I moved to California five years ago to be near my children and grandchildren.  Isaac was six years old at the time and Ari was three.  They would sleep over at our home once a month.

One of the rituals was for them to watch a movie after dinner while eating popcorn.  I would arrange for a movie of their choice.  During the movie, Ari would leave the room once in a while. Grandpa would say, “Ari, where are you going?  It isn’t scary.”  I would encourage Grandpa to leave him alone. “He is taking care of himself.  Let him be.”  Within a minute, Ari would return and keep watching.

Four years later, Ari came up to me and said, “Have you noticed I leave the room less often?”  I said I had noticed and I assumed with age he was getting scared less often.  He agreed.

Ari is eight now.  We all went to see “Beauty and the Beast.”  As we left the movie, I asked the boys if they liked it.  Ari said, “I would have preferred “Lego Batman”, but it was good.  I only covered my eyes once.”  I asked, “What was scary?”  He responded, “No. They kissed.”

And so, another stage.