Now that I've gotten underway with the conceit of blogging about my parenting experiences under the guise of running a superhero training academy, here's a brief meditation on disability superpowers, the power of a child's perspective, and an amusing Action Academy anecdote.

First some backstory: I grew up in Colorado, moved away for college and 13 years in Washington, DC, and recently moved back for a whole host of complicated reasons. Anyway, 8 years ago one of my closest childhood friends was paralyzed in an accident, playing in some waves in Mexico, and is now in a wheelchair. Jason is one of a handful of old friends I have stayed in pretty good touch with over the years, and now that we're both back in Denver and I can count my good friends here on one hand, we've been hanging out a fair amount. I made sure to find a wheelchair-accessible home here for the new Action Academy campus, and I'm learning to navigate things I never had to think about before, like the fact that the only arthouse theater in town showing The Wackness has it playing on an upstairs screen in an old theater that isn't wheelchair-accessible and I should learn to look into these things before trying to make a simple plan to catch a flick I want to see with an old friend.

More backstory: In high school Jason was a football player, and a star swimmer, and a hell of a snowboarder. I think people tended to think of him in some of these physical and athletic and, dare I say, superhuman ways, and a lot of the people close to him took his accident and its aftermath pretty hard: It became difficult for friends and family and former teammates – and for Jason himself – to jive the past (and a set of powerful memories and perceptions that went with it) with the present reality of this beloved friend in a wheelchair.

Here's the thing, though: When my superhero kids hang out with Jason, they don't see a person with a disability. They immediately recognize him for what he is: A fellow superhero. He is an actor in a local troupe called PHAMALY (click on this link to learn about a whole bunch of Denver-based superheroes), a law school student, and a living encyclopedia of Denver Broncos facts and stats. As far as my kids are concerned, Jason might as well be Professor Xavier, headmaster of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, the telepathic brain behind The X-Men and the only other guy in their frame of reference who rides around in a wheelchair. Jason's electric wheelchair is fast enough that he can chase them around when they are running full out or even riding bikes at top speed (trust me when I say that these superpowered kids I have on my hands over here really are fast). For all I know, they probably think he can also read their minds.

The other day, after spending the morning playing in the park with Jason chasing them all over the place, I tried to engage my superheroes in a little Action Academy debriefing session, to see if there was some teachable moment to pounce upon. I was wondering how they perceived his disability, and I started with, "What do you guys think of Jason's wheelchair?" My son Iron A!dan looked at me and said, "It's cool because he gets to drive around in his own special car all the time, so he's the fastest person in the world." That's when it occurred to me that my kids don't discern any "dis" whatsoever in Jason's abilities: The teachable moment was very nicely turned back on me. And then my daughter, Dangerg!rl: "Yeah. The only thing that would make his wheelchair better is if it could fly. I wish Jason could fly." Me too: We totally could have gone to see The Wackness the other night.

– Colin Bane