My daughter is very fond of 
Ultraman, especially the eight brothers (Ultraman, Ultra Seven, Jack, Gaia, Mebius, Ace, Dyna, Tiga). She has taught me that, despite their powers, it is not easy to be an Ultraman.
When we play with her Ultra Brothers dolls, there is a specific routine. There appear some monsters hell-bent on destroying Tokyo and anything else that might be or get on their way. The Ultras fight, get pummeled and stricken by some unknown, yet powerful, ray discharge. Even though they are almost always on the brink of getting clobbered, in the end they manage to pull through and rely on the strength of their joint effort to defeat the monsters of the day.
One would think that once the battle is over the Ultra Brothers would get a chance to rest, perhaps catching a well-deserved siesta. Unfortunately for them, that is not to be. Once the fighting is done, they have to attend kinder, where they read and paint. When class is over, they go to the park to play for a while before returning home for supper. At dinner time they talk about anything “their” imagination will concoct, but not without first reminding each other of the importance of eating fish, vegetables and drinking soup if they are to remain strong and valiant.
A little playtime follows the evening meal. This, however, does not last long for the Ultra Brothers have to make sure they put all their toys away and clean up the room before they all head for the bathtub, where somehow all of them fit together. During their bath, the Ultra Brothers discuss the day’s work, especially how difficult their fights against monsters were. I find it amusing that as part of this conversation they usually thank and compliment one another for their mutual help in battle, which undoubtedly would have been impossible to win without working as a team.
When they finish bathing, together they prepare their bed and discuss the importance of turning in early and getting enough rest because the next day will bring new battles, more study and perhaps some unforeseen situation. Then they decide the order in which they will lay down and go to sleep holding hands.
Clearly, it is hard to be an Ultraman.
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My daughter’s pet goldfish got sick a few days ago. Even though my wife did all she could to make sure the fish got its health back, we prepared our kid for the possibility her pet might die, which eventually came to pass.
A few days before the fish passed away, my daughter had visited the home of her surrogate grandparents, a childless senior couple that have enthusiastically taken her as their granddaughter. While there, she told them she was sad because her pet was going to die. Ojiichan (お祖父ちゃん –grandpa) told her that he would make a grave in his vegetable plot; that way Kinta (the goldfish) would be surrounded by plants and flowers and my daughter would be able to visit whenever she wanted. My kid liked the idea, so they went to the plot to pick the spot where the fish would eventually be buried.
My daughter did not cry when her pet finally died. She was saddened by the event, but she took solace in knowing that Kinta would not only be close by, but also quite happy to be in ojiichan’s veggie garden. We called our neighbor, who came immediately and solemnly received the goldfish’s mortal remains. We all went with “grandpa” to bear witness to Kinta’s funeral. Together, my daughter and ojiichan laid Kinta to rest.
My kid became very quiet after the burial and did no want to speak. She simply thanked her surrogate grandpa for his kindness and asked to go back home. Once in our apartment, my wife and I told our daughter that we understood her feelings and that while it was normal to be sad for the loss of her pet, it would be healthy for her to talk about her feelings. Our girl replied that she was not sad for her fish because it had been well taken care of and we simply could not save its life. In addition, she noted a nice funeral had been done (grandpa had given a speech about how Kinta was a good fish). Her response made it necessary to ask an obvious question, why so quiet? She answered that she was upset with ojiichan but had not said anything when we were outside because he had conducted the funeral and had provided the space for Kinta’s grave.
Obviously surprised and disconcerted we asked what reason could she have to be upset with ojiichan. With a grave but reflexive tone, our daughter told us she could not understand how a man as nice and kind as ojiichan could insult Kinta’s grave. She continued her exposition noting that her gold fish had never bothered anybody and that fish never hurt humans. These were the reasons she could not understand why grandpa could dig a grave, give a nice speech during the funeral ceremony and still manage to affront the memory of her goldfish.
Even more perplexed than before, we had to ask about the manner in which Kinta’s memory had been trampled over. Noticeably vexed by our question, our daughter fired back: “how can you not know? Did you not see the grave? It says my goldfish was bad!” As parents, we were seriously confused. I cannot recall whether it was my wife or I who apologized for not having paid enough attention when we were outside; then we asked our girl to explain exactly what the offense was so that we could go to talk to ojiichan about he matter since we were absolutely sure he would apologize for any mistake he may have made.
My daughter told us she could not understand why grandpa had marked Kinta’s grave with “batsu.” At that moment, a superhuman effort was necessary to contain the parental wish to burst into laughter. In Japanese batsu means “bad” or “wrong” and is often represented with an “X”. Ojiichan had put a cross to mark the grave, but my daughter understood it to mean “batsu”. Still struggling not to laugh, we explained that grandpa had put that marker as a sign of respect, but my daughter interjected to remind us of the meaning of “X”. We asked to be allowed to explain and proceeded to tell our kid that, because she was born in Costa Rica and her father was from there, ojiichan had probably assumed that she was a christian. Thus, it had been as a show of respect for what he thought were our beliefs that grandpa put an “X” on Kinta’s grave.
Unconvinced by our explanation, our daughter asked what a Christian was. We tried, as best as we could, to tell her what christianity holds as its main tenets. I do not know if our explanation was good or bad, but my daughter told us that it was a story that made no sense, especially in relation to Kinta’s death. She noted that she could not understand how grandpa could have assumed that an adult would believe a story like that (i.e., Christianity) could be real.
I did not wish to extend the discussion any further, for it is too complex a subject to explain logically and in brevity. Besides, my kid has never received any kind of religious teaching that might predispose her to believe in such a cosmology. Therefore I chose the easiest path that came to mind. I told her that christians are very much like her kindergarden friends, i.e., they believe in an invisible imaginary friend to whom they talk to once in a while. My daughter, appearing to understand, said: “oh, so they talk to their friend to feel better, even though they know it is a game and that their friend does not exist, right?” I thought that was a perfect corollary to our discussion; so I expressed my agreement with her, noting that christians, deep inside, know that their invisible is just a fiction that helps them feel better. This explanation sufficed to put my daughter’s spinning little head at rest.
The following day my kid went to visit her grandparents. On her own she decided to tell ojiichan why she had been so quiet the day before and apologized for having been upset with him without telling him. Ojiichan told her it was no big deal and that the fault was his for having assumed that our family had some religious affiliation. Both were happy and at peace with each other.
Lighthearted overall, my daughter asked ojiichan to grant her one very small favor. She wanted him to remove the “batsu” sign from Kinta’s grave.
