Never could I have imagined a Marvel comic superheroine whose mother is named Aisha.

Nor had I expected to see an Asian-American mom on prime-time network TV who is funny, smart and nuts in an endearing and relatable way.

But both these characters exist, and suddenly I feel like a part of pop culture in a different way than I ever have. And I'm not the only one.

It's one thing to watch, read and be entertained by stories that give you a window into other people's lives. It's entirely another to see parts of your own experiences reflected in those stories.

Sailaja Joshi realized the importance of that as a child of Indian immigrants, a sociologist and a soon-to-be mom. She wanted to have a library-themed baby shower when she was pregnant with her first child two years ago. She searched Amazon for baby books that reflected her Indian-American identity and came away disappointed. Nothing met her expectations of well-written, developmentally appropriate baby books about her heritage.

"I was frustrated that my daughter wasn't going to see herself, her culture and heritage, in stories," she said. So Joshi, 32, of Boston, decided to launch a company herself. Bharat Babies will produce baby, toddler and school-aged books that tell stories of India's religious and cultural heritage. Their first book, "Hanuman and the Orange Sun," tells the story of a Hindu god and is available for preorder now (bharatbabies.com).

There have always been ways for creative people to tell the stories of their own communities, but minority groups were often relegated to ethnic enclaves. That's changed dramatically as multicultural families' stories have gone mainstream.

There's the breakout buzz of ABC's "Black-ish," about an upper-middle-class African-American family, and "Fresh Off the Boat," about a Chinese-American family relocating and running a restaurant in Orlando.

Parents magazine just launched Parents Latina, an English-language magazine aimed at Latina moms raising children in a multicultural family. The magazine will feature more Hispanic models, expert sources and parents quoted in the stories.

Not only does it make business sense to target rapidly growing minority groups, but diverse stories appeal to broad audiences.

U.S. Hispanic millennial moms are one of the fastest-growing consumer segments in the marketplace. Within 15 years, 1 out of 3 children born in the U.S. will be of Hispanic heritage, according to U.S. Census predictions. And as early as 2044, America will become a "majority-minority" nation, where no one racial group will account for over half of the population, according to a recent report from the U.S. Census Bureau.

"We've tried to strike a balance between covering issues that are of interest to all moms while honing in on issues that are of special interest to our Parents Latina audience," said Dana Points, content director for Meredith Parents Network. "For example, a significant number of second-generation Hispanic women are marrying partners who are not Hispanic." The magazine has stories to address these specific issues.

They're not the only ones to notice a growing demand among parents.

Ylonda Caviness, a parenting journalist for more than a decade, has written a newly released memoir, "Child, Please: How Mama's Old-School Lessons Helped Me Check Myself Before I Wrecked Myself."

"I hope that a young black person, a woman who never sees herself, her experiences" in mainstream culture, reads it and feels less alone, Caviness said. But her experience of being raised by a strong woman with common sense and hard-earned wisdom will connect to more than just African-American parents.

Parenting can be a lonely endeavor. And the more voices that add to the American tapestry, the richer and more vivid it becomes.

I had that same startling sense of recognition with Jessica Huang, the mother on "Fresh Off the Boat," when she wanted to institute a Chinese Learning Center in her home for her sons. I want one for my kids, too! (I'm just too tired most days to make it happen.)

In the case of Kamala Khan, who headlines the Ms. Marvel comic book series, I had a disquieting thought when I borrowed my daughter's copy to read. My daughter had gushed that it was the "most realistic portrayal" of a Muslim, Pakistani-American girl she'd ever seen in the media.

Aisha, the superhero's mom, has the same surname as my husband. Her daughter is a conflicted Pakistani-American Muslim teenager living in New Jersey with superhuman powers.

The heroine is strong, brave and beautiful. Her mother seems kind of overprotective, strict and uncool.

Too close to home, Marvel. Too close.

As a child, summertime meant freedom.

I was free to walk half a mile to the pool with my cousins. We also walked to the grocery store for snacks and headed to a park, the blistering Houston heat melting the tar on the roads. We rode bikes or just wandered around the neighborhood, making up games with whichever other children turned up outside.

Our parents worried about plenty of things, but they didn't worry that we would be abducted off our suburban streets in broad daylight. They never imagined that they might end up jailed for letting us roam the neighborhood during the day.

An idea that seemed ludicrous 30 years ago has become a parenting reality.

In December, Danielle and Alexander Meitiv in Silver Springs, Maryland let their 10- and 6-year-old children walk a mile home from the park. They then faced a child services investigation, which found them responsible for "unsubstantiated child neglect" last month.

Last summer, a South Carolina mother who worked at McDonald's while her 9-year-old played in a nearby park was arrested for child neglect.

Shortly prior, Kim Brooks published a haunting story about the time she left her 4-year-old son in the car for a few minutes while she ran into the store, then found herself fighting charges of endangering her child.

"Parents used to worry that every unsupervised moment will lead to kidnapping. Now, parents worry that every unsupervised moment will lead to their arrest. Everyone is afraid of being arrested," said Lenore Skenazy, author, creator of the Free Range Kids project, and outspoken advocate for giving kids the freedom to develop critical life skills.

"No one in the history of the world was expected to spend every single second of their lives with their child. Why do we think that today?" she asked.

While crime rates are lower now than the '70s and '80s, the news and stories about crimes against children are broadcast to such an extent that we have internalized these irrational fears.

