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There's No Such Thing as a Bad Kid: How I Went from Stereotype to Prototype
240Overview
An inspiring story from a humanitarian role model and WWE superstar, known to fans as Titus O’Neil
One caring person can change the course of a child’s life — Titus O’Neil knows that first-hand. Growing up, he was repeatedly confronted with negativity. By the time he was a teenager, he figured that he was the bad kid everyone said he was — until an adult looked him in the eye and said, “There is no such thing as a bad kid.” Unfortunately, many children across North America are labeled “bad.” They may have short attention spans, unstable home environments, or learning difficulties. Often, these young people are diagnosed with an emotional or behavioral disorder and placed in special classes. They internalize these labels, and the imposed limitations affect their ability to learn, behave, and fit in.
There’s No Such Thing as a Bad Kid chronicles Titus’s turbulent childhood years as he was helped to shed the label and realize his unique greatness, his value and potential. His remarkable story will provide hope and inspiration to children in similar circumstances and will help guide well-meaning adults in how to pay forward their successes to a generation of disadvantaged children.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781770414921 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | ECW Press |
| Publication date: | 08/06/2019 |
| Pages: | 240 |
| Sales rank: | 624,891 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.40(w) x 8.60(h) x 1.00(d) |
About the Author
WWE Superstar Titus O’Neil is an accomplished athlete and entertainer in the ring and hard-working philanthropist out of the ring. He has helped raise millions for charities, secured scholarships for student athletes, and he mentors at-risk youth. Paul Guzzo is a journalist, filmmaker, and author. A proud native of Ewing, New Jersey, he has lived in the Tampa Bay area since 1999.
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
There is no such thing as a bad kid.
Too often in our society, children are labeled based on their behavior, economic status, religion, or race. The stereotypes that go along with these labels can have a devastating effect. These kids can carry this stigma with them through adulthood, and they may even begin to believe that the stereotype is who they really are.
Let's talk about the stigmas and stereotypes that go hand in hand with the phrase "bad kid." When kids misbehave in class, teachers, caregivers, and parents can be quick to dismiss labels more properly belonging to diagnoses of medical, emotional, or behavioral conditions. Instead, they reduce those children to two dreaded words: "bad kid." The purpose of this book is to not only shed some light on many of the issues facing our children but also reveal why we must learn to act and talk in a manner that consciously eradicates the phrase. "Bad kid" should never be uttered again to describe a child.
I didn't write this book as a philosopher or a theologian. I wrote this book because I was once labeled a bad kid. Had it not been for the people in my life who supported me, and one man in particular who told 12-year-old me that "there is no such thing as a bad kid," the words that you are about to read would be completely different — if ever written at all.
This is not just the story of my past. It is also a tale I continue to share with youth around the world, with the hope of positively affecting both the present and future.
I want adults who were once labeled bad kids but had someone pushing them in the right direction, helping to get them out of a bad situation and providing them with much needed counseling, to relate to the stories in this book. We all have a duty to help those so-called bad kids when we encounter them, whether they are mirror images of ourselves or not. But I also want this book to be a revelation for those whose childhoods went smoothly. Do not judge a man, woman, or child whose shoes you have never walked in; instead, understand that the circumstances of someone's life can affect who that person becomes.
I was once wrongly judged and labeled because no one took the time to understand my circumstances ...
* * *
In the summer of 1976, Daria Bullard was raped in her St. Augustine, Florida, home.
She was 11 years old.
Her attacker was someone she knew.
She gave birth to a son in Boynton Beach's Bethesda Memorial Hospital on April 29, 1977.
You know me as WWE Superstar Titus O'Neil, but that's just a character I play on TV. My real name is Thaddeus Bullard. Daria is my mom, and I am the product of that rape.
Though I obviously have no recollection of the hospital room in which I was born, I am willing to bet it was the nicest place I stayed as a young child. My mom was a kid herself; she did her best to raise me, but it was always a financial struggle.
I should have ended up in a much different and worse situation than I am in today. At a young age, I was regularly told that I would end up in prison or dead, and for much of my childhood, I was on a path to prove those people right. I fought too much. I screwed around too much. I yelled at adults too much. I didn't study enough. I was labeled a bad kid by too many people to count. I was living up to those low expectations.
Yet, as I write these words, I know that I am a good man and a success — and neither has anything to do with my status as a WWE Superstar. Being a WWE Superstar is what I do for a living, but it is not who I am for a living.
I am a man who played football for and then graduated from the University of Florida. I am a man who went from troubled kid from the projects to elected vice president of that university's student body. I am a man who every year makes sure that thousands of the Tampa Bay area's underprivileged kids wake up to presents under their Christmas tree and receive backpacks, lunch boxes, and classroom supplies before the school year. I am a man who relishes my job as a father and role model to two sons.
I am a man who proves that how you are labeled as a child does not have to define who you will become as an adult. I am a man who lives every day as proof that there is no such thing as a bad kid.
