The Tsunami Thrill Ride – Chapter One - "Hooked On A Feeling"
I didn’t have very good parents. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna sit here and tell you that lame ass story…I know you don’t give a fuck about it and to be honest, it’s pretty boring. My parents were not good to me in the sense that they had no fucking clue what they were doing. My mom has wised up over the years, thanks to a decent second husband, but my Pops? He was always more like my big brother than a father figure and at least he knew it. He was a terrible husband. He would gamble, cheat, steal, sell drugs, he was in and out of jail…. You name it, he did it. But none of that mattered to me. To me…he was the coolest fucking homie around. But in order for you to understand some of my story, you’ve got to understand their story…
Peggy Lane Deiterschmidt was born in Dearborn, Michigan in the middle of a sweltering August in 1975. She was the daughter of John Michael Deiterschmidt and Louise Deiterschmidt nee Wilson. John was a hard working stamper who spent nearly 40 years standing in the same spot in a Ford factory. Nearly every Ford engine block made from 1968 to 1995 was stamped by that motherfucker. He was as tough as sandpaper and about as nice as a raging bull. But for some reason, that beautiful angel Louise Wilson fell for him in the early 1960’s. In the midst of the sexual revolution, a bright-eyed Blondie from Williamston, Michigan fell for the most old school son of a bitch she could find. For all the shit that man gave my mom, and for all the beatings he threw my Uncle Jack’s way…he treated that lady like the saint she was. They were married in 1972 and had Jack in 1974. A year later…out came Peggy Lane.
From the stories past down my way, Peggy was a great kid. She kept her head down and her nose clean. She had bright blonde hair and incredibly big brown eyes. Peggy was a looker, but she didn’t know it. She wore jeans and long skirts with turtlenecks and ugly sweaters. She was a bit of a nerd. She was a star field hockey player and a straight A+ student. That’s exactly why it was such a shock when she brought Keith McBride home for dinner. Keith was a ruffian. Four years her senior, he wore a tight leather jacket and looked more like a greaser from the 1950’s than most of the new jack swing guys running around in the early 90’s. He had brown hair that always seemed darker because it was dirty and he had scruff on his face in a time when it was definitely not popular or sexy. He didn’t shower very often and drove a 1979 Pontiac Firebird, which really pissed John off. You see, John worked for Ford and as far as he was concerned you only drove one brand of automobile.
Keith, and I call him Keith and not Dad because he forbids the word to this day, was from Boston. He grew up in Charlestown in the south side of the city and moved out west when he turned 18 because he was hoping to start a new life. He came from a broken home of his own. His mom, Jenny McBride, was a hard worker who didn’t know much about being a mom or an adult. His dad, who was some douchebag with a motorcycle apparently, split before he was born. I didn’t know much about Grandma Jenny as Keith rarely spoke about her. She past away just before his 18th birthday, right before he moved out to Michigan in 1988. He struggled to hold down a steady gig and in 1989 he found himself in some shit. He was arrested on some petty burglary charges. He and his buddy, Rod, were breaking into cars and stealing anything they could get their hands on. They’d pawn whatever they could to score some shit and then rinse and repeat. Eventually they got bagged because they broke the passenger side window of an unmarked cop car. He served eight months in a small county jail before getting out and grabbing a job as a mechanic at a local gas station. The gas station had a car wash and three afternoons a week; a pretty young girl named Peggy from Dearborn worked the cash register.
From what Keith tells me, it started out pretty cute. He’d bring her a pop or an ice cream and they’d flirt. Keith wasn’t like anyone else Peggy knew. He had a thick Boston accent and a look about him that screamed ‘I don’t give a fuck.’ The connection was instant and heavy. Before long they were sneaking around the back of the gas stations and hookin’ up. Keith always said that Peggy was his greatest love and believe you me, had many. After just a few months, Peggy brought him home for dinner. Louise was a good, accepting woman. She took Johnny for what he was. A good looking cat who probably got a raw deal in life but was trying pretty hard to impress the parents of the girl he loved. He showed up for dinner with flowers for Louise and a box of cigars for John. Peggy had mentioned to him how much he loved cigars so Keith went all out. He brought out all the stops. It didn’t work, not even a little bit. John fucking hated him. He hated him so much he stopped dinner in the middle and asked him to leave. True story. John knew that Keith was bad news for Peggy from the second that Irish grease ball walked through the front door. He wanted to throw him out right there but it took him until halfway through dinner to work up the nerve. Keith, being smart enough to know that he was in a battle he wasn’t going to win, politely thanked Louise for the dinner and then gave Peggy a giant smooch right in front of John. He gave his future father-in-law a handshake and left. What John didn’t know was that Keith and his buddy Rod came back at about three in the morning and pissed all over his Ford Taurus. That was Keith…he’d smile to your face and get you back when you weren’t looking.
