Reagan was the first president I was old enough to vote for (1984), and I’m glad I threw my support his way instead of deciding to become one of the six people who voted for Mondale.
Why Reagan is beloved by so many is simple: he inherited a nation that felt like Jimmy Carter looked Ã¢â‚¬â€œ a country suffering from an insane inflation rate, gas shortages, a hostage crisis, disco and bell-bottoms, and got rid of the collective bags under our eyes and made us feel good about ourselves for the first time since Ike got a hole-in-one.
All this was accomplished while making the Soviet Union his woman, riding horses, eating jelly beans and towing the weight of vicious comments from his pirouette-brained, ungrateful punk of a son, Ron Jr.
Sure, his presidential years had some setbacks. Reagan was shot for nothing more than some unbalanced bubble-wrap brained, uber-nerd’s attempt to impress Jodie Foster. Reagan lived, Hinckley was sent off to Our Lady of Swatting at Imaginary Flies Hospital for a few decades, and Foster never called him. Another evil plan thwarted by Reagan.
Happy Birthday, Mr. President. The world is grateful to you, even if some of them don’t know it.
“We can accomplish great things, as long as we don’t care who takes credit.”