Yesterday, looking through my scrapbooks for something else, I came across one on the death of our 32nd president, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, popularly known as “FDR.” I shouldn't have used the word, “popularly.” Some liked him, but many did not. I liked him. He was the president during my childhood years. “Hoover” had been a dirty word around my Dad. A stanch Democrat, he, among others, blamed Herbert Hoover for the Great Depression. Naturally, I followed in Dad's footsteps. I looked up to him. Isn't it the way it usually works?

There was no television in those days. Everything revolved around the radio. FDR communicated with the country with what he called his “Fireside Chats.” It was an occasional radio program in prime time informing the nation of current events. I sat near our radio and listened intently. I liked the sound of his voice even though I didn't really understand what he was talking about. After all, FDR was our President. He was important to me.

When FDR came to office in 1933 a quarter of the workforce was out of work. Wow! That was 25 percent. The gross national product (GNP) had been cut almost in half. Some were talking of an imminent revolution. You think things are bad now. There is no comparison to that of the 1930's. Those were scary times.

I wasn't at all like my peers. I noticed such things and worried over them. In my pre-teen years, I read the newspaper and tried to understand it. What I keenly remember was the death of my beloved President. He was born January 30, 1882 and died April 12, 1945. I was seventeen years old at the time and devastated. My esteemed president was dead. There had been no deaths in my family during my childhood. This one hit me hard.

Those newspaper articles with FDR's biography and death are precious to me. It seems like only yesterday that the events took place. Who is your favorite president? Do you have a favorite? Nowadays it is hard to get enthused about someone of note. Every negative thing they ever did has been hashed and rehashed in the media. There was something about those more innocent times that makes me yearn for them.

We are cautioned not to talk about religion or politics. If you are not in favor of someone's choice, it will only lead to an argument, they say. Too bad. Some things should be discussed, not cussed. I am always interested in whom you prefer and why. How can we learn to get along if we don't talk about things that matter to us and try to understand the other person's point of view? I love politics. Let's talk about it.