Full disclosure: I was raised in a very political family. My parents met during Robert Kennedy’s campaign. They were with Senator Kennedy the night he was shot. My mother worked for Congressman Berman. My father held elected office in Los Angeles for sixteen years.
One of my earliest childhood memories is of sitting on Mayor Tom Bradley’s shoulders at the innagural gala. I remember looking down, down, down and feeling like I was riding on the shoulder of a giant.
Which I was. Both literally and metaphorically.
I remember holding my father’s hand when he was sworn in the first time as City Controller. Even then, I understood that he had been charged with a tremendous responsibility. And I was so proud of him.
I am so proud of him.
I remember learning how to tapdance in the City Hall rotunda, my red patent leather shoes clickity clacking while I whirled and twirled next to the flag of California.
I remember the first campaign speech I ever gave. I was ten years old and running for Student Council on a platform for “greater cooperation between students and faculty. And five minutes extra for recess.” I even quoted pieces of the US Constitution in my speech.
I remember that I was going to be the first Jewish woman president of the United States. Unless Dianne Feinstein beat me to it.
So, the questions should have come as no surprise:
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