I’ve been hacked…


            “I know what your password is, Mama.”       
            It’s usually a challenge to create a memorable password that still averts hackers just waiting to get their greedy little hands on your credit cards, personal records and…your I Tunes account?  Or change your home screen picture on your phone?  That is, it you’re dealing with a ten-year old hacker.

Who though computer savvy enough to decipher codes, mail and bank receipts or whatever it is those who hack rely upon—but instead utilizing stealth, lurking and hovering abilities and perhaps an uncanny ability to lip read. (Although whispering abilities of parents versus youth could lead one to believe they were whispering, or perhaps only moving their lips. But in fact were speaking in a loud enough tone for those with a short-term relationship with father time were easily able to see and hear.)

            “No, you don’t.” 

I feign confidence but my words come out stilted as I eye her warily.  I’d been duped before.  Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice…”What do you think it is?”
            “It is………”  Laken repeats it exactly.
            I struggle to maintain my ‘poker face’ and resist the urge to immediately run to the computer to change it. The girl was a master at reading body language. “No it’s not.” I scoff and snort at the ludicrousness of the idea that there was any way that could possibly be my password.
            I receive a knowing look from Laken and what was probably a raised eyebrow, except it’s pale and undefined so yet unable to make much of a statement in a situation such as this. 

I impatiently wait for her attention to waver. 

Another teeney-bopper theme show song begins with loud, obnoxious music and a bunch of loud, obnoxious kids.  All either rich, famous or boasting fabulous abilities in music/singing/dancing or magical abilities…utterly irresistible to preteens and perhaps making them wonder why they got stuck in a mediocre life in comparison.

            I quickly tap out the keys to change my password. 

           Determined THIS time she wouldn’t figure it out, though hesitant to make it too difficult that I won’t forget it.  Memories of the password protection on my phone resurface in what became a battle of wits and ended with my fatigue and failing memory causing me to quit due to the multiple times I locked myself out with my inability to remember my own password.

 I was fighting a losing battle. 

My twins were born into the world of technology while I’d had to adapt as it emerged; often relying on them to help me figure out the remote on the television as if I’d not had one during my entire lifetime.  Biting my tongue as I threw out the legendary, “Back when I was a kid…” trying to stop myself, but unable to—recounting when the first word processor arrived at our school.  The giant monster dwarfed the table while a group of us huddled around; amazed it didn’t require the use of white out, or the magical correction tape that had made life so much easier. 
            Then bringing myself back to the more recent present (about five years ago), reminiscing when the twins could be fooled by spelling …although they let us feel secure some time, gaining information from our naivety in forgetting, as parents tend to with their babies, they could spell now and understood our  secrets.  Their learning to read and write totally fouled up the rest of our efforts at secret-keeping.


            I looked at my ten-year old twins, thinking how they often made me feel old. 

         Getting caught up in the whirlwind of time passing and technology racing on… but then again, without them, I may not be able to work the new remote on the tv.    

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