Twenty years ago, I didn't know the difference between a Democrat and a Republican. My friend Lane and I were riding bikes on a quiet street in Monument, where we were both reporters, when I asked her to explain the differences to me. I think she said that while there was much more to it, Republicans were basically about supporting big business and Democrats concerned with social issues.

As a young reporter, one might think this subject would have held more interest for me. But I asked her not a single follow-up question. My mind went almost immediately back to Dennis Lucero, with whom I had made out once or twice and who likely would be at the pub that evening.

Quickly, likely the night I encountered him at said pub with a gorgeous woman on his lap, I would learn that Dennis Lucero was a complete dog of a man. Much more slowly, I would learn more about the two major political parties.

Over the years, I saw myself begin to lean left. Almost imperceptibly at first. Perhaps I had always tended this way, but it hadn't been something of which I was conscious. My interest in politics and issues grows now at a far more rapid rate. And while I will never consider myself politically savvy, I now lean enough to the left that I'm just slightly lopsided.

The tiny grain of curiosity that, at 23, prompted me to ask my friend that ignorant question has grown into a hunger.

I attribute my late-coming interest in liberal politics to several things: My years as a reporter, most of them spent in free-living, liberal mountain ski resort towns, and particularly my three years as a reporter in uber-conservative Colorado Springs where right-wing politicans, leaders and the resulting issues were unavoidable. I attribute it even to the breakdown of my early 20s, which left me a less judgmental and more empathetic person. But most of all, I give credit for it to a former co-worker, the person to whom I sent my December letter and who I believe is now part of my past. The passion with which this rather hot Democratic editor spoke of politics prompted me not only to fall in love with him, but in part with the subject itself. If there's a purpose for everyone who comes into your life, perhaps his was not to be the soulmate I'd believed he was, but to pique my interest in issues far larger than myself.

Because of that combination of influences, I pay far closer attention to the news. I read articles about politics that would have put me to sleep a few years ago. On the front seat of my car is a case for Barack Obama's "The Audacity of Hope" book on CD. I need, even yearn, to know more about Hillary Clinton.

I recently volunteered to help with the Democratic National Convention coming to Denver in August. My friend Dave assures me I'll be standing around with seniors checking credentials. To him, this is tedious and below me. To me, the prospect is thrilling and frankly, given the surge of interest in this election, I think he's wrong about the seniors. "You need to get invited to the parties," he says. "I'll get you in. Don't worry." I'll take this, too. I'll take it all. I want to be involved, period.

I feel a thrill of pride when a thoroughly Republican manager in our company stops to talk to me about the presidential candidates, asking whom, as a "good liberal," I'm supporting. In truth, I do not yet know, but the fact that he thinks my opinion valid comes as a pleasant shock. The fact that he thinks me far more liberal and wise than I actually am, well, that part I'll keep to myself. So far, I have the wool pulled over his eyes. I like it there. What he doesn't know is that I've been uncommitted my whole life.

Until now.

Last week, I registered as a Democrat.

I was prompted to do so by the words of a conservative radio talk show host, who asserted that nonaffiliated voters are, in so many words, dead weight. People too wishy-washy to choose sides and who instead sit safely on the political fence. Pick a side. Dig into it. If you find in the long run it isn't for you, switch. But do, indeed be, something, he urged. I did something. I sat down at my computer, pulled up the county's election division Web site and, at 43, committed myself to a party.

Barack Obama, Bill Clinton and George W. all descended upon Denver in the last two days. Obama drew 18,000 people, overflowing the University of Denver arena and another building quickly opened to handle the crowds, still leaving 4,000 more standing in a soccer field, hoping for a glimpse of him. Clinton drew 3,000 to the same arena. George W., here for a private fundraiser, drew little but ill will when his motorcade closed down I-25 in both directions during the evening rush hour.

It is the talk of this big town. I heard two elderly ladies discussing it when I left Target this eve. "No, Obama was yesterday morning. Clinton was last night and Bush was today," one gray-haired woman said to her bench mate.

I smiled at this. The sense of excitement for these visitors is, to me, not unlike that which built week-by-week around the Rockies' winning streak and subsequent trip to the World Series. Something so big that it unites the residents of an entire city in a common fervor. It's a feeling that will only grow in Denver as the dates for the convention draw nearer.

I knew Obama was scheduled to appear. Somehow, I had not known Bill Clinton was coming, too. The dramatic decrease in the size of the crowds was due, in part, to a small blizzard that whirled through the metropolitan area around 6 p.m., as well as in the times of day in which they spoke. Obama spoke in the a.m., Clinton at 9:50 p.m.

I was disappointed to a far greater degree than I'd have imagined that I missed a chance to see and hear Bill Clinton. With a crowd of 3,000, in an arena designed to accommodate 10,000, I'd surely have been close to the man. Instead, my friends and I went dancing last night. How I wish, that instead of watching cowboys attempt to dance to hip hop, and brothers try the Boot-Scootin' Boogy (an entertaining evening to be sure), I'd have been at that arena.

In the wake of this crushing disappointment, I realize just how far I've come. How much I have changed. How much more I will evolve as the years, even these next few months, go by.

When I arrived home today, weary from sitting in the backlogged traffic created by W., I saw in my pile of mail a small postcard from the Douglas County Election Division. I received a similar one only a few weeks ago, when I'd registered my change of address. That card identified me as "unaffiliated." This card was different. I scanned it to make sure they'd made the change. It was so unobtrusive I almost missed it. Under a small box labeled "Affiliation" was a single letter: "D." This letter elicited in me a tiny thrill, and I felt immediately silly for it, not understanding why this affected me anymore than I understood my reaction to the Bill Clinton near miss.

Perhaps that understanding will dawn as time goes by. Perhaps this is more significant for me than I know. Time will tell.

And so I missed Bill. I've got another shot in August, and then I'll see them all. You can bet your boots on it.