Do you choose to play or sit out? You have time to think about that. I’ll ask you again at the end.

On June 2, 1983, Philadelphia exploded in celebration as the 76ers brought home their third NBA Championship. From my self-chosen seat at the back of the victory float, I watched my Dad become part of the heartbeat of the city that day. His arms spread wide like he embraced Philadelphia. The roar of the crowd wasn’t just a sound – it was a wave of pure joy that washed over us, even those of us trying not to be swept away.

The parade marked the first time the city had celebrated a basketball title since 1967 (not that they had a parade for that victory). Still, Philadelphia fans made sure to make up for that oversight.

The 1983 76ers Championship parade drew 1.7 million people to Philadelphia’s streets and the football stadium that day. And of those 1.7 million faces in the crowd, I would only recognize two. But it only took those two faces to change everything.

The Invisible Daughter

We stepped onto the float with makeshift stairs, just like we were going on a hayride. My sister and I lagged behind my Mom while Dad and Mr. Katz, the team’s owner, took the front with the trophy. Mom sat in front of us. She and Mrs. Katz would wave and scream, unlike my sister and I.

We believed we were transparent, two young girls playing at invisibility while history unfolded around us.

It’s funny how, as a preteen, I thought I could somehow separate myself from that moment that belonged to everyone in Philadelphia, even us. We put on our stoic faces so no one would mistake us for having any involvement in the victory.

When Philadelphia’s Heart Beat as One

They lined the sides of our float with Plexiglas so we could see out like we were driving in a convertible with the windows up. Only our hair wasn’t blowing in the wind, and we didn’t need seat belts, not that we used them back then anyway. The 1983 76ers Championship parafe moved at its own pace: it was about savoring every moment of the 76ers’ triumph. At the time, I was too busy trying to stay in the background to notice how time had slowed down just for us.

The Day Friends Broke Through

In a crowd of thousands, faces blurring together like droplets in an ocean, I heard something impossible: “Stephanie over here!” I spotted my eighth-grade classmates April and Stacey by the stairs to the float. How could they have spotted me?

When Magic Found Us Anyway

The excitement that I had been holding back spewed out of me like a shaken soda finally opened. “How did you find me? Well, that was obvious, “We saw your Dad.” So then I had to know, “How were you allowed through?” They laughed, “We told the guards we were friends with you.”

They had done more than break through the walls of fans – they had shattered my careful barrier of invisibility, reminding me that I was part of something extraordinary. When they ran off to find Maurice Cheeks’ float, I felt a pang of envy. They understood something I didn’t yet: those floats were meant for floating. This day belonged to all of us.

Forever Falling: A Father’s Triumph, A Daughter’s Awakening

Only William Penn loomed larger than Philadelphia that day, the statue rooted firmly from atop City Hall as our float approached through the swirling confetti.

The 1983 76ers Championship parade now lives in my memory like a perpetual snow glove, with ticker tape forever falling around us in celebration.

No one stood alone that day, though some of us tried by choosing the back of the float, not yet understanding our place in history. We were too young to understand that greatness doesn’t ask permission to include you – it simply sweeps you up in its arms like a father embracing his city. The rest of the City of Brotherly Love fought, won, and celebrated that championship together. And did they celebrate.

So I ask you again: Do you choose to play or sit out? When I shake my memory’s snow globe now, I see two girls learning that sometimes the most extraordinary thing you can do is allow yourself to be swept away by the magic.

It seemed so small amidst the blizzard. It’s as if the heavens had opened up and the angels were in on it, too, streaming joy to all of us.

I would have left on that note, but I couldn’t resist the last photo in my scrapbook.

It was the day of my 8th Grade graduation from Holy Child. We’d have just enough to go to the parade, go home, change into my white dress, and head over to the church. People were already lining up. We were the last to arrive.

But we had the celebration before the commencement. It’s why I’ve always been a big proponent of eating dessert first or read the last page before the beginning. You always have the celebration before the main event.