Just sitting here, Saturday morning, editing some photos with the television tuned to a ’70s music channel for some mindless background… and this song came on.
I was editing a Persimmon Cobbler shot when this memory hit.
I was 13, maybe 14. Dad was driving us home from a junior high basketball game that he helped coach. It was dark and the oncoming headlights were blinding. The kind of night where you had to flash your brights to remind other drivers to dim theirs.
From the car’s 8-track player, Queen was blaring: “We Are the Champions.”
“Don’t you like this song? Sing along,” he said, hitting the track number to start it from the beginning.
I humored him and mumbled along. He hit the button again, starting it over. “Sing it, like you mean it,” he said, performing an exaggerated version of how I should sound.
I knew the drill. If I didn’t shift my energy/attitude to match his, the car might stop.
🎶 “We are the champions… no time for losers… ’cause we are the champions…”
I still hate the song.
d.smail 07/19/2025