I think I get choked up more easily than I used to. I definitely get choked up more often than I used to. One thing that consistently chokes me up is seeing people die.

President Kennedy was assassinated in 1963 (10 years before I was born).Last month I had this book called Four Days as a kid that documented those four days in November (from Kennedy’s assassination to his burial). One page had several stills from the famous Zapruder film, including the horrific frame 313 that shows Kennedy’s head literally exploding. In frame 312, his head is in one piece. In frame 313, it explodes. I remember flipping back and forth between those two frames over and over. In frame 312, the President is alive. In frame 313, he is not. I remember feeling curious and shocked and disturbed by seeing that picture, but I don’t remember feeling sad.

Last month I did an episode of You Don’t Know Flack about tornadoes. While doing research for the show I watched May’s Fury, a special released by KFOR, along with several Youtube clips of both the May 3rd, 1999 tornado and the May 20, 2013 tornado, each of which hit Oklahoma. Each time the tornado struck a populated area like Chickasha, Moore, or Midwest City, I knew that I was seeing people die — perhaps not directly on screen, but as those massive tornadoes ripped their way through populated areas and you could see debris being hurled in every direction you just know that you are witnessing people losing their lives. And I got choked up.

You would think I would be more callous to it by now. Last week I turned on the evening news and watched a police officer shoot a man in the back, killing him. No warning, no disclaimer, no nothing — just, “so, this happened today,” followed by pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop.

“Now, sports.”

I love true crime books. I enjoy reading about how the bad guys commit crimes and how the good guys track them down. I’ve read all about Timothy McVeigh, and the Branch Davidians, the Turner Diaries, and all kinds of conspiracy theories surrounding that day. I love reading about that stuff and talking about that stuff.

But every time I drive through downtown Oklahoma City and drive past the Murrah Memorial, every time I see pictures and video from that April morning of smoke billowing from my hometown, every time April 19th rolls around, I think of the 168 people that died there that day.

And then I get choked up.