The weekend was winding down and the four of us headed out for a Sunday matinee. We all decided on “Miracles from Heaven,” rated PG. It’s a story about a 10-year-old girl who has a rare, incurable disease. The mother becomes a fierce advocate for her daughter and the film eventually ends with the young girl recovering from her illness, in what can only be described as a miracle.
But we never got to see the miracle. About a third of the way through the movie, my oldest son, Jackson, who’s 8, tugged on my arm and said he wanted to leave. I whispered to him, “Why? What’s wrong?”
“I just can’t watch this. I want to go now,” he explained. I didn’t understand. Why was this such a big deal? He knows it ends in a miracle. He got up and walked out of the theater. I followed. My husband, Andrew, and my other son, Asher, remained in the theater. I did everything in my power to talk Jackson into going back in. He wouldn’t budge. After a few minutes of sitting with him outside the theater, I told him I would wait with him until the end of the movie. Just as we started to settle in, Andrew rushed out with Asher and tried to convince Jackson it would be OK. Jackson was adamant. He wouldn’t go back. He said it was “too scary.”
We all finally decided to leave. My husband, being the frugal one, went to explain our predicament to the ticket takers and we ended up getting a refund. On our way out, Jackson was quiet. Andrew and Asher quickly started talking sports. I took Jackson’s hand and smiled at him. I stayed quiet too. Then, just as we were about to get into the car, Jackson said to me, “Mommy, thank you. I feel respected.”
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