I have obsessively followed politics, especially presidential races, for decades. I watched the Challenger shuttle explode in 1986 while sitting in my kindergarten class. We were watching because the Challenger carried Christa McAuliffe, a woman set to be the first teacher in space. I remember the nuns, who were our teachers, weeping openly as president Ronald Reagan said these brave astronauts slipped "the surly bonds of earth to touch the face of God."

I admit I cried when Reagan left the White House in 1988 because I knew he wouldn't be the president anymore. Apparently, I didn't really understand how the presidency works. I grew up without a father, so perhaps that explains my attachment the affable old fella. I also realized at that time that if we were going to constantly recast the role of president, I wanted to be in on the audition.

My obsession became my vocation when the (now-defunct) 20dc hired me as a full-time political reporter in 2008. Until then, politics had been something like a sport, where I could pick a team and cheer (or jeer) with everyone else. As a reporter, I had to check the facts and also check my own biases to ensure that my reporting and analyses treated politicians fairly.

Yet, there's always a moment where these controversial national figures become avuncular goofballs I just can't help but like. Usually, brief humanizing moments, like Bill Clinton playing the saxophone on "The Arsenio Hall Show" or George W. Bush chest-bumping West Point graduates in 2007, persuaded me.



When Hillary Clinton announced her presidential run in April 2015, I realized I couldn't think of any similar humanizing moments about her. I didn't like her — and I didn't know why.