I grew up learning that my parents weren’t like everyone else’s. Most kids saw their mom and dad come home from work carrying lunch boxes or office bags. Mine came home carrying scripts.
My mother, Imada Mio, always smelled faintly of sakura perfume and studio makeup. My father, Meguro Ren, would sweep me up in his arms even when he was tired from filming, his Snow Man hoodie still warm from the studio lights.
They tried their best to keep our home normal, even though the world outside knew their names.
At Home
“Papa, did you cry today?” I asked once, when he came home with slightly red eyes.
He laughed. “That was for the drama. Your papa’s just acting.”
Mama ruffled his hair. “He cried because the director made him repeat the scene five times.”
Papa pouted, and I laughed. Our little apartment was always full of teasing, cooking noises, and the sound of Mama humming while she practiced her lines.
On Set
Sometimes, they brought me to work.
I sat in a corner chair with headphones too big for my head as I watched them transform into different people—heroes, lovers, strangers, rivals.
But during breaks, they always came back to me.
Mama bent down to my height. “Did I act okay?”
Papa knelt beside her. “Who was better today? Mama or Papa?”
I grinned. “Both! But Papa made a weird face in the crying scene.”
The staff burst out laughing while Papa pretended to be offended.
Quiet Moments
Even though cameras loved them, my favorite moments weren’t glamorous.
It was when Papa helped me with homework, adding silly jokes to math problems.
It was when Mama stayed up with me during thunderstorms, whispering stories of magical kingdoms where everything ended happily.
It was when both of them, exhausted after late shoots, squeezed onto my tiny bed and fell asleep beside me—one on each side, like warm shields.
In those moments, they weren’t actors.
They were just Mama and Papa.
A Family of Lights
One night, we walked home under blooming cherry blossoms. I held both their hands, swinging my arms.
“Do you want to be an actor too someday?” Mama asked softly.
I thought for a moment.
“I want to be like both of you,” I said. “Someone who makes people smile.”
Papa squeezed my hand gently. “That’s already who you are.”
The petals fell around us like pink snow, and for once, my parents—Japan’s shining stars—looked just like any other family in the quiet spring night.
Just ours. Just perfect.