I want to spread that message to every corner of the globe. I am not a psychiatrist or psychologist, but I believe, with every fiber of my being, that we cannot shallowly state that a kid is bad and think that is that; I want adults to understand that we need to look deeper than a child's behavior. While it's possible their financial situation may play a role in their actions, we need to look past that. Kids from rich, poor, and middleclass families can all share common problems. We have to look at their family life. We have to look at the educational barriers they may face. Maybe the child is getting bullied at school. Maybe the child has an undiagnosed learning disability. Maybe the child is physically or verbally abused at home. We have to take those issues and others into account. In doing so, we can transform the lives of countless children.
No child is inherently bad — it is only until we understand why the child is misbehaving that we can help to remedy the situation. And if you are not personally equipped to help, find someone who is.
If someone was struck by a car in a hit-and-run accident in front of your house, would you look at that person and say, "I'd like to help, but I'm not a doctor ..." and then walk away? Or would you call 911?
I might not be an expert in the field, but my life experience has given me a unique perspective. It is from that experience that I believe the following: Ignoring a child in need may suppress their hope for a better future. Helping to transform that child may open their eyes not only to hope but to a whole new world of possibility. For much of my childhood, I was called a bad kid — period. Had no one stepped in to examine why I acted the way I did, perhaps I would have proven my naysayers correct and ended up dead or in jail. When I finally met people willing to see the big picture surrounding my issues, they realized I did not come from my mother's womb cursing and fighting. They understood I was reacting to my environment. They sought to understand the causes of my behavior and then realized I could be saved through a positive, structured, and disciplined environment. That was what gave me hope.
I owe those individuals everything and have since dedicated my life to paying their faith forward.
My beginning was not very good, but there was nothing I could do about that.
I can, however, dictate my ending, and it will be special.
CHAPTER 2Let's eat.
Hungry.
Where's the food?
If you follow me on social media — @TitusONeilWWE — you know that when I am traveling, whether it is with WWE or for personal reasons, I post one of those three phrases the moment my plane lands. And, within a few hours, I'll post a photo of a plate of food that is as much a work of art as it is a meal.
I'm a foodie. I have been for at least 20 years.
One of the best parts of my lifestyle is that it allows me to fully indulge that foodie-ness.
When I'm in New York, I look for great cheesecake and pizza. In the South, I want to eat at great farm-to-table restaurants. On the West Coast, all I want is fantastic sushi. In Germany, I'll crave the best schnitzel. In places like Japan, South Africa, and South America, I'll look for a good steak. But I am not just some big greedy individual running around, stuffing his face. What I appreciate most is the fact that I have options — as a kid I didn't have any.
There aren't many types of foods I don't like either. In my travels, I always make an effort to try foods I never thought I'd have access to — eel, alligator, bison, the list goes on and on. There is nothing I will not taste at least once.
That said, there are some foods I absolutely refuse to eat today, like egg noodles and frozen bags of mixed sweet peas and carrots. It's not so much the taste; rather, they conjure up negative memories of my childhood.
Food can be about more than the things we put in our mouths. Food can be a definition of who we are, where we come from, and what we must overcome.
When I look back on my childhood, all the food I was served was inexpensive and very unhealthy: neck bones, hot dogs, fried pork chops, smothered pork chops and chicken, Spam, bologna, pork and beans, government cheese that came in hard square blocks, government peanut butter that could bend a knife, and an assortment of dessert and breakfast options made with Jiffy muffin mixes.
And those egg noodles and frozen peas and carrots were included at just about every dinner. It is why they remind me of the struggles of my childhood. If someone had told me that I'd one day be dining at five-star restaurants on the regular, I'd look at them like they were crazy. As a kid, I ate what my mom put forward, no matter what it was; it was fuel for our bodies. We didn't have much, but we made do with what we had.
When my grandmother learned my mom was pregnant, she took her to Boynton Beach for an abortion. My mom had second thoughts and refused. Furious with that decision, my grandmother threw my mom out of the house. My mom, who was 12 when I was born, was taken in by her friend Cherlene's grandparents in Delray Beach. Those nice folks looked after me during the day so that my mom could continue her education.
But by the time I was three, my mom — still a kid, remember — had started getting into trouble at school and lashing out at adults, including Cherlene's grandparents. She voluntarily placed me in foster care while she was counseled for anger that stemmed from the rape that she hid from just about everyone, including me, for many years.
Not long after, my mom began dating her friend's cousin, Clifford, and within a few months was pregnant with his child. My mom dropped out of school, took me back, and, along with Clifford, we moved into a two-bedroom apartment on Fifth Avenue in Delray Beach. Locals nicknamed our neighborhood "The Hole" because it was a dead-end street: there was only one way in and one way out. And, like a big hole, the neighborhood seemed impossible to escape. The only reason to ever be in The Hole was because you were stuck living there or were buying drugs or stolen goods.
It was there, on my fourth birthday, that my brother Clifford Jr. was born. A lot of kids may have a problem with sharing a birthday with a sibling; it usually means sharing the spotlight at your parties. But we never had that issue — we never had birthday parties. We weren't even guaranteed presents. And some years, instead of a cake, we each received a single cupcake made from Jiffy mix.
