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Where were you on January 19, 1981? I can tell you where I was for at least part of the day, easily.
In that year, I was a high school junior. I was a pretty naive kid with good grades, growing up in a rural area near two major military installations. Most everyone around me was politically where I was; tending toward conservative. My own brand of conservatism, however, was probably born of some rebellion. My folks tended toward liberal politics. Heck, they were teachers, very active in the union. For that reason, I suspect, I latched onto the growing conservative movement's disdain toward organized labor, either because of or in ignorant spite held toward my dad's role as the district's contract negotiator for the teachers.
Had I been a month older, I would have been eligible to vote in the 1980 presidential election that seated Ronald Reagan. I would have voted for him. Four years later, I did.
Frankly, folks, as much as I appreciated President Carter's environmental perspective, I lapped up the press's disdain for our 39th president. I, too, was tired of doing without. I, too, was sick of the negative image our country had sprouted, seemingly, during his tenure. And I, too, was amazed the Iran hostage situation had dragged on as long as it had.
So when our high school's principal made a special intercom announcement on January 19, 1981 sharing that the Iranians had agreed to release the hostages, I felt patriotism. I sat in band class and felt that Reagan, with his tough, no-nonsense talk devoid of compromise and full of potential, had cowed those dirty, cowardly Iranians. They released the Embassy hostages on the day of his inauguration rather than face the wrath Ronnie would undoubtedly mete. And it would be no chopper attack failed because of sand. It would surely be a show of force that would shake those bastards in their sandy shoes.
America was rising again, and I was totally on board.
( What a fucking moron I was. )
In that year, I was a high school junior. I was a pretty naive kid with good grades, growing up in a rural area near two major military installations. Most everyone around me was politically where I was; tending toward conservative. My own brand of conservatism, however, was probably born of some rebellion. My folks tended toward liberal politics. Heck, they were teachers, very active in the union. For that reason, I suspect, I latched onto the growing conservative movement's disdain toward organized labor, either because of or in ignorant spite held toward my dad's role as the district's contract negotiator for the teachers.
Had I been a month older, I would have been eligible to vote in the 1980 presidential election that seated Ronald Reagan. I would have voted for him. Four years later, I did.
Frankly, folks, as much as I appreciated President Carter's environmental perspective, I lapped up the press's disdain for our 39th president. I, too, was tired of doing without. I, too, was sick of the negative image our country had sprouted, seemingly, during his tenure. And I, too, was amazed the Iran hostage situation had dragged on as long as it had.
So when our high school's principal made a special intercom announcement on January 19, 1981 sharing that the Iranians had agreed to release the hostages, I felt patriotism. I sat in band class and felt that Reagan, with his tough, no-nonsense talk devoid of compromise and full of potential, had cowed those dirty, cowardly Iranians. They released the Embassy hostages on the day of his inauguration rather than face the wrath Ronnie would undoubtedly mete. And it would be no chopper attack failed because of sand. It would surely be a show of force that would shake those bastards in their sandy shoes.
America was rising again, and I was totally on board.
( What a fucking moron I was. )