From the ages of four to ten, every May’s Lombard Lilac Parade would find me sunburning on the sidelines of the road, tolerating the endless marching bands and the swarm of oldsters on low-riding carpets (how did those fezzes stay on their heads as they buzzed about? Did I have to become an old man in order to get my turn on one of them?) to eventually behold the gem of the humid afternoon: The Lilac Princess Float.

I had no idea how these princesses were chosen to win this prestigious honor. I imagined a Hogwartsian arrival of the news, perhaps via a bumblebee clutching a bundle of lilac blossoms, and I dreamed of the day I’d roll through the streets of Lombard like a lavender Elsa who’d be able to grow a harrowingly fierce castle made out of goddamn flowers.

Unfortunately, I never reigned over the Lombardian peasantry as princess, and I assumed my time would never come.

Oh, but I was wrong. My time has come to serve Lombard in a different way. The adult version of being the Lilac Princess is, of course, receiving an invitation to have your home be part of the town’s house walk.

It was quite an honor to be invited, even though there was a notable dearth of special delivery bumblebees.

How improbable this invitation was!

As a child, I was embarrassed that my home didn’t look like everyone else’s. Or anyone else’s. Mom used to refer to it as a “gingerbread house,” but Rory more aptly encapsulated its dark 70s flair by calling it a mushroom.

Mom used to shred our address, forever wanting to fly under the radar and not draw attention to our existence so that our identities wouldn’t be immediately stolen by the criminals who forever waited in the wings as garbage-diving enthusiasts. Mom never wanted to let anyone in the house and distrusted strangers with the conviction of a Waco militiaman.

So, inviting strangers into the home to check it out and hear its stories is a bit of a shift from the status quo. Mom would have looked at this as an opportunity for would-be robbers to case the joint and find all of its security weaknesses. (Spoiler alert: none.)

But I’m going to look at this as an opportunity to have my childhood home kick ass with its hidden gem qualities and history. (“The best wedding ever happened right here, motherfuckers!”) –Yes, that will be in the docent’s cue card and he will have to solemnly read that out loud to the gaggle of Golden Girls standing on our steps in their orthopedic shoes.

We’re gonna rock this as hard as a Shriner on a street carpet.