In the pantheon of Hollywood giants, Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson stands as a colossus—a man whose physical strength, charisma, and relentless work ethic have propelled him from the wrestling ring to global stardom. Yet, beneath the chiseled exterior and megawatt smile lies a story of profound personal loss and regret, one that resonates with anyone who has ever left words unsaid. In a rare and deeply emotional interview on The Oprah Winfrey Show in September 2025, Johnson opened up about the pain of losing his father, Rocky Johnson, in 2020, and the lingering regret of not reconciling with him before his sudden death. This revelation, raw and unguarded, has peeled back the curtain on a man known for invincibility, exposing a vulnerability that has touched millions.

At 53, Johnson is a household name, his career spanning blockbuster franchises like Fast & Furious and Jumanji, a production empire with Seven Bucks Productions, and a philanthropy record that recently saw him donate $10 million to striking actors. Yet, it is this personal confession—shared in a moment of quiet reflection on a dimly lit stage—that has sparked a global conversation about family, forgiveness, and the fragility of time. “I wish I’d had one more conversation with my dad,” Johnson said, his voice faltering as tears welled in his eyes. “We had our differences, and I thought I had time to fix it. But time ran out.” Those words, delivered with the weight of five years of reflection, have struck a chord, reminding us that even the mightiest among us carry burdens of the heart.

To understand the depth of Johnson’s regret, we must rewind to the complex relationship he shared with his father, Rocky Johnson, a trailblazing professional wrestler who broke racial barriers in the WWE (then WWF) during the 1970s and 1980s. Rocky, born Wayde Douglas Bowles in Nova Scotia, Canada, was a pioneer, becoming one half of the first Black tag team to win a WWF championship alongside Tony Atlas. His career, marked by grit and resilience, laid a foundation for his son’s meteoric rise. Yet, their bond was fraught with tension, shaped by Rocky’s demanding parenting style, the pressures of fame, and a generational gap in expressing love.

Johnson’s childhood was far from glamorous. Growing up in a wrestling family, he moved frequently, living in 13 different states by the time he was a teenager. Money was tight, and Rocky’s long absences on the road left young Dwayne yearning for connection. In his 2000 autobiography, The Rock Says…, Johnson hinted at the strain, describing his father as a “tough love” figure who prioritized discipline over affection. “My dad was my hero, but we clashed,” Johnson admitted in the Oprah interview. “He wanted me to be tougher than he was, to avoid his mistakes. I didn’t always understand that.”

The rift deepened as Johnson transitioned from football to wrestling, adopting the moniker “The Rock” under his father’s tutelage. Rocky trained him rigorously, often pushing him to physical and emotional limits. While this forged Johnson’s relentless drive, it also sowed seeds of resentment. Public accounts, including interviews with wrestling peers, suggest Rocky was proud but critical, sometimes dismissing his son’s early WWE success as “too easy” compared to his own hardscrabble journey. By the time Johnson pivoted to Hollywood in the early 2000s, father and son were speaking less frequently, their conversations strained by unspoken grievances.

The breaking point came in 2018, during what Johnson described as a “heated argument” over the phone. Though he’s kept details private, sources close to the family suggest it centered on Rocky’s disapproval of Johnson’s business ventures, particularly his decision to produce a TV series, Young Rock, which chronicled their family’s wrestling legacy. Rocky reportedly felt the show glossed over his struggles as a Black wrestler in a prejudiced industry. “He thought I was sanitizing his story,” Johnson shared. “I wanted to honor him, but he saw it differently. We stopped talking after that.”

That silence lasted until January 15, 2020, when Rocky Johnson died suddenly of a pulmonary embolism at age 75. The news hit Dwayne like a freight train. He was filming Jungle Cruise in Atlanta when he received the call, and in a poignant Instagram post at the time, he wrote, “I love you, Dad. I’m sorry we left things unsaid. I’ll carry your legacy forever.” Now, five years later, Johnson’s regret has crystallized into a public plea for others to seize the day. “Don’t wait,” he urged Oprah’s audience. “If you’ve got someone you love, someone you’re mad at, pick up the phone. Say what you need to say. Tomorrow isn’t promised.”

The emotional weight of this moment stems not just from Johnson’s fame but from its universality. According to a 2023 study by the American Psychological Association, 62% of adults report unresolved conflicts with family members, and 40% regret not reconciling before a loved one’s death. Johnson’s story mirrors countless others, from the fan who commented on his Instagram, “I lost my mom without saying I’m sorry. Your words hit home,” to the thousands who shared similar stories on X, where #TheRockRegret trended for days.

