Sarah and Me: Junior High with Sarah Palin
On the surface, I should like her. Sarah Palin is 44, precisely my age. We were born three months apart. And like me, she's a mom and works full-time.
We should hang out, clink our highball glasses, and salute the kind of kismet that competent women often need to create real achievement. Except, in her case, the kismet catapulted her to the national stage and into history. In my case, it occasionally lands me a first-class upgrade.
Sarah and I could talk about stuff that professional Moms our age talk about: The rush of being in charge; the need to wear seriously rimmed glasses, even if your eyes don't require it; and techniques for gagging and hogtying that persistent little voice in the back of our heads that suggests our ambition comes at the obvious expense of our kids.
But for some reason, I can't warm up to her. And last Thursday, when she stood on stage in St. Louis and faced off against Joe Biden in the vice-presidential debate, I studied her face on the small screen and understood why. I know Sarah Palin. I went to school with her. And then, with a small shock of recognition, I saw who she was... and realized: I hated her in junior high.
In school, her name was Pam. When I met her, we were 7th graders. She had feathered brown hair that bounced around her shoulders as she walked down the hall, surveying her domain, left to right, like the felted nodding-dog dashboard ornament my grandfather had in his car. Her eyes were hooded with a shade of azure eyeshadow, and her full lips could reveal her horsey teeth in a sweet smile or condescending sneer with equal ease. Sometimes, her mouth seemed to hold both expressions at once. I thought Pam had real talent, and I practiced her expressions at home before my bedroom mirror.
We had Study Hall in the auditorium together, which allowed me to study technique from afar. We had assigned seats in the auditorium, and prescribed rules about talking, and facing forward, and chewing gum.
All during 7th grade, Pam flouted the rules, changed seats, chewed gum, sat in the back between two boys, whispering and cocking her head close to them with an intimacy I found exciting. When one of the teachers would call her on any of it, she'd fix them with a certain look, widen her eyes, and conjure up that sweet, apologetic, toothy smile. And, somehow, she always got away with it. She had everyone fooled--the teachers, administrators, the janitors who scraped her gum off of the bottom of the folding seats--and it was astonishing. Like them, I was transfixed, in total awe and wonder at her celebrity.
One time, though, she caught me studying her in my absentminded way, and she stared back at me pointedly, narrowing her eyes and raising her clenched fist to her chin, vibrating it in my direction, as if to warn me about getting too close. It took me a few days to peek in her direction again.
That winter, I had a brand new yellow ski parka. The color of a ripe banana, it was hip-length, with a cool belt that fastened snugly at the waist with a brass T-buckle. Unlike most of my clothes--which either came from an older girl who lived in my neighborhood or from a discount store with cheap brands--the coat was new and it was fashionable. In school, it became my anti-anxiety parka: I wore it constantly as a sort of armor as I walked from class to class, sweating through my day.
The only time I took it off, in fact, was when I walked into the auditorium. Miss Dolan, an exacting English teacher who demanded that both the rules of school and the rules of conjugating Latin verbs be followed with the same precision, despised it when kids wore hats or jackets in school. It wasn't worth protesting, even if I had a voice that spoke above a whisper. It was best just to peel off the offending clothing and park it where she pointed, on one of the last two rows as we entered the auditorium. We could collect them an hour later, on the way out.
One day, I walked into study hall and noticed with a quick rush of pleasure and embarrassment that Pam had the same yellow jacket I did. Since my strategy at that point of my life was to attract as little attention as possible, sharing a wardrobe with a popular girl wasn't a good way to fly below the radar, I thought. But then I reconsidered: in a way I couldn't quite pinpoint, it was validating.
A few weeks later, I noticed that Pam's coat had a huge blue stain on it, as if a pen had leaked in her pocket. And a few days later, when the bell rang in study hall and we filed as usual along the narrow aisles to the door, I paused to collect my coat. But it wasn't in the usual spot where I'd left it. I cast around, confused that it wasn't there, a panic beginning to bubble in my gut.
"C'mon," my friend Denise said, tugging at my arm. And when I didn't budge, it was Denise who flagged down Miss Dolan and explained what had happened: I couldn't find my coat, which I always folded in half and placed exactly on the same seat. Miss Dolan set her iron blue eyes on me, "Is that right?" she sniffed, with a slight suspicion. I nodded mutely, and pointed at the backside of the yellow coat in the front of the line: Pam.
Miss Dolan shouted above our heads. "Pam!" she barked. "Are you sure that's your jacket?"
Pam turned to Miss Dolan and there it was: the sweetest, most dazzling smile you'll ever see. All her teeth were bared, but she didn't seem threatening. Instead, she seemed so heartbreakingly cute and friendly, really, that I felt a flicker of something inside, and I tapped at Miss Dolan. "It's okay..." I started to whisper.
I don't think she heard me, though, because at that moment Pam piped up loudly. "Oh, this is mine," she assured our teacher, nodding. "We have the same one." Then she pointed at a spot behind me, "That must be hers."
