Since I was six years old, and picked up The Rolling Stones after exhausting the library's mythology, I have been an unabashed, unashamed Heinleinian. Reading Heinlein from that tender age onward was probably the major intellectual influence in my life, and helped shape the woman I am today, opinions and all. I never had a chance to meet him, would that I had; and, like an earlier poster, I wept for hours the day he died. I was getting out of a car at Newark Airport, headed back to San Antonio, when I heard of his death on the 5pm national radio news. I took a seat in the back of the plane and cried all the way home.
To quote Spider Robinson, another Heinleinian, "Rah, rah, RAH!"