my dad’s “Meannnnnn, by God, Gene!” greeting that he’d begin his interviews with when he spoke to “Mean” Gene Okerlund. Of course, we joined the fans from home in saying, “WOOOOO!” at the appropriate times, which seemed like any time my dad was on TV. Reider wanted to grow up to be just like him. I was so proud of him. He was our hero.

  There were times when our family returned to WCW programming. One of the most popular segments was when Reider walked to the ring with Uncle Arn on Nitro and confronted Eric Bischoff.8 Dressed in his wrestling singlet with his gold medal around his neck, my brother took the microphone and said he was there to “take care of Dad’s light work.” He then brought Eric down to the mat twice with amateur wrestling takedowns. We were so proud of him.

  Today, when someone sends me a YouTube link or I’m watching the WWE Network, it’s funny to look back at me storming the ring on Nitro to give Vince Russo what he had coming to him. I remember certain events, but I was so young and involved in so many different things. It never crossed my mind to try wrestling or to ask my dad if I could go to WCW’s training school, the Power Plant, in Atlanta and enter the ring. That was his job. I was just his biggest fan.

  There were times when things happened on WCW programming that involved my dad or David, and we’d get questioned about it at school. It became more of an issue for Reider. Kids went up to him and said that the nWo was going to beat up the Four Horsemen, and they’d tease him if my dad was doing something on TV that was unflattering to him, and people thought was real. He dealt with it as best he could, but I know it was hard.

  Sometimes I’m asked what it was like being Ric Flair’s daughter and living through the Monday Night War—the battle between WWE and WCW over signing talent, television ratings, pay-per-view buy rates, and merchandise sales. Some people have a hard time believing me when I say I didn’t know. In fact, I didn’t know until years later. I didn’t know anything about WWE. We watched WCW.

  * * *

  Birthdays in the Fliehr house continued to be historic events. The morning of my fifteenth birthday, we all walked to the garage. I thought my mom was taking us to school as usual. When I opened the door and turned the light on, I saw a brand-new forest-green Land Rover with balloons tied to it. My dad recorded the proceedings with the family camcorder, and my parents and Reider sang, “Happy Birthday.”

  I couldn’t believe what was in front of me. I looked at my parents and they said, “It’s for you. Happy birthday.” My dad added, “You have to learn how to drive in so
mething,” and he gave me the keys. I walked around the car twice before I opened the driver’s-side door. I turned the key and saw the dashboard light up. One of the first things I noticed was something was blinking. My parents got me a five-CD changer in the dashboard. We all got in the car, and I drove us to Providence Day. Since I could only drive with another licensed driver, my parents would be with me, or sometimes one of the older cheerleaders would drive us to practice.

  That night, I drove everyone to the Melting Pot for a special dinner. We had a big table with my parents, Reider, my dad’s parents, and Grandmommy. As servers brought out different types of cheese fondue and breads, we laughed and took pictures the whole night. The adults enjoyed pairing different wines with the menu. No sips for us. Reider and I raised our glasses of iced tea and lemonade and toasted a wonderful night.

  10

  ADVERSITY COMES IN MANY FORMS

  I never said in my heart, “This is where I should be.”

  June 2001

  One afternoon after school, I walked into the kitchen and said hello to my mom and her friend Susan Beck. I wanted to ask about a summer trip, but once I saw that she and Susan were busy talking, I thought better of it.

  I decided to go to my room, and on the way upstairs, it sounded like they were both crying. I got to my room and stayed in the doorway. I could hear them talking, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. All the while, my mother just kept crying.

  I wanted to help my mom feel better. I went downstairs and asked her what was going on. I saw something that looked like a tape recorder—like the one I’d found in my dad’s car when I as a kid, but this one was a different color. She hesitated and looked at Susan.

  I said, “Mom, tell me. What’s wrong?”

  My mother said that my dad was having an affair.

  “With who?” I asked. “How did Dad meet her? Did she work for WCW?” I couldn’t understand how he could possibly meet someone since he was so busy traveling all the time. When he wasn’t on the road, he was home with us. He took Reider and me with him everywhere. Either that or he was out with my mom.

  My mom explained that Tiffany, the woman from Dad’s Gold’s Gym in South Park and the person who trained Reider and me every so often, was the other woman. I just stood there, stunned.

  I said, “What? What do you mean?”

  All I kept thinking was that my dad was my hero, our protector. He would never do anything to hurt our family.

  Hearing more about this and seeing my mother inconsolable made it feel like walls were closing in on me. My heart started racing. I couldn’t make sense of it. Should I be mad at my dad? We’d never had a conflict before. But how could I not be angry? How could I not feel betrayed?

  My mom explained that my dad had bought her a Mercedes. I never had any idea that there was a problem with my parents’ relationship. For the first time in my life, I was torn between my mom and my dad. I had to get to the bottom of this.

  I swiped the cordless house phone from the kitchen counter, ran up the stairs to my room, and called him. When he said, “Hello,” I couldn’t hold back my tears anymore. Everything poured out. “Dad, where are you? Who’s Tiffany? What’s going on?” I didn’t give him a second to answer me. “Come home, Dad. Please just come home.” I hung up the phone. I stayed in my room and cried.

  That night, somewhere around 8:00, I heard someone pull into the garage, walk through the kitchen, and up the steps. It was my dad. He came into my room, hugged me, and said he was sorry.1 He went back downstairs and talked with my mom. That was the last time we ever discussed that day.