The only birthday parties I experienced as a child were those I attended, oftentimes without a present for the birthday kid. The parties were typically the same — hot dogs and hamburgers, tater tots, those small bags of chips, cake, and red-and-blue Bomb Pops. For me, those foods will be forever synonymous with kids' parties. Sometimes at WWE, when catering includes hot dogs and tater tots, I'll yell, "Whose birthday party is it?"
When I was a child, my mom was clear: she could not afford to throw me a birthday party. So I never expected one.
Santa Claus? She never let me believe in him. If I received a present, it was because she worked hard. We believed in God and His blessings, not some magical man who flew on reindeer and snuck into homes. Plus, if other kids received 10 toys from Santa and I received only one, I'd have thought I had done something wrong.
The only holiday we went all out to celebrate was Thanksgiving, because we would be invited to a relative's home, typically one of my aunts'. The adults would play dominoes and cards in the front room, while the cousins — 15 of us — would play football and basketball outside. Come dinnertime, everyone ate like it was our last meal.
When I was six, money got even tighter. On January 30, 1984, my brother Corey was born. Then, just 11 months later, on December 28, 1984, my mom gave birth to my brother Ted.
I have always gotten along with my siblings and have never thought of them as half-brothers. Unfortunately, I never respected their dad, Clifford. In my opinion, he did not exude a positive image of what a parent should be, and I never looked at him as a father figure.
Every child needs positive parental figures, mentors, and role models at home. I feel like a lot of the problems we have in our society are because of a lack of this positive influence.
Role models can vary. They can be a single mother or father, both a mom and a dad, or two moms, or two dads. Every family is different, but the one commonality should be that there is a strong parental presence to shape the minds, hearts, and principles of a child.
My mom, a single mom, was a great role model, even if I didn't realize it at the time. She led by example through her strength and determination to provide for us.
Still, for whatever reason, I also needed a positive father figure. Every child is different. Many children grow into fine adults without ever having a traditional father or mother figure in their life. Many moms fill that fatherly void, and vice versa. Many children embrace their mothers in dual roles as fathers. My mom was strong enough to be a father as well. But I just couldn't see that at the time.
The closest thing I had to a positive father figure in my childhood was Charles. Charles was my mom's ex-boyfriend, from before she met Clifford. Charles had agreed to pretend he was my father to hide how I was really conceived.
He'd come around every so often and bring me small presents and play with me. But even as a naive little kid, I never believed he was my dad. There was no emotional connection. When I was seven or eight, his visits became less frequent. Eventually, my "father," Charles, was never mentioned again. I didn't think much of it; like me, so many of my friends didn't have fathers either.
All I had was Clifford.
He drank too much. He didn't seem to have a great work ethic. He never showed my mom the respect she deserved as a mother of four who worked hard as a waitress and as a parent. Did I respect my mother as I much as I should have? No — but I was a kid. He was a grown man who was supposed to teach me to respect women.
I never wanted to be Clifford's son, and, in my opinion, he never tried to be a dad to me. He was just some dude in the house. Arguments were the norm, and I'd let him know how I felt, and he'd let me know he didn't care. But when he was drunk, he could get abusive, in my view, and sometimes the arguments would escalate to violence. I never hit him back, but I sure as hell wanted to.
I never want to be compared to Clifford, so as an adult, I work hard to avoid many of his negative behaviors. For example, while I'll have an occasional glass of red wine, I've made it a point to never get drunk. You'll never see me drinking a six-pack of beer or taking shots with my friends. I've been drunk only once in my life. I was a sophomore in college, and it was so bad that Cara Evans, one of my best friends, had to help me home, shower me, get me in bed, and make sure I didn't choke on my own vomit. The next day, I felt terrible.
* * *
My mom felt stuck. If our family was barely making it with two incomes, what would happen with one? She got her answer a little less than two years after my youngest brother was born. Clifford left her. My mom, a 21-year-old without a high school education, was suddenly left to raise four boys on her own. A year later, we moved to the Boynton Terrace Apartments, Section 8 housing — the projects.
Our apartment wasn't too bad. We had three bedrooms — I split a room with my brother Clifford — and two bathrooms, so the wait to shower was never too long. We also had a small television, though the kids rarely had a say in what was on; that was up to my mother. She loved Dallas, which I hated until I ultimately got swept up in the soap opera plots. MacGyver was another one of her favorites.
What I liked most were shows like Good Times and Sanford and Son because I related to the characters and stories. Those shows were groundbreaking and opened America's eyes to what truly goes on in the African American community. They were sitcoms, but they also tackled serious issues — such as homelessness and racism — both overtly and covertly. Maybe the characters were a little too stereotypical at times, but for the most part, those programs truly represented the reality of Black America and our culture. Plus, it was just fun to see characters who looked, talked, and lived like me.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "There's No Such Thing as a Bad Kid"
by .
Copyright © 2019 WWE.
Excerpted by permission of ECW PRESS.
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Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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