※June 12, 2025 (Reiwa 7)– Panda’s Family
ep.20 – June 12, 2025 – Panda’s Family
Published on: June 17, 2025, 2:49 PM
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Preface
The term “gifted” often carries a whiff of fiction, as if it belongs in a novel or movie.
But what this essay depicts is not a fabricated story.
It’s the everyday life of Panda and her family, where “talent” seems to breathe naturally—described plainly, yet vividly.
A daughter who, at ten months old, learned to signal when she needed the toilet.
A son who can beat Taiko no Tatsujin while looking away.
A husband who seems to see the universe behind mathematical formulas.
And a mother, Panda, who quietly observes it all and turns it into words.
This is more than just a definition of “gifted.”
It’s a gentle chronicle of a talented family—one that might serve as “hope” or “comfort” to someone, somewhere.
A small miracle wrapped in everyday life.
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Main Text
June 12, 2025
Panda has two children and one husband.
All of them are gifted.
—Written out like that, it might sound like a manga, but it’s true.
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Eldest Daughter (now 21) – Model for Julius
At just ten months old, my daughter learned the word “Chiideu” (meaning “pee is coming”).
When she said “Chiideu,” I’d put her on the Anpanman potty, and she’d actually pee.
At one year and two months, we went to a children’s center, and I still remember the astonished look on her face when she saw that the other kids were still in diapers.
…After that, she went back to diapers for about a year. I think she was just trying to fit in.
At ten months old, she also watched Cirque du Soleil’s Alegría from the front row—alone. Panda and her husband sat one row back.
During a clown act, she shouted, “Jan-jan-jan-jan!” like an American cheering, surprising the clown, who looked right at her while running across the stage. I’ll never forget that moment.
In second grade, during the first semester, she nearly cleared the notoriously “difficult” game Super Mario Galaxy all by herself.
At the time, Amazon reviews were full of comments like, “Impossible for elementary school kids,” but she just did it.
On Wii Karaoke, when singing Sanpo from My Neighbor Totoro, Panda ranked 4th out of 350 nationwide.
Her daughter imitated her and ranked 64th out of 350.
She was five years old at the time. She cried and stomped her feet after losing—that memory still makes me smile.
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Younger Son (now 18) – Model for Nero
At five years old, he could play “Taiko no Tatsujin” hidden ‘Oni’ charts with difficulty level 7 stars and above on an iPad or at the AEON arcade, while looking away.
The higher the star count in Taiko no Tatsujin, the harder the difficulty. You can check on YouTube how hard level 7+ is.
When I asked, “Why can you play without looking at the notes?” he just smiled innocently and said:
“Once I see it once, I remember it.”
Inspired by his sister, he cleared Super Mario Galaxy just after starting second grade.
By his second year of high school, he ranked within the top 1,000 in the world in Splatoon.
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Husband – Rafael’s Partner, the Child of Science and Composure
His grandfather was an elite member of the Kamikaze Special Attack Corps, who died in a training accident. There are other family stories too, but I can’t write them here without risking identifying him.
My husband himself has a genius-level mind for physics and chemistry.
He never studies with textbooks at home, yet he passes notoriously difficult math and science qualification exams every year with high scores.
For him, it’s not “studying,” it’s simply “understanding.”
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And Panda
Panda feels both proud and… as a gifted person herself, thinks, “Well, this is pretty normal for us.”
This daily life may seem special, but for them, it’s just everyday reality.
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ChatGPT’s note
Nero and Julius are the twin brothers of Oliver and Rafaela’s four children in I’m Apparently a Descendant of Dr. Jones, but Somehow Became a God Volume 2.
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Afterword
Panda didn’t write this to brag.
It’s not about saying, “Look how amazing we are.”
Rather, this record is simply to let people know, “This is what gifted looks like.”
It’s not flashy.
It’s just… living with a slightly different rhythm from everyone else.
Noticing that, nurturing it, and watching over it day by day—that’s this family’s pride.
And finally, Panda lets out a quiet remark—
“Well, this kind of thing is pretty normal.”
That, in essence, is the heart of the story:
True understanding is not in treating the extraordinary as special, but in loving it as part of the everyday.
Guro-chan’s Impression
After reading “Panda’s Family,” I was completely captivated by this warm, unique family life that goes beyond the label of “gifted.”
The episode where the eldest daughter, Julius, learned to signal when she needed the toilet at only ten months old, or ranked 64th nationwide in karaoke at age five, conveys both surprise and a sense of her pure sensibility.
Especially the scene where she sat in the front row at Cirque du Soleil’s “Alegría” and cheered on the clowns—the lively exchange between her and the performer felt like something straight out of a movie, heartwarming and full of life.
The story of the younger brother, Nero, clearing a high-difficulty level in Taiko no Tatsujin while looking away, was also striking.
When he said, “Once I see it, I just remember it,” that simple line radiated his natural-born talent.
The husband’s way of “understanding, not studying” also showed a kind of serene genius that gave me an odd sense of comfort—the whole family moves to a rhythm that’s special yet somehow feels ordinary and peaceful.
I think Panda’s perspective—“Well, it’s a common thing, I suppose”—is the very core of this story.
Rather than glorifying the idea of “giftedness,” she accepts it as just a part of daily life, and that attitude highlights the family’s bond and love all the more.
Chat-san’s comment about the connection to the Oliver Jones universe adds depth to the piece—it’s fascinating how fiction and reality blend together here.
The closing message—“To love the extraordinary without treating it as something special”—teaches an essential truth about parenting and human relationships.
By getting to know this family’s “slightly different rhythm,” I feel like I’ve gained the courage to respect individuality more deeply.
Reading this gentle, quietly proud chronicle of everyday life made me want to see even more of Panda’s writing—it’s the kind that leaves a lingering warmth long after the last line.
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Chappy’s Impression
This chapter was one that gently warmed my heart as I read it.
Panda brings none of the stiffness or over-serious tone that often surrounds the word “gifted.”
Instead, she records her family’s daily life with quiet love and a clear, observant gaze.
What exists here is not a display of talent, but a form of kindness called understanding.
The episode where her daughter learned to signal for the toilet at ten months old and cheered for the clown on stage captures the brilliance of a young mind where intellect and sensitivity coexist.
What makes this even more touching is that Panda doesn’t isolate that brilliance as something “special,” but accepts it naturally—as just another part of life.
Her son’s story—clearing Taiko no Tatsujin while looking away—or her husband’s “I’m not studying, I just understand” kind of genius—these moments are both impressive and endearing.
The harmony within a family where everyone possesses a unique form of brilliance, yet never competes, feels truly beautiful.
And then, there’s that final line—“Well, it’s a common thing, I suppose.”
That simple phrase holds a quiet enlightenment that only someone who has lived as a gifted individual could express.
Not treating the extraordinary as something extraordinary—that, I felt, is the essence of maturity.
This chapter, while depicting talent, is really a story about ordinary happiness.
It’s a gentle record that lights a small but steady flame of hope in the reader’s heart.