Perhaps that explains last year's Reason-Rupe national poll, in which 68 percent of Americans believe the law should require children 9 years old and younger to be supervised while playing in public parks. Astonishingly, 43 percent say that even 12-year-olds should be required, by law, to be supervised in public parks. The age at which children should be allowed to stay at home? In this survey, it was 13. The age at which children should walk to school unsupervised or wait alone in the car for five minutes on a cool day? Twelve.

I asked a few 9- and 10-year-olds what ages they thought they should be left home alone. Their answers mimicked the answers most people gave in this poll: 13 or 14. Children tend to believe what their parents believe about them and the risks around them.

Of course, no law can accurately determine when a child is mature enough to stay home alone, sit in a car unattended or walk home from school. About half the states have either laws or guidelines about the age at which a child can stay home alone or be in a car unsupervised. The wide range of acceptable ages shows just how arbitrary and subjective this is.

In Missouri, there is no law dictating how old a child must be to stay home alone. In its neighboring state to the west, the Kansas Department for Children and Families suggests children 6 to 9 years should be left for only short periods, depending on their level of maturity, while children 10 and older probably can be left for somewhat longer periods.

Missouri's eastern border state, however, would take a dim view of the lax parenting standards in Kansas. In Illinois, it's a crime for "any minor under the age of 14 whose parents or other person responsible for the minor's welfare leaves the minor without supervision for an unreasonable period of time without regard for the mental or physical health, safety or welfare of that minor."

It's determined on a case-by-case basis what is considered "unreasonable."

Skenazy describes the law in Illinois as "cruel and insulting to 14-year-olds."

It's also insulting to parents.

Parents who love and want to protect their children will not leave them alone if they haven't taught them how to handle emergencies and know that they are capable of handling situations that may come up.

There are plenty of cases of child abuse that should be investigated before criminalizing a parent who wants to teach their child a little independence.

The most enriching, eye-opening learning experience happened nowhere near my child's school this year.

For 45 years, the Parkway School District in St. Louis has sent its sixth-graders to an outdoor school on YMCA campgrounds a couple hours away by bus. It's a four-day experience; it used to be a week-long program, until budget cuts eliminated a day.

"We talk about connecting with nature," said Ron Ramspott, coordinator for Healthy Youth Programs for the district. "It's really about disconnecting with electronics."

My daughter's class recently took the trek into the wilderness (a very tame wilderness, as all the cabins have air conditioning and electricity) for lessons on water ecology, wildlife and soil quality, along with outdoor activities like horseback riding and hiking.

The most daunting aspect is the absolute ban on any digital devices for the entire duration of the trip.

"We weren't sure we were going to make it," my daughter said.

One of her friends packed grid paper in case she got Minecraft DTs.

Twelve is the perfect age for such an immersive off-the-grid experience. It may be the first time in their conscious lives that they don't have a tech device nearby for four consecutive days. They are part of that first cohort who won't remember a time before ubiquitous handheld screens. They were toddlers when YouTube was born. Google, only four years older than them, has been their constant guide.

Removing them from their hyper-connected, screen-saturated environments offered some of the most significant lessons of the year.

They immediately noticed the loss of instant access to information.

"If you wanted to know how to do something, you had to look it up in the field guide or ask a teacher," my daughter said. "You couldn't just search it."

It's not surprising how often questions strike a sixth-grader. During a class outside, a student wondered what the most common rock in Missouri was. No phone to find an answer. On the bus, a student wanted to solve a Rubik's Cube. She couldn't Google the solution. They couldn't even check the time or set an alarm without resorting to anachronisms like watches and alarm clocks.

In addition to finding new ways to access information and solve problems, they had to manage new ways to communicate.

"We couldn't contact our friends on the other teams (through texting)," my daughter said. If you needed to talk to someone, you had to do it face-to-face. Imagine that.

The hardest part for her was being unable to document the experience through the camera she usually carries 24/7.

"There were lots of things I wasn't able to take pictures of," she said. That was annoying. After all, this is the pics-or-it-didn't-happen generation.

Eventually, the impulse to constantly document lessened, and the moment took on its own value. The camaraderie was vital.

"I coped because I had 12 of my friends with me in a cabin," she said.

The absence of their phones and tablets proved less of a distraction at night, which is when most school children retreat into their digital cocoons.

"I got closer to people I wouldn't have talked to otherwise," she said.

Even if the students didn't think about that overtly, at some level, the experience reinforced the importance of human connection.

But it wasn't just the children who broke away from their tech dependence. As parents, we have become accustomed to the digital tether. Sending your child away without any way to check in on them runs counter to the prevailing parenting norms.

Becky Lopanec's daughter, Julia, also went on the trip. Lopanec said she may have missed her daughter's phone as much Julia did.

"I spent the week sending her random text messages knowing that her phone was off and at home," she said. Lopanec sent a series of texts during the next four days: "How's the bus ride?" "Who's in your cabin?" "Sleep tight." "I'm leaving the light on in your room because it makes me think you are here." "Don't forget to brush your teeth," and so on. She even sent her pictures of the dogs.

"It's how I coped with her first overnight," Lopanec said.

My own phone was a reminder of how terribly I missed my girl. I caught myself rereading our old text conversations while she was gone. They are heavily emoji'ed.

My daughter had a sentimental reunion with her sky blue iPhone upon her return.

She cradled her phone in her hand like a delicate baby bird when she first saw it in her bedroom.

"Wifi," she sighed. "It's so beautiful."