My eleven year old son Gabriel has a vivid imagination.
A little too vivid.
For the last four nights, my wife and I have taken turns lying in bed with him until he falls asleep. The first night, after he had gone to bed, my wife and I, and his older brother Rafael, were still up, watching TV. We heard Gabriel coming down the stairs and thought he was going to the bathroom. Instead he stood at the doorway to the den, looking at us.
“What’s wrong, Gabriel?”
“Honey, you look tired, go back to bed.”
He said he wasn’t sleepy. We pressed a little further – “you have school tomorrow, Gabriel,” “It’s way past your bedtime,” – until he finally said,
