While I truly love a parade, I don’t think they care much for me. They never have and, sadly enough, probably never will.

Many of those who attend the one Viking Fest Corporation puts on every year unfortunately know me all too well.

I’m the guy who stepped right in front of your view as your grandson walked through town dressed as an adorable clown. I probably ruined a photo or 20 as I raced by unannounced to get a blurry shot that I ended up deleting off the camera anyway. I’m the guy who you have several hours of footage of, even though you were just trying to videotape the Vikings for the past seven years or so. I probably even stepped on a nice piece of candy your kid had his eye on as I backpedaled to capture another blurry moment, which I also deleted.

For these and countless other mishaps, including smashed toes, spilled drinks and general annoyances, I profusely apologize. I’d hide behind the “just doing my job” ruse but it’s as transparent as you all likely wish I could be during such events.

Truth be told, I volunteered for it.

Been doing so for seven out of the eight years I’ve been here. I watched from the crowd once, it just wasn’t the same. Oh it was fun, mind you, but not running-backwards-hoping-to-God-you-don’t-trip-over-a-Shriner-and-crush-a-tiny-Leikarringen-dancer fun.

Covering the Viking Fest Parade is a rush. It’s difficult not to pretend that everyone is cheering for you. Well, some are … “Hey, Herald guy get a shot of my kids/grandkids/float/band/mother/sister/uncle twice removed on my father’s side!”

In my quest for the perfect photo, I even pulled a muscle. A reminder than my 34-year-old frame isn’t as nimble as it once was — the verdict as to whether this was the result of dedication or stupidity is still out (I’m leaning toward the latter).

Either way, you’ll see me next year. I’ll be the graying 35-year-old with a camera, his shoelaces tied together and stretching like he has back-to-back marathons to run.

JOE IRWIN

Editor