Shaquille O’Neal Wanted to Escape “Crazy” Stepfather’s Clutches After Mom Lucille’s Life-Altering Confession

Shaquille O’neal grew up calling drill sergeant Phillip Harrison ‘Dad’. A no-nonsense U.S. Army drill sergeant who married Shaq’s mother, Lucille, when Shaq was just three, Harrison became the rock in his life. He instilled structure, accountability, and mental toughness—all the qualities that later defined Shaq’s dominance on and off the court. At 11, Shaquille O’Neal learned that the man he called ‘Dad’ wasn’t his biological father, and he vowed to find the truth. Decades later, the four‑time champion finally confronted his past on The Big Podcast, revealing the painful moment that reshaped his identity.

Harrison’s influence was deep. From trips to Madison Square Garden to the sharp-edged lessons at home, Shaq often said he owed it all to him. “If you listen to me, I’ll make you one of the most dominant big men ever,” Harrison once told him—and he did. When Harrison passed, all the emotions Shaq had learned to hold in came rushing out. “I really let it go because I didn’t get to tell him thank you enough.” That grief triggered Shaq’s search for his biological father.

O’Neal got real recently on The Big Podcast with Shaq, opening up about a moment that hit him hard as a kid. “I found out when I was 11 that my father wasn’t my biological father,” he said. “I found it in school ’cause dude was like, ‘You know why your last name is different?’ ‘Cause my father’s last name is Harrison and all my brother and sister are Harrison… ’cause he’s not your father.” When a classmate exposed his name, 11‑year‑old Shaq punched out his anger, defending the only father he knew. “I was mad because my father was a drill sergeant. He was tough. He was a disciplinarian—like the stuff you can’t do today.” But even through that frustration, Shaq sees the value now. “That’s what made me who I am today.”

Still, at 11, all he could think was: “I got to get away from this dude. He’s crazy,” Shaq remembered. “I want to go stay with my real dad. Now I got a reason.” At 11, Lucille drove him to their Newark neighborhood to meet his biological father, Joseph Toney, and “Dude got a head rag on and a cigarette. I was like, this my father?” One look was all it took. “I was like, no, I’m cool. I’ll just stay.”

Decades later, after his stepdad passed, his mom nudged him again. “You need to get to know your real father.” Shaq hesitated—“Mom, I’m 50”—but she told him, “He was a good man. He just went through some stuff.” So now, they’re slowly building something. Still, Shaq kept it honest: “When I met him, I was like, ‘Hey man, I ain’t calling you dad. I just want to tell you straight up.”

Let’s take a closer look at how their long, complicated journey toward reconciliation finally began.

Shaquille O’Neal’s and Toney’s second meeting

Shaq was 22, an All-Star, and already a force of nature in the NBA when the past tried to sneak back into his life. It was 1994. Shaq had just begun his reign in Orlando when he flipped on the TV and saw something he didn’t expect— his biological father, on a show pleading for a second chance. That didn’t sit right. Not after years of silence. Not after prison time for check forgery. Not when Harrison had already stepped up, filled the void, and molded him into a man. He channeled the pain into a pointed track, “Biological Don’t Bother.” That was his way of closing the door. Publicly. Decisively.

But behind the tough exterior was a complicated mix of emotions. While some reports claimed Toney had surrendered his parental rights, he denied that. Still, he made little effort to reconnect after serving six years in prison. Some say Harrison didn’t allow contact; either way, Shaq had made up his mind. He had a dad. It wasn’t Toney. And when Harrison passed away in 2013, his mother quietly encouraged him: Maybe it was time to meet the man who helped bring him into the world. By then, Toney had turned a corner. He was working at a Goodwill, driving delivery trucks to homeless shelters, trying to rebuild something out of the wreckage of his past.

And then came 2016. Vonda’s Kitchen in Newark, New Jersey. It wasn’t just another stop for comfort food; Shaq had been going there for years. This time, though, was different. Diners watched him not with surprise, but with quiet anticipation. They had reason to wonder. Toney lived right upstairs. And sure enough, there he was, seated at a table near the door, nervous, older now, waiting.

Shaq walked up. “I’m not mad at you,” he told him. “I don’t hate you.” No grand speeches. Just a man giving another man, his father, a chance. “He had some problems when he was young. I don’t judge him,” Shaq later said. “As long as we’re both here, we just get to know each other.” These days, they talk every couple of weeks. Toney’s even met Shaq’s oldest child.

For years, Shaq built walls around his pain. But life has a way of circling back. In the same city where he was born, where his father left, and where another man stepped in to raise him, Shaq found a fragile kind of peace. The reunion with Toney didn’t erase the past—it didn’t have to. What mattered was the effort.