Sometimes turning off the device is the best thing to do

Grafton was spending the night at Camp Marlene, but Marlene herself had to be up at 4:30 the next morning. To ensure she had a good night’s rest, Marlene slept upstairs, and Grafton and Poppa Fish slept downstairs in the guest room where there’s a full size bed, and the blue metal cot Grafton likes to use when his father sleeps over.

Marlene is a nickname given Eileen years ago by Grafton’s brother, Connor, when he was about three-years old, which is how old Grafton is now. “I know Eileen’s your name,” Connor confided to Eileen at the time, “but I’m going to call you Marlene.

Since Eileen preferred Marlene to “Grandma” — the name stuck. And our home became Camp Marlene.

“Do you want to sleep in your bed (aka the blue cot) or the big bed?” I asked Grafton. “The big bed,” he says. So he climbs up into his bed, under the sheets and quilt, while I ease onto the cot and under a forest green Hudson Bay blanket.

I am almost asleep when I think I hear a whispering small voice calling my name, barely discernible from the white noise of the desk fan operating atop the chest of drawers. Maybe I imagined it. But then I hear the whisper again.

“Poppa Fish?”

“Hi, Grafton. What’s going on?” I answer.

“I’m scared.”

“What are you scared of?” I ask. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Monsters,” Grafton whispers.

I first met Grafton when he was six-months old. He’s one of those kids whose birthday falls near Christmas. Next month he’ll be four. Among the dozens of things he and I do together, listening and talking with Grafton is one of my favorites. Sometimes he’s not easy to understand, which, I’m sure, is exactly what Grafton thinks about me and all the other adults in his life.

So he and I are patient with each other. That way I learn Grafton is scared by some of what he sees and hears on his iPhone and iPad. When I was his age, a babysitter was watching our black-and-white tv, when a nighttime scene with an open-eyed dead body really startled and frightened me.

YouTube has an autoplay function that rolls from one video to the next. A kid can be watching a harmless video that segues into a horrible video. The fright magnifies with young kids who either don’t talk, or don’t have the vocabulary to describe what’s scaring them.

“You don’t have to watch scary things on your iPad,” I told Grafton. “Tell Mommy and she’ll find games or videos you like,” I said. “And if Mommy’s not around, just turn your iPad upside down so you can’t see it.”

I remind Grafton that he’s at Camp Marlene, where there are no monsters. Marlene chased them all away.

Having time to spend with Grafton is a real gift. I don’t have children of my own. My appreciation for what my parents went through raising five kids has expanded. So has my belief that our country made a mistake letting the cost of government grow to where parents are forced into the workplace, kids into daycare, to pay taxes and make ends meet.

Most families don’t have a choice.

Grafton settles down. I make a mental note to next time position the cot so the nightlight isn’t in my eyes. I drape a white t-shirt over my face and fall asleep.

“Poppa Fish?” I’m awake again.

“Hi, Grafton.” Again, in a whisper, he wants to know why I have the t-shirt over my head.

“Are you scared too?” he asks.

Scott K. Fish has served as a communications staffer for Maine Senate and House Republican caucuses, and was communications director for Senate President Kevin Raye. He founded and edited AsMaineGoes.com and served as director of communications/public relations for Maine’s Department of Corrections until 2015. He is now using his communications skills to serve clients in the private sector.