By the fall of 1992, Susan and I had been friends for two years. I turned 17 at the end of August; she turned 18 a week and a half later. She was a year older than me, which mostly didn’t bother me, but I don’t think I ever as young as I felt on the first Tuesday of that November. It was Election Day. Susan could vote. I couldn’t.
I had been a political junkie for as long as I could remember. I was a likable child, but my political fixation must have made me seem odder than I felt. The 1984 presidential election was my first foray into...
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