Despite the obvious objections of John and Louise, Peggy Lane Deiterschmidt became Peggy Lane McBride on February 14th, 1992. It was a Valentine’s Day wedding in a courthouse. Keith wore a tie. His buddy Rod Foley was his best man. Rod was a total piece of shit douchebag. Of all the bad shit that happened between my mom and Keith, Rod was the root of almost all of it. Anyway, that’s a story for another chapter. My parent’s were happy as shit when they got married. They honeymooned up in Traverse City and about nine and a half months later, this dude popped out. The struggle was real for my newlywed parents. They lived in a small one-bedroom apartment above a drug store in Dearborn. Keith was still working as a mechanic, although he had been through a few jobs since he met Peggy. She was secretary at a small law office just up the street from our apartment. As much as Keith loved my mom, h figured out real quick that he didn’t like being married. He started staying out late and eventually just stopped coming home at night some times. When my mom confronted him he would just shrug it off. This would lead to pretty crazy fights. On more than one occasion, people at the drug store downstairs would call the police on them. Peggy was a quiet girl, still is, but boy could my pops just get her going. All the while I was just a baby, spending my first few months in this crazy fucked up world in that crazy fucked up scenario. It didn’t take long, my mom filed for divorce in early 1994. We packed up and moved in with John and Louise and Keith headed for Miami, greener and bluer pastures.
My earliest memories are of my grandparent’s house in Dearborn. Separating from Keith and moving back in with them was probably the best thing that ever happened to Peggy. She was able to go back to school and work on her degree and I got to stay at home with Louise, which was probably the best thing that could’ve happened to me. Mom was a great lady and turned out to be a pretty decent mom, but that wouldn’t happen for years. Mom needed to grow up and Louise was perfectly fine to watch over me while she did. John was happy too, especially because Keith was out of the picture. He was willing to do anything to prevent mom and him from getting back together. Keith would call and write all the time. He’d tell my mom how stupid he was and how he missed her and Peggy would just eat that shit up. She’d tell her parents that when Keith came back from Florida they were gonna move back in together and try it again and sure enough, Christmas of 1995, Keith came back. His hair was longer and gone were the scruffy face and the tight leather jacket. They were replaced by silk shirts, pleated pants, and an earring in his left ear. By some miracle, mom had convinced John to let him stay in the basement until he found an apartment. Thing is, it only took him a couple of weeks. He got a job as a salesman at a local used car dealership and was apparently making some decent coin. He rented a small condo in Southfield and Peggy packed me up and we moved in just around what would’ve been there fourth wedding anniversary. Three weeks later they were married again, another courthouse wedding with Rod Foley as his best man.
I remember that condo. It had burgundy walls and a white carpet that Keith was always yelling at me about for getting dirty. Mom had finished her degree and was now teaching English at a local high school. Keith was knocking it out of the park at work and making lots dough and everything seemed to be going really well. Everything seemed to be perfect. So naturally, something catastrophic had to happen and fuck everything up. And that catastrophic thing…well that was just Keith. It was in the middle of the night when the police came banging on the door. I don’t remember all of this point of my life but I sure as fuck remember this night. They arrested Keith and my mom and called social services to come get me. Luckily someone decided to get John and Louise on the phone to come get me. Apparently Keith wasn’t exactly making his money at the used car dealership. In fact, the whole reason he ended up coming back to Michigan wasn’t for my mom or me. It was to traffic cocaine from a connection he made in Miami. He had been doing it for months and was making a killing. My mom, bless her, had no clue. The five-o let her go pretty quickly but my pops wasn’t going anywhere. As my mom packed all of our shit up and headed back to John and Louise’s, Keith was pleading guilty and getting sentenced to five years in prison. My mom was twenty-one and divorced twice and my father was in prison. I never had a fucking chance.
”It ain’t personal. I like you guys. You come out and do that surf dudes thing and it works for you. It really does. I mean I can’t say a bad word about either one of you guys. Truth is….I didn’t even want to go out there. I just did what I was told had to be done. I ain’t a bad guy. I’m just a guy trying to make a buck and get noticed. But from what I’ve heard I got pretty fucking noticed. Sorry it had to come at your expense. I gotta be honest, it was pretty radical to be back in a SCW ring again. To hear that crowd and feel that excitement, I was totally amped up. I can’t wait to get back out there and do it again. It’s a shame that its gonna come at your expense again. It’s not intentional brosephs, it’s just the way this shit is shaking out. Truth is, I would’ve thought we’d get a crack at those tag belts. I mean…look at us. We deserve it…for sure. But it’s totally narly that we get to go at it. I mean a PPV match? That shit’s legit.”
“I know I ain’t got much to say to you guys but the truth is I really just don’t give a shit. I’ll show up next week because that’s the thing I’m supposed to do. Maybe we’ll and maybe you’ll win. Does it matter? I mean hey, we all get paychecks no matter what, right? And that’s what’s important. I got some stuff to do and I need that paper to do it so no hard feelings ok? Good luck out there next Sunday. It’ll be fun no matter what….”