The Password
At only 8, Roshelle was already starting to play games on her IPad as if she had been doing it for years. Truth was, she only had it a month and already she knew it backwards and forwards, inside and out. Every icon and every command was at her fingertips, literally.
“Uncle Phil,” she said. “Wanna know my password to get in to my IPad? It’s a secret but I’ll tell you.”
“No, Roshelle. I don’t need to know it. Passwords are supposed to be kept secret so no one else can get into your things.”
“Ok, but do you wanna know my password? Huh? Do ya? Come on, I’ll tell ya. 1-2-3-4. See? 1-2-3-4,” she said as she raised a finger for each number. “Pretty clever, huh? Pretty good.”
Phil looked at Roshelle’s mom and dad and smiled. “Did you think that one on your own, Roshelle, or did you have help?”
“On my own. Pretty good, I think. That’s just on my IPad, though. On my laptop…”
Phil interrupted, “I know already. 4-3-2-1.”
Roshelle’s face drained. “How, how’d you know, Uncle Phil?
He looked around at her parents and saw they were stunned too because Phil had stolen Roshelle’s thunder.
“Oh, Roshelle, I saw it somewhere in your room. I just saw a number like that written down and thought it must be for your laptop or IPad. I think that’s what happened.”
“Oh, ok,” she said. “Makes sense.”
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