My best friend and I had just finished doing back flips on her trampoline (with no net) when she suddenly started calling her dog by the name of “Jimmy Carter.” I insisted that she had just “made this up,” and our argument continued through our dinner of Hamburger Helper. In Georgia, we thought it was a very big deal that we finally had a president, and our common residency somehow made us very special, too. The years went by, my friend moved away, Reagan was elected, and we all grew up and went off to college. In my mind, Jimmy Carter occupied the land of things influential but nearly forgotten – along with Andy Gibb, 45 records, maxi skirts, the gas crisis and my eighth-grade boyfriend. Continue reading “Sunday Morning with President Carter: An Extraordinary I-75 Side Trip” →