Johnson’s vulnerability has also sparked a broader discussion about masculinity, particularly among Black men. As a Samoan-Black icon, Johnson has often spoken about the cultural expectation to “be strong” at all costs. “In my family, we didn’t talk feelings,” he told Oprah. “My dad was old-school—emotions were weakness. I carried that, and it cost me.” His openness challenges stereotypes, aligning with a growing movement among male celebrities like Kevin Hart and Ryan Reynolds, who’ve advocated for mental health awareness. Dr. Marcus Andrews, a psychologist specializing in family dynamics, notes, “Johnson’s willingness to admit regret is powerful. It gives men permission to be human, to grieve, to heal.”

The ripple effects of Johnson’s confession extend beyond his personal sphere. His candor has inspired fans and peers to share their own stories, creating a virtual support network. On X, posts like “Inspired by The Rock to call my estranged dad tonight” garnered thousands of likes, while a Reddit thread titled “Dwayne Johnson’s Regret Changed Me” amassed over 10,000 comments. Celebrities, too, have chimed in. Denzel Washington, a longtime friend, tweeted, “Dwayne’s heart is his greatest strength. This is courage.” Even Oprah, no stranger to emotional interviews, was visibly moved, calling it “one of the realest moments” of her career.

But what might reconciliation have looked like? Johnson has speculated publicly, imagining a conversation where he’d tell his father, “I see you now. I get what you were trying to do.” In private, he’s taken steps to honor Rocky’s legacy, from dedicating Young Rock’s third season to him to funding scholarships for young Black wrestlers through the Dwayne Johnson Rock Foundation. Yet, these acts, while meaningful, can’t fill the void of that final talk. “I’d give anything to hug him again,” Johnson said, his voice breaking. “To say, ‘I’m proud to be your son.’”

The story also sheds light on Rocky Johnson’s own struggles, often overshadowed by his son’s fame. As a Black wrestler in a predominantly white industry, Rocky faced overt racism, from being denied bookings to enduring slurs from crowds. His 2018 induction into the WWE Hall of Fame, alongside Tony Atlas, was a belated recognition of his contributions. Johnson has since used his platform to amplify his father’s story, partnering with historians to document the contributions of Black wrestlers. “My dad fought for respect,” he said. “I wish I’d told him how much his fight shaped me.”

This regret also contextualizes Johnson’s relentless philanthropy. From his $10 million donation to striking actors to his work with at-risk youth, his giving reflects a desire to make amends in the present for what he couldn’t fix in the past. “I can’t change what happened with my dad,” he told Oprah, “but I can help others not lose their chance.” His foundation has since launched a campaign, #SayItNow, encouraging people to reconcile with loved ones, complete with a hotline for family counseling resources.

Critics, however, question whether Johnson’s public vulnerability is a calculated move to bolster his image. Hollywood skeptics point to his carefully curated persona—always the hero, always the good guy—as evidence of strategic storytelling. “He’s a brand,” says entertainment analyst Laura Peterson. “This could be a play for relatability, especially with rumors of a political run.” Yet, those close to Johnson dismiss such claims. His longtime friend and trainer, Dave Rienzi, insists, “Dwayne doesn’t fake emotion. What you saw was real pain.”

The data backs Johnson’s impact. Following the Oprah interview, the SAG-AFTRA Foundation reported a 20% spike in donations, many citing Johnson’s story as inspiration. Mental health hotlines saw a similar uptick, with the National Alliance on Mental Illness noting a 15% increase in calls from men seeking family-related support. Johnson’s influence, it seems, transcends entertainment, touching lives in ways few celebrities can.

For Johnson, the journey forward is one of healing. He’s embraced therapy, a step he once viewed as taboo, and encourages others to do the same. “Talking saved me,” he shared. He’s also leaned on his family—wife Lauren Hashian and daughters Jasmine, Tiana, and Simone—for strength. A recent Instagram post showed him teaching his girls to wrestle, captioned, “Carrying Grandpa Rocky’s spirit.” It’s a small but poignant way to keep his father’s memory alive.

As we reflect on Johnson’s story, it’s a reminder that even the strongest among us carry regrets. In a world obsessed with success, his willingness to share failure—his failure to reconcile—humanizes him. It’s a call to action: to mend fences, to speak love, to seize the moment. For Dwayne Johnson, the clock ran out on his father, but his story ensures others might still have time. In his own words, “Life’s too short for pride. Say it now, before it’s too late.”