Why I Love Ronald Regan

I was nine years old when Jimmy Carter was elected president, but nobody in my family voted for him. I remember his election vividly because even at that young age I was fascinated with politics and world events. I watched the news every chance I got and, believe it or not, often read the newspaper.

My friends will readily affirm that I have always been overly-sensitive and prone to drama. Even today the issues clouding my mind quickly grow out of proportion, becoming larger and more important than they really are. Yet my lack of relativity was exponentially greater when I was a timid, insecure, fearful child trying to make sense of the world for the first time. I wanted more than anything to understand how everything fit together… I wanted reassurance that I was living in a logical, interconnected paradigm and that our American society was the safest possible place for me to learn and grow.

Unfortunately, nothing that happened during the Carter administration made me feel in any way secure. I remember that you couldn’t buy gas for your car no matter how much money you had. My stepfather once parked his car at a gas station and slept in it overnight because he heard that the station would get a tanker delivery the next morning. The speed limit was lowered to 55 to conserve precious energy, which we were told would soon be all gone. President Carter directed us to switch to the metric system. The Olympic Games didn’t happen. The Cold War was red-hot; the threat of a nuclear holocaust hung like a dark cloud over everything we did. I could go on and on about all the problems of the Carter-era that troubled me greatly in the 1970s. But even as a child I realized that we had lost our way.

Most of all, I remember the Ayatollah Khomeini and the Iranian hostage crisis. The Ayatollah had put a gun to our collective head, and we as a nation seemed paralyzed. I would watch Jimmy Carter on the news, with his gray hair and milky-white complexion… fish-belly white. Fear and anxiety were etched into his face. His carefully-chosen words were strained, weak, and comfortless. His botched hostage rescue fiasco confirmed my worst suspicions. America had become a eunuch.

In 1980, however, a Lone Ranger rode in from the Wild West. A rugged, real cowboy galloped into town -- and he promised to clean up Dodge City and set things right again. He spurred his strong white horse, twirled his six-guns, and waved his hat in the air. There was a new sheriff in town, and he was kicking ass and taking names. The hostages in Iran were released within minutes of his inauguration. The stupid metric system went out the window, right behind the ugly shag carpeting. Gasoline flowed freely again. Energy was plentiful. The economy thrived. Businesses boomed. Stocks soared. In time, even the mighty Soviet Union crumbled into oblivion, unable to keep pace with our massive military buildup.

Almost overnight, the natural order of things had been restored. At least that’s the way I’ve chosen to remember it. America quickly returned to being the biggest bully on the world stage, and we were all proud to be a part of it. We were the 10 percent of the world that consumed 90 percent of its resources, yet President Regan made no apologies. He stood tall. He refused to take shit from anyone. He spoke freely and cracked funny jokes, which made me believe that everything was going to be okay after all. I listened to his eloquent words with rapt attention, and everything he said tantalized my heart and soul. If you listen carefully to his speeches, you’ll notice that President Regan often spoke directly to the nation’s children. He instructed us and guided us. I felt valued and important and safe. President Regan became like a grandfather to me, the World’s Coolest Grandfather that I had always wanted to have.

For the first time in my life, I was fiercely proud to be an American. Through Ronald Regan’s confident rhetoric, I understood the “glue” that held America together. I understood that some things are worth fighting for, and that it’s okay to kick someone’s ass if they really have it coming to them. I understood the absurdity of an excessively large government, socialist giveaway programs, and obscene tax schedules. I understood the concept of peace through strength. I learned how to do things The Cowboy Way. Most of all, I understood that Ronald Regan had pulled us back from the brink of oblivion and restored us to our proper place in the world.

To this day I still can’t talk about President Regan’s decent into the madness of Alzheimer's disease, nor about his death, without crying profusely. The damage is irreparable. No other man will ever be able to fill those snakeskin boots, and consequently I remain inconsolable. Judging from the staggering turnout at his funeral, I’m not the only one who feels deeply indebted to Ronald Regan for what he did for our nation… and for what he did for many of us on the most personal level. Rest in Peace.