“Can we go see a movie?” I ask. “I dunno,” Dad teases. I know the answer is going to be yes by the way that he smiles. Then he looks at Mom. “Can he go see a horror movie?” “Absolutely not,” she says in a stern voice. She means business. “Who’s gonna sit up with him when he has nightmares?” I’m ten-years-old. Almost eleven. You’d think I was five by the way she talks.