Miss Dolan stooped to retrieve an identical yellow parka from the floor. As she held it up I could see the indigo stain on the right pocket. She shoved it toward me, depositing it into my arms, and waved us through the doors. "All right? All right," she pronounced, in the manner of someone who was used to seeing issues without nuance, in black and white, good and bad, right and wrong. "Out you go."
I didn't mind, really. All I could think was, She noticed we had the same coat. It would be a while before I'd see it otherwise.
In The Nation last week, Linda Hirshman called Sarah Palin a "Mean Girl," the kind of girl Rosalind Wiseman terms a "Queen Bee" in her chilling 2002 book about tweenagers, "Queen Bees & Wannabees." Like the name suggests, the Queen Bee is the royalty of the middle school, a larger-than-life figure who (unlike an actual queen bee) packs a barbed stinger, and wields it at will.
I picked Hirshman's story out of one of the 358,000 results you get if you Google "Sarah Palin Mean Girl." Hirshman likened Sarah's shenanigans onstage at the Vice-Presidential debate to a kind of staged performance art piece of "The Rules," Ellen Fein's and Sherry Schneider's controversial 1995 book that, as Hirshman put it, had upended 30 years of feminist teaching.
"Forget all that equality and intelligence stuff, 'The Rules' advised. Who wants to be Hillary Clinton? Men are simple, attracted to sexual symbols and bright, shiny objects. If you want them, they argued, you must sport long hair and wear sexy, attention-getting clothes," Hirshman writes. She points out that the suit Palin wore for the debate with Joe Biden was "some amazingly iridescent material, and she sported an eye-popping sparkly rhinestone flag pin. The governor as the It Girl of the '90s singles scene."
It wasn't just her clothes, of course. But her flirty demeanor, her "hey there, Sailor!" wink, as Richard Cohen says, and "all those doggones, references to her working-class status (net worth in excess of $2 million), promiscuous use of the word 'maverick,' repeated mentions of 'greed and corruption on Wall Street' ... and, of course, that manic good cheer. "
As Amy Poehler said during a recent Saturday's "Saturday Night Live" sketch, looking over at Tina Fey's Sarah Palin, "When cornered, you have a tendency to become adorable."
Adorable, I thought, as I leaned into the screen, scrutinizing her. She was dazzling. Heartbreakingly cute. And friendly.
I hadn't thought about Pam in a long time. But, suddenly, there she was. Between the relentless smiles, and widened eyes, the winks, I recognized both the Mean Girl and the old familiar sense of being played. I felt the lack of anything close to sincerity, or the truth. And then I recognized her: playing to her spectators to get what she wants, at whatever the cost.
As Hirshman wrote, the real problem is that how a Mean Girl acts "does not have to reflect what she really believes--or even what she knows." It only has to be effective with the target audience--of 7th grade boys, or junior high Latin teachers, or voters.
I know Sarah Palin because I went to school with her. And, in fact, most women did. Then, the Queen Bees or Mean Girls were just that. Now, they're really scary.
Ann Handley also writes about work, culture and life at A n n a r c h y.
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Anyone that would steal your coat and give you her stained one is the worst kind of person. But then, she also likes running wild animals to exhaustion and then shooting them. And she's dumb if she doesn't have a script ready from her "handlers.
Oh dear lord. You made my life flash before my eyes... are you sure we're not twins separated at birth? :-) What a fantastic post - and the first one to REALLY capture the essence of how many female voters view Sarah Palin. I myself didn't know what exactly it was that bothered me so much (even with all the sewage she'd been spewing the last few days), but reading your post was like a bell going off in my head. Fantastic!
Right WingMarine,
I noticed the same thing and I'm a guy. I told my wife she reminds of the girl who flirts with the smart guy in class so she can cheat off of him. Females have been using their wiles to get men to do their bidding since the dawn of time. A girl only has to hint at the possibility of sex and any red blooded male will take the bait. It's not a party thing. It's female thing. Just look around. Watch a movie. Read a book. Observe the women in your life. Look at all of the James Bond films.
Don't I know it. I'm supporting the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Research Trust for the express purpose that I like chicks and I like boobs. my site is: 08.the3day
it's been a couple of years you can probably stop being jealous of a 7th grader.
I especially like how you can see all of this character insight by watching a woman you never met speak on TV.
See Ann Handley's Profile
RWM -- I'm so glad you are here reading HuffPo. Sounds like you really need some perspective.
My very best to you --
I believe we could all benefit by trying to see things from another point of view. While I disagree with most of what I see here it is entertaining to try and rile people up in the comments section. I've even acquired a few fans.
(Now my plug) The best way to really get me is to donate to my charity my site is: 08.the3day
Ann, THANK YOU for dialing into something many women are picking up on. Just yesterday a college friend emailed me that she's the only Obama supporter among the moms of her 5-year old daughter's ballet class, who are all Palin WannaBes. Lots of women just can't see past the estrogen when it comes to Palin.
