We have a dry-erase board in our pantry that's intended to keep track of all of the family subscriptions and their respective passwords.
I remember our first Wifi password was Plainbunny563. I would trace every password on my hand when I walked into the pantry instead of grabbing food because at least I was getting something from there that wouldn't make me gain weight. So I would stare at the streaky marks to memorize.
I couldn't help but feel jealous that my brother's information was used within the locked accounts. My mom would "choose something she'll always remember," which is code for using her first born's information. In hundreds of years where the only thing left of our family lineage is our Netflix password, I will be no where to be found. My brothers, yes. My mother, yes. But I have been scrapped from the 18 character code. Historians will not know of me.
I was the only one who remembered the passwords. Constant questions about the difference between the Hulu password and the Amazon one became the only form of communication between me and my family.
My mom would always mix those up. The only difference being a capital letter. I started keeping a photo of the white board in my phone to airdrop to them. My mom would impatiently reset the password before it would finish sending.
None of us had an eraser in the pantry. We would just try to write over it in darker marker. It became illegible.
My parents put down my childhood dog on the day of my high school graduation. I didn't say goodbye to him.
They got a new dog and keep calling it the dead one's name.
& now Mom has forgotten my name.
-A.K. (password protector)
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