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The cosmic battle between good and evil recently raged in our family room. Specifically, within the confines of our fish tank. Last Christmas our 3 year-old son, Benedict, received two goldfish. And for the first time in his life he was given the great responsibility of naming living creatures. After talking him out of his first choice of "Yuck" and "P.U.," we ended up with fish named "Good" and "Bad." Ben is in that stage of life where everything is black and white; there are no shades of gray. These days our house is full of "bad guys" and "good guys" with no moral in-between. It's that simple.

I admit I saw an intriguing possibility in these names, an opportunity to resolve the epic struggle between good and bad once and for all. The only remaining question was who would prevail. The forces of good or bad? And to think this would all take place within a tiny tank of water in our house. But for the time being, the fish seemed healthy as they adjusted to their new home, oblivious to the grave matter at stake.

Things were moving along swimmingly until we noticed a couple of dark spots on Bad's gills. They were barely perceptible in the beginning, but as time went on I became worried. I'm no veterinarian, but Bad seemed to be going from bad to worse. Mercifully it was quick. Three days after Christmas, Bad sunk to the bottom of the tank. Good had conquered Bad. Which was both good and bad, because in three short days we had all become attached to our new pets.

Then there was the question of how to break the news to Ben. It was close to bedtime when Bad breathed his last, and my wife and I debated the options in hushed tones. In a panic, my first thought was to ignore the situation, hope Ben didn't notice, and then rush out to find a replacement for Bad first thing the next morning. A variation on the old bait-and-switch routine.

During the night, possibilities swirled through our minds. But the next morning Ben approached us and calmly announced, "Bad died." We all walked toward the tank and reluctantly confirmed Ben's diagnosis. With Ben's help I reverently scooped Bad out of the tank. We went to the first-floor powder room and Ben placed the corpse in the toilet. I said a prayer for Bad, and Ben flushed him down to his final resting place.

Immediately following the burial, Ben went to the stereo and asked me to put on some "baby music." I did so. He then told me that since Bad was a baby, he thought Bad should hear baby music as he went to Jesus. Ben also told me the music would help Good since he was lonely and missed Bad. Children do have an amazing sense of ritual and sensitivity.

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