It was our own little ritual. Day in and day out. No fail. I'd be sitting in the front seat of the car, my legs nowhere near touching the floor, in my little checkered uniform and bow tie (i know, i know) as he drove me to school.
"Hold on tight." (no seatbelts then!) He'd warn, "We're nearing the chicane corner" and pretend that our yellow Cortina would not make the hill where my school stood. "Oh no, oh no." I'd play along. Yet every time surprise, surprise the car would "magically" make the climb. And right on cue he'd push the cassette tape in (no Ipod then!) as Barry Manilow sappily sang out Looks Like We Made It.
We'd laugh each time and I'd still be smiling as I headed to flag ceremony. Knowing that there would be another tomorrow at the chicane. On top of the hill. With Barry. And even better with my Dad.
P.S. It does look like we made it.