The Insider

My mother was one of those kids who probably never believed in Santa. Maybe she had some secret source. Maybe she was playing the odds, just in case.

But at dawn, she pounced on my bed like bloody Christmas morning. Today, as usual, she knew something no one else knew. 

My mom is the president's speechwriter and the Communications Director of Liberia. She is 65 and, allegedly, retired. Scrabble stops and dinners congeal when she gets a call from a private number: she grabs a pen, clears her throat and answers, "Good evening, Madame President."

Madame President is her secret source. 

(My mom's a lot cooler than I am.) 

Have you ever played Telephone? In this version, the Nobel Committee tells the president she's strongly favored, the president tells my mom and my mom, who has something to say about everything, has no words. She throws away breakfast and runs to work half-dressed to start on a speech. 

Just in case.