  What made it more hurtful to my mom was that in addition to Tiffany being my brother’s trainer, she was a guest at my dad’s surprise fiftieth birthday party at the country club. This woman applauded with everyone after my mom’s video played. She joined us in singing “Happy Birthday” to him and saw all of us together as a family.

  After that night, my dad came home, and I never imagined I would hear the name Tiffany again. It didn’t dawn on me to ask about it either. I was so focused on athletics that if something didn’t directly affect me or if something happened and it was resolved, I turned my full attention back to sports. But whenever I heard the song “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” I thought of her.

  My parents went to counseling. They returned to hosting their dinner parties and attending events throughout Charlotte, and they went on a private cruise in Tahiti with another couple. Our summer family adventures continued. It felt like everything was back to normal. My parents sent me to see a therapist too. I remember speaking to him in his office. I molded clay. Around that time, all the girls on the Charlotte Allstars cheerleading team had their belly buttons pierced. I argued with my parents to let me do it, but they said that wasn’t appropriate for a girl in middle school. The therapist told them they should let me get it done, so they did. At least I could fit in with the girls on the team!

  Over the previous few years, many of the WCW families we grew up with moved from Charlotte to Atlanta. Thankfully, Uncle Arn’s family didn’t move, and we continued to enjoy more holidays and summer vacations with them. His son Barrett and I were boyfriend-girlfriend for a few months in middle school.

  Since WCW changed TV taping locations from Disney to Universal, we got to spend even more time exploring Orlando before I went into high school. We left no stone unturned when it came to enjoying the rides at Universal Studios: Back to the Future and Jaws were two favorites. Reider and I got slimed at Nickelodeon Studios, and we loved the shows at SeaWorld. We have pictures of all of us petting Shamu, and we were picked to hold fish up for the dolphins and whales to eat during the live shows.

  Back at “the Happiest Place on Earth,” we couldn’t wait to return to the Yacht Club. Once we settled in, we met our tour guide and hopped on the monorail to the Magic Kingdom to eat the giant turkey legs. Whenever I smell turkey legs, I think of how much my dad loved eating them. Disney offered something called a FastPass, which meant there was no waiting in line to go on our favorite rides. It was incredible.

  Even though I was surrounded by my precious family and the fantasy worlds I loved, volleyball began to consume my thoughts. You hear stories of athletes sleeping with their football or basketball or having their baseball glove under their pillow. I didn’t add volleyballs to my bedroom’s décor, but I understood the mentality.

  I still loved cheerleading, but volleyball, more than any other sport I played, became a part of my DNA. It became my passion. I wanted to take my volleyball skills to another level. I wanted to know how I’d fare against a wider range of competitors.

  The summer before ninth grade, I went to two camps that had top players from all over the United States. One was the Nike camp in North Carolina, and the other was at San Diego State University in San Diego, California.

  Each camp lasted one week, had three sessions per day, and included a player evaluation. Based on your grade, you’d be assigned to teams of appropriate skill. The top player from each class was put in the all-around game at the end of the camp.

  I had to work harder because, one, I had to catch up to everyone else at the camp. Most of the girls were dedicated to volleyball—no cheerleading, basketball, diving, track and field—just volleyball twelve months a year. Also, everyone saw my dad drop me off and watch from the stands. I had to prove that I belonged, that he didn’t pick up a phone and call someone to get me into these camps. I wanted to be known as a great athlete and a great teammate, not someone who received special treatment because her dad was famous.

  By the end of both camps, I made it into the all-around game. It was another reminder for me to always work hard, strive to be the best, and earn people’s respect. After many of the girls shared their routine with me throughout the year, I knew a tough decision was on the horizon.

  Once my week at San Diego State was over, my dad drove up the 405 to Los Angeles. The way the sun shone along the mountains and reflected off the Pacific Ocean was like
looking at a piece of heaven. We talked about volleyball, how much I loved going to these camps, and what movies we were going to see when we got home. He was so happy taking me to camp and being at my games.

  The traffic in the Los Angeles area was like nothing I had ever seen before. It reminded my dad and me of Independence Day when everyone was trying to get out of New York—though this was LA—and Jasmine Dubrow was not along for the ride. That didn’t deter us. First stop, Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills and the Salvatore Ferragamo store. When I walked through the doors, I thought I was at a fashion show. When I walked out, I felt like I was ready for the runway. He bought me a $2,000 bright red leather bag. Only a limited number of these came to the States from Ferragamo’s flagship store in Rome. I saw one of the camp instructors who played at San Diego State carrying one, and I wanted to be just like her. Before we flew home, Dad took me to his favorite sushi restaurant in LA.

  A few weeks later, I began training with Jeff George—not the NFL quarterback at the time but a top trainer who worked for my dad at the Crown Pointe Gold’s Gym. Jeff inspired me with his complete approach to fitness, which included sessions at his personal training studio in the Ballantyne section of Charlotte and which required a new level of commitment on my part. Regardless of vacations, birthday parties, or hanging out with friends, I trained with Jeff every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I looked forward to raising my level of training.

  Since I was a middle school student who played junior varsity volleyball and had two years under my belt as part of a senior cheering squad, I knew the kind of intensity I could expect in the ninth grade. I was determined to use my experience to be the best volleyball player I could be. After the kind of training I’d had during the summer, I felt confident that if I played well, I’d make the team. I wanted the pressure of having to make a new team, to be someone teammates and coaches depended on. Plus, I figured I’d fit in with the older girls, because I always played sports at a level higher than my age and I was comfortable around older people.