“Who do you think is more ripped? Captain America or Wolverine?” asked my son’s friend.
“Wolverine,” answered my son, Jaxen.
I listened in as I prepared dinner. Their conversation focused on how superheroes look, not what makes them unique or what they have accomplished.
At one point, his friend declared, “I’m soooooooo rippppped!”
I wanted to say something, but I let them be. It seemed like innocent banter at a sleepover for seven-year-olds, but it bothered me.