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2008
was a woman, I felt shaken and troubled. A wave of worry swept over me and I remember thinking, I don’t know anything about this woman and neither does the rest of the country.
What are her politics really like? Is she ready for this? What went through my head that night, and probably went through yours, were questions and more questions. To be honest, her family didn’t seem ready for what was about to hit them. The original cast from Saturday Night Live (where I once worked) was called “The Not Ready for Prime Time Players.” That’s what the Palins looked like: not ready for prime time. They were so unprepared, in fact, that they were eerily calm, as though oblivious about what would come—the intrusions, distortions, and heat of the spotlight. But, I thought, maybe that’s a good thing. The country was clearly ready for something different and organic and original. Sarah and her family were nothing if not that.
Was she truly a maverick like my dad? I knew virtually nothing about her, and the more I thought about all the other people who’d been passed over, particularly Joe Lieberman, an icy slap of panic hit me. Who is this person we’ve put so much of our trust in? And please, God, don’t let her have any horrible skeletons in her closet.
Once the speech was done, and the world had its chance to meet Sarah Palin for the first time, my job was to work the rope line and pose for lots of photographs. This is basically an animated, vocalized version of my onstage role as cardboard political prop. That day, in my Meggie Mac mode, I talked about how excited I was about my father’s campaign and his running mate, and kept my panic to myself.
After the rope line, we went upstairs—members of both families—for a People magazine shoot that I hadn’t known about. I was a living mess, and feeling worse every second, and barely able to look at my mother. The photographer herded us together, frantically trying to make visual sense of us, but it was a daunting task.
Later, my mother and I met, hoping to clear the air. We discussed a number of things that troubled both of us—the mysterious selection process, as well as the selection of Sarah herself. I told my mother how blindsided I felt. It was an uncomfortable conversation and, in many ways, opened up more uncomfortable subjects. Over the past fourteen months, I had felt pretty knowledgeable about the inner workings of the campaign. Suddenly I realized that I was pretty naïve and I had been kept in the dark about many things.
Sarah Palin had been chosen in secret, apparently by the campaign advisers Steve Schmidt, Charlie Black, Mark Salter, and Rick Davis. She had been vetted quickly and when she passed, she had been invited to Sedona, where my family has a ranch—as had all the other potential running mates—to meet my mom and dad.
After our talk, I felt better about a few things. Namely, I stopped blaming my parents for keeping me in the dark about a decision that was so important, not just to the campaign but to my family personally. I realized it had been truly a collective campaign decision—made by my father and advisers and professionals whom he trusted and liked. I was an outsider, even on my father’s campaign. In some ways, it had been my own choosing. My parents were probably smart to keep me out of the loop. If they had told me about Sarah Palin earlier, I would have discussed it with Shannon and Heather. Like I said, there are no secrets. So don’t tell me one.
As all of these revelations were sinking in, I began to feel scared in a way that I had never been before—and felt different about the outcome of the election. Before, I had always felt certain that my dad would get the nomination and win. I had never doubted it. But now I was worried. How the Palin selection process and announcement had been handled seemed to highlight things that were innately wrong with our campaign and with the tactics of Steve Schmidt. It was a risky