To be sure, none of us ever stepped outside the bubble. The bubble moved
with each one of us individually. Following our early negotiations with the Secret
Service, Sasha and Malia were doing things like going to friends’ bat mitzvahs,
washing cars for the school fund-raiser, and even hanging out at the mall, always
with agents and often with my mom tagging along, but they were now at least as
mobile as their peers. Sasha’s agents, including Beth Celestini and Lawrence
Tucker—whom everyone called L.T.—had become beloved fixtures at Sidwell.
Kids begged L.T. to push them on the swing set during recess. Families often sent
in extra cupcakes for the agents when there were classroom birthday celebrations.
All of us grew close to our agents over time. Preston Fairlamb led my detail
then, and Allen Taylor, who’d been with me back in the campaign, would later
take over. When we were out in public, they were silent and hyperalert, but
anytime we were backstage or on plane rides, they’d loosen up, sharing stories
and joking around. “Stone-faced softies,” I used to call them, teasingly. Over all
the hours we spent together and many miles traveled, we became real friends. I
grieved their losses with them and celebrated when their kids hit significant
milestones. I was always aware of the seriousness of their duties, what they were
willing to sacrifice in order to keep me safe, and I never took it for granted.
Like my daughters, I was cultivating a private life to go along with my
official one. I’d found there were ways to keep a low profile when I needed to,
helped by the Secret Service’s willingness to be flexible. Rather than riding in a
motorcade, I was sometimes allowed to travel in an unmarked van and with a
lighter security escort. I managed to make lightning-strike shopping trips from
time to time, coming and going from a place before anyone really registered I
was there. After Bo expertly disemboweled or shredded every last dog toy bought
for him by the staff who did our regular shopping, I personally escorted him over
to PetSmart in Alexandria one morning. And for a short while, I enjoyed glorious
anonymity while browsing for better chew toys as Bo—who was as delighted by
the novelty of the outing as I was—loafed next to me on a leash.
Anytime I went somewhere without a fuss, it felt like a small victory, an
exercise of free will. I was a detail person, after all. I hadn’t forgotten how
gratifying it could be to tick through the minutiae of a shopping list. Maybe six
months after the PetSmart trip, I made a giddy incognito run to the local Target,
dressed in a baseball cap and sunglasses. My security detail wore shorts and
sneakers and ditched their earpieces, doing their best not to stand out as they
trailed me and my assistant Kristin Jones through the store. We wandered every
single aisle. I selected some Oil of Olay face cream and new toothbrushes. We