If you think I’m launching into a tirade about foreign policy and taxes, forget about it. You know me better than that. I’d rather eat lint than try to have a meaningful discussion about politics. I’d have more luck trying to discuss quantum physics or the nuances of horticulture.

But the death of the former president has left me reflective, nonetheless. I’ve been thinking about the Reagan era plenty. I’m not pondering how that eight-year wedge of time altered the course of world events. That’s much too lofty for me. No, I’m recalling how my own life was shaped during that same span of time, in ways that had nothing to do with politics.

I don’t know enough about the Reagan years to pontificate at parties, but I know exactly where I was when key events took place. I recall those times with utter clarity because I had just become a teenager. Teen memories are vivid.

The year Reagan was elected, I had a cabin in the woods. I had friends and girlfriends and the only key to the joint. While Reagan was welcoming hostages back from Iran, I was experiencing all the firsts of youth in a flimsy home constructed of stolen lumber. What did I know about the significance of the new presidency? Why would I care?

The day Reagan was shot, I was in a wooded area called Devil’s Chair with two girls from school. The three of us tramped through snow and mud to reach a spot where we could argue over which of them I was dating.

I can’t remember how the controversy was settled. But I do remember coming home to find my older brother transfixed in front of the television. He demanded I watch as reporters gave frantic updates on the president’s condition. White House Press Secretary James Brady was pronounced dead by reporters who quickly corrected themselves. I thought it all looked like a movie set and I sneaked away to call one of the girls.

When Reagan ordered troops to invade Grenada, I was putting the final touches on my Halloween costume. A vampire, again. Only this year I had better fangs, top-of-the-line makeup and a coffin from which to spring. I also had a new girlfriend and a few bucks from a part-time job. Life was sweet. If asked for my thoughts on Grenada, I would have guessed it was some kind of car.

When the president was re-elected, I barely noticed. I had dropped out of school because I couldn’t bear mornings anymore. I took night classes and missed televised coverage of the election altogether. I had two jobs to keep the party going and a diploma to earn one way or another. What did it matter to me who was in the White House?

Reagan was still in office when I stopped thinking like that. At some point, a form of magic befalls teenagers and makes them aware of the bigger world around them. For me, it happened between 1980 and 1988. I can almost guess the specific date based on the events of the Reagan era.

When Reagan began meeting with Soviet President Mikhail Gorbachev to discuss arms control, I paid attention. I watched the news with fascination after missiles were fired at Libya.

When the space shuttle Challenger exploded in air, I was asleep in bed. I was roused by the sounds of chaos on the television. I awoke and thought it was a movie trailer. I was enthralled and horrified by the news and followed it the entire day. I was rapt at Reagan’s speech a few hours after the disaster. I was moved when he described how astronauts had “slipped the surly bonds of earth to touch the face of God.”

Moved, enthralled, fascinated and rapt. I had never been any of those things where girlfriends and parties were not concerned. And while I believe it took another decade before I really grew up, the process started while Reagan was stemming the tide of communism and creating a massive deficit.

Some people might remember defining moments in their lives surrounded by developments of World War II. Others were coming out of the prepubescent fog as Ike was making a run at the office. There are plenty of people who remember hearing news of Kennedy’s death while they were bored in their classrooms.

For me, it was the Reagan years. It wasn’t enough to make me a student of politics or even very interested in the topic. But it was enough to make me start listening. And listening is part of the transition in which you put away children’s toys and ease into the world of adults.

I’ll follow Reagan’s funeral and the historical clips about his presidency. I’ll do it because the most profound period of his life was, in a way, the most profound of mine.

Mark LaFlamme is the Sun Journal crime reporter.