As inspiring as it is to me, a 43-year old mom, to see the realistic possibility of a woman as US President or VP in my lifetime let alone my age group, WHO THAT PERSON IS matters more to me than their gender, race, age or any other personal attribute. Are they qualified? How and why? Have they demonstrated good judgment? Do they have integrity, experience, education? These are the questions that matter and which must be asked and answered first.
Sure, Palin's got personal appeal and she's camera friendly. As women go, I'd have a cup of coffee or a cocktail with her. I'd love to go on an outdoorsy Alaska hike with her. But I damn sure don't consider her qualified to run my country or anything close any more than I consider you or me to be qualified. It's time all women looked past Palin's vapid but very distracting charm and evaluated her on the same merits and criteria they would evaluate a man for the job. And BTW, if she was a man there's no way McCain/the Republican party would have picked her as VP.
Okay, sorry for being dense, but are you saying this Pam *really* was Sarah Palin or just the kind of girl you think Sarah Palin was?
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Hi grkr -- The latter.
Being that my name is Pam, it was funny to read this - as I was certainly more the Wanna Be. But I know what you are saying and I knew those girls too. This reminds me of 'Romy and Michele's High School Reunion', where those mean girls grow up to be mean women, who all look alike and are just as shallow and disgusting as they always had been. And yet still attractive to certain men.
It is just disgusting how men fall all over themselves for her because of her looks. It is a disgrace to women who have worked so hard to show substance. And like so many things in America, we reward that which is mean, greedy, and meaningless before that which is honorable, kind and shows common sense.
azravenwood sez: "And yet still attractive to certain men. "
Aye, and there's the rub. Women have no one to blame for it but themselves.
If you weren't all falling all over yourselves after those "certain men", the queen bees/mean girls would have no power.
You want a change? Give more attention, and teach your daughters to aim a little higher than those "certain men".
She has always reminded me of the "Mean Girls" at my high school. Smiling to your face, stabbing you in the back as soon as you turn around... The cutesy smiling and winking to get out of trouble...
There is a dangerous condition I like to call "Aging Prom Queen Syndrome". Women who were "the cutest little things!" base their own personaltiy on that and when the cuteness fades (and it will) they are left with an absolute vacuum of a personality. Palin's looks are going to fade, and soon, and we'll be stuck with a bitter aging prom queen who can't get her way with smiling and winking anymore. So then I guess she'll just have a rely on abuse of power to get her way...oh wait. She already does that.
Oh.
My.
God.
So the mean girl from junior high might be our VP?
At least in junior high these girls knew better than to run for office because they didn't want any real responsibility or accountability,
Maybe that's what she thinks the VP job entails, smiling, snarling, and setting the rules for the rest of the peons, who are too unimportant to have a voice in their own affairs.
Oh right, that is Dick Cheney's job description.
Some Mean Girls think they're above the law. Just the other day, one actually asked me, "What's a scruple?"
You are spot on about Sarah. A dear friend of mine grew up with Sarah. She told me stories about Sarah and her siblings that would disgust you. I am now convinced that the Heath Clan is not one to cross. It was Sarah's sister Molly who was married to Mike Wooten of Troopergate fame.
Sarah is a narcissist. Public humiliation means nothing to her.
A loss in the election, even if it barely grazes her arrogance and self-esteem, will have to mean at least one thing to her: for once, she won't get what she wants. Let's do it.
So true! Well observed. Thanks for the crystallized look. Your beautiful yellow coat story was very enlightening - then, now.
We all know at least one Pam, and often, more.
Again character is what ANYONE does when no one is around ... I hate bullies, successful bullies at that ... unfortunately unless the republicans wake up that bully is going to end up in the White House ... perish the thought!
I went to school with Pam & Sarah, too, and when I told my mother that Palin reminded of two girls I'd known in High School, Mom knew instantly which two I meant although I tried hard back then never to bring the reality of my school days home with me.
In my case, they talked an alleged "friend" into stealing my diary, which they then photocopied the "interesting" pages and distributed those copies around the school.
I see the same act in Palin's willingness to take a morsel of truth that, when shown alone, is unflattering, and insist that it's a full picture.
Wow - ok, so: were Pam & Sarah two sisters from a family of bullies, or: was bully Sarah formerly known as Pam?
So, is this Pam?
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In my case their names were Christie and Jill, but cut from the same bolt of cloth as Pam and Sarah.
Wow, she's just a bully.
Give back the yellow coat, Pam.
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Yes, she got the coat without the ball point pen stain, because I didn't speak up. After that, I lost all tolerance for Mean Girls.
Often, all you have to do to stop a bully is stand up to them, since they live and breathe by reputation - above all, they fear public humiliation.
Have you got a photo of the ink-stained coat? That would make a tremendous media byte! I can guarantee it would fly around the internet in a nanosecond -
No wonder Pam remade herself into a new character, stage-named Sarah.
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