“I will be home in a while, you don’t have to say a word.
I can’t wait to see you smile, wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
— Sum 41,
“Walking Disaster”
One of the most beautiful moments I experienced in the Sum 41 show back in March was hearing the song Walking Disaster.
Being the great showman that he was, the lead singer Deryck knew just how to immerse the audience in the song. He dimmed the lights, instructing us to light up the arena with our phones, waving them side to side in the air as we sang along. Just before the tempo of the song drastically picked up, he commanded, “Put your phones away now, because it’s time to get fucking crazy.”
I remember having goosebumps throughout the performance, utterly spellbound as Deryck bared his soul onstage, telling the story of his life through the music.
Walking Disaster is one of the most intimate and personal songs in Sum 41’s catalogue. As with other songs on the album Underclass Hero, it marked a significant milestone for Deryck as a songwriter. For the first time, he deliberately opened up about himself in his lyrics. Prior to this, his songwriting was more instinctive, as he would channel his feelings into his lyrics without thinking about what they truly meant to him.
So what does Walking Disaster mean?
Reflecting on Deryck’s own life, the song encapsulates the universal experience of coming to terms with adulthood — particularly the realization that everyone, including your parents, is simply doing their best with what they know and where they are in their lives.
Deryck was raised by a single mom who had him when she was just 17 years old. And even today, he has never known his father. His mom worked day and night to provide for him, but their close relationship began to falter during his teenage years. Moving in with his mother’s serious partner made Deryck feel sidelined, and he began avoiding home, crashing on friends’ couches, experimenting with drugs, and playing music with his band, Sum 41.
The opening verse vividly portrays this phase of his life:
“I haven’t been home for a while, I’m sure everything’s the same. Mom and dad both in denial, an only child to take the blame. Sorry mom, but I don’t miss you, father’s no name you deserve. I’m just a kid with no ambitions, wouldn’t come home for the world.”
As the song progresses, Deryck’s narrative changes from that of an angsty teenager, to one of a more matured adult. He no longer even remembers what his arguments with his mom were about. Most of all, he is reminded of the fond memories that they did share, and he realizes how much he misses her.
With regret, he acknowledges the choices he made and the feeling of being lost that followed. Despite his hope of reconciliation, he resigns himself to being a “walking disaster” and accepts that their relationship may never be fully healed.
To understand where the lyrics are coming from, it’s worth reading a passage from Deryck’s memoir, also aptly titled Walking Disaster. He writes, “When I think back to (my childhood), I realize how hard it must have been for her. She was only in her mid-twenties, but already had a kid, had gotten divorced, had recently gone back to high school as an adult, and was working while raising a child. Only once I was in my twenties did I realize the pressure, the embarrassment, the fear of not surviving that she faced. I just couldn’t fathom the kind of strength she had.
He recounts moments of their struggle, such as relying on welfare and food banks, yet also highlights her resilience and love. “As tough as it all must have been for her, she never let it show,” he reflects. “She was always happy to do anything and everything to make me feel like life was great.”
The song’s final verse offers a moving sense of closure. The teenager who once declared he “wouldn’t come home for the world” now assures his mom that he’s returning, eager to reconnect.
Walking Disaster stands as a poignant testament to the messy yet beautiful complexity of family relationships. It reminds us that growing up often means gaining a new perspective on those who shaped us — not necessarily forgiving their flaws, but accepting them as we grapple with our own.
Looking back at Sum 41’s performance of the song that night, it was more than just a highlight of their show. At least for me, it was a moment of universal connection, a reflection of the struggles, regrets, and reconciliations that define our human experience.
As the final notes faded, I wasn’t just cheering for the band. I was celebrating the courage it takes to face our past, and to also hold hope for the future that we still have ahead of us.
Izzat Zailan 