This wasn’t just any ordinary Sunday morning. My older sister, Irene, shook my shoulder to wake me up. “C’mon, it’s about to start!” she yelled. It was New Year’s Day, and six-year-old me finally relented and got out of bed. I joined her and the rest of my family to watch the Rose Parade. As we watched, she was fixated on one person in particular: the Rose Queen. We both watched in awe as the Rose Court waved royally to the stands. “That’s going to be me one day,” Irene said