The best views of the Houston Astros World Series Championship Parade belong to the children perched on the shoulders of their parents. The children act as lookouts, alerting onlookers to the envoys of mounted police officers, mascots, and cheerleaders signaling the start of the procession. They also serve as amateur filmmakers with cell phones held high as their parents direct them to record the celebratory occasion none of us can see. My personal view, 20 deep in the crowd, is the sunburned neck and bald head of a solidly built man who has tattooed these respective areas with Houston’s original area code, 713, and the Houston hand sign. Behind us, the SWAT team has turned their armored truck into a step and repeat backdrop for fans seeking first responder selfies.
And then the sky opens up with a steady stream of orange, white, and blue. The confetti cascade sticks to our sweaty foreheads and forearms. Children chase after the commemorative tissue strips that magically appear like bubbles from a wand. With the crowd cheering on the hometown heroes beyond our field of vision, we grab hold of a souvenir to remind us that we were here. #EarnedIt