About 15 years ago, Richard Sandrak, who moved from Ukraine to the United States, was called the strongest boy in the world.
Richard started to exercise seriously when he was just a child. And at the age of 8 he could bench-press with more than 30 pounds! At 11 years of age he lifted 53 pounds!
Now he’s 24 years old and it’s hard to call him a jock.
Once he was given the nickname «Little Hercules», he was constantly invited to competitions, TV-shows, commercials, magazines and even movies. That’s why Richard’s family moved to California, so the son could fully realize himself.
Training, nutrition, regime — these points were monitored by the boy’s father — a former world champion in martial arts. Very often the man was criticized for abusing his son and putting a lot of pressure on him.
And when Richard was 11 years old, he called the police when his father assaulted his mother. The man was put in jail for domestic violence.
The boy stopped communicating with his father and no longer recognized him. For a while he was still practicing, but gradually it became less and less.
At the moment Richard says: «I am very proud of my achievements as a child, I am not ashamed of them and I do not try to hide this page of my life from anyone. And he adds: «I just don’t want to live like that anymore.» «They tried to make me look like some kind of abomination of nature.»
Now Richard continues to exercise, but not as fanatically. He runs every morning and also likes skateboarding. By profession, he is a stuntman at the show «Waterworld» in Los Angeles, where he is set on fire at least five times a day, and then he has to dive into the water from a great height.
Once he was asked what he wanted to be, his answer was surprising: «A scientist, doing quantum physics… or an engineer at NASA. Why not»?
My Parents Abandoned Me and My Siblings When I Was 15 — Years Later They Came At My Door Smiling
I was fifteen when my world shattered. My parents, whom I had always relied on, were frantically packing their belongings right before my eyes. “We’ll call child services.
They’ll take you away,” my father’s voice echoed as he stuffed his suitcase with clothes and belongings. I stood there, paralyzed, watching the chaos unfold, unable to comprehend the reality of what was happening. My little brothers, James, aged six, and Lucas, aged five, clung to me, their wide eyes filled with confusion and fear.
When the door slammed shut behind them, leaving us behind, the weight of responsibility crashed down on me. I became a parent overnight, thrust into a world I was unprepared for. The days that followed were a blur of panic, desperation, and sorrow. I tried my best to care for my brothers, but it wasn’t long before we were found and placed into the foster care system. The heart-wrenching separation from James and Lucas left a void in my heart that nothing could fill.
Struggles of Survival
The years that followed were a grueling test of endurance and willpower. I bounced from one foster home to another, each one a new challenge. Some were kind, but others were harsh and unloving.
The streets became my sanctuary at times, a place where I learned the harsh realities of life. I scraped by, working odd jobs, doing whatever it took to survive. The pain of being separated from my brothers never left me. Every night, I would lie awake, wondering where they were, if they were safe, if they remembered me.
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