My father spoke only once to me about why he wanted to be president of the United States. It was the night of his inauguration in 1981. I had been assigned to one of the inaugural balls and was supposed to wait there for my parents to arrive. After sitting onstage, on a metal folding chair with a crowd of people staring up at me for what felt like an hour, I broke the rules and left. Lying awake in the Lincoln Bedroom, I hoped Lincoln’s ghost would visit me as he has been said to have visited others in the White House living quarters. I had some serious questions for him.Late that night, my father came in to see me. Sitting down on the bed, he commented on my early departure that evening and I apologized, although I think both of us knew I wasn’t really sorry. Then he said that he knew his election was hard on everyone and would change everyone’s life. But, he said: “I really believe I can make this world a safer, more peaceful place. That’s why I ran for president.” When he left and the stillness of Lincoln’s bedroom folded around me, with all of its history and stories, I was struck by the fact that he spoke about the world, not just America.I’ve thought about that night a lot lately, as America becomes more isolated, as we back away from allies and tensions grow. I’ve thought also about the lessons my father imparted to me as a child. He taught me at an early age about the Holocaust and that no country is immune to horrors like that. He told me that America’s democracy, while strong, is also fragile, and to remain strong, we had to recognize that. He believed our democracy was a “grand experiment,” and as such it should be treated carefully. Those conversations also trail behind me these days, making me wish my father’s ghost would visit just as I’d wished Lincoln’s ghost would appear to me in the White House.So often these days, people will tell me that even though they didn’t support my father when he was in office, now they miss him. Me too, I always tell them. It’s no secret that I publicly opposed some of his policies, nor that I have expressed regrets about some of the ways I did so. I also apologized to my father in quiet moments later in his life. But even in my public disagreements with his policies, I never doubted his motivations. I knew he wanted America to be a strong partner in the world, bonding with other countries to defeat tyranny and aggression.He nurtured the alliances that are important in this unpredictable world. Queen Elizabeth II and my father went horseback riding in Windsor in 1982 and the following year she and Prince Philip visited my parents’ ranch in Santa Barbara. Prime Minister Brian Mulroney of Canada became a friend as well as an ally. My father and Mikhail Gorbachev stepped onto history’s stage and made the world safer, at least for a while. When my father died, Mr. Gorbachev, Mr. Mulroney and then-Prince Charles came to his service. Margaret Thatcher, whom he had become good friends with, sent a filmed tribute because she was too ill to travel. Mr. Mulroney, in his eulogy, quoted William Butler Yeats: “Think where man’s glory most begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends.”After President Trump’s speech to Congress and the nation on Tuesday night, Senator Elissa Slotkin gave the Democratic response, in which she mentioned Mr. Trump’s use of my father’s phrase “peace through strength.” She said that Ronald Reagan is probably rolling in his grave. My wish is that he would whisper from the grave and remind those in power that America is supposed to be a beacon to guide others, to shine brightly for them, a country that reaches beyond its own borders to help those in need and make this world a little safer, a little stronger. He really did see us as a shining city on the hill — a place that other countries looked to and trusted. A place that shared its light and its strengths, and in doing so, became stronger.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More
