Not every journalist gets a chance to cover the POTUS. So when it was time for President Barack Obama’s final Christmas vacation in Hawaii as commander-in-chief, I jumped at the opportunity.

This was my last chance to ride in the presidential motorcade, speeding past lines of cars through stoplights and being part of the spectacle that has been on Oahu’s roadways during the holidays for the past eight years.

This was probably the last time I would ever be in the same room with Obama, witnessing history as one of the most powerful men in the world addressed service members and their families on Christmas Day at the Marine Corps Base Hawaii.

This year was to be especially poignant with only weeks left until the end of his presidency.

It was my third time covering Obama, and I was determined to get at least a distant selfie with the president. (In this generation of social media, if you don’t have a photo, it didn’t happen.)

The past two years I restrained myself from busting out my cellphone camera in fear of being ridiculed by those haughty White House reporters who nonchalantly follow the president around all year like it’s no big deal.

I suppressed the thought that they would see me as a stupid, small-town reporter.

I fumbled as I pulled out my camera as the president and first lady Michelle Obama entered the dining hall filled with hundreds of spectators. I hesitated at the thought of looking unprofessional in front of my more seasoned colleagues.

But Obama’s minutes-long speech was almost over. After wasting time deliberating what to do, I worked up the nerve to turn around, look at the camera and smile as the president and first lady stood in the background. “I did it! I finally got a selfie with the president!” I thought to myself.

Anxiously sifting through the photos, my excitement quickly turned into disappointment. I had waited too long. Obama happened to turn around at the very moment I took the picture, and the only image captured for posterity was my eye and a butt.

The president’s butt.

I replayed the scene over and over in my head. “How could I have missed the shot? It was my last opportunity and I totally blew it.”

One of my colleagues — laughing hysterically — later commiserated by saying that everyone could relate to my faux pas since missed opportunities are a part of life.

It was a historic moment I will always remember — not the speech, but the okole.

“She Speaks” is a weekly column by the women writers of the Honolulu Star-Advertiser. Reach Kristen Consillio at kconsillio@staradvertiser.com.