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“Why’s it taking so long?” Ben wants the mouse out of my hand. He rests his index finger between my own thumb and forefinger, trying casually to liberate it. If this were Backyard Soccer or any of his other computer games, I’d gladly oblige. But we’re both wading into unfamiliar computer territory; therefore I dig the heel of my hand into the mouse pad and he reluctantly yields to me, his step father of the past seven years. He sighs impatiently into my ear, and subconsciously starts rocking the right tire of my wheelchair with the toe of his shoe, as he often does when aside me at the computer. I must compensate for the unsettling motion with strategically placed mouse clicks - it’s like being online in the cabin of a rocking ship at sea.

His hands are huge for a kid his age. I haven’t noticed lately. In these past few weeks leading up to his 9th birthday I’ve been trying to convince myself of just the opposite - how young he really is, despite his size. Certainly too young for the iPod I’ve given him as a present. What was I thinking? I’m sure none of his friends have one yet. When I got a Sony Cassette Walkman for my fourteenth birthday (the size and weight of a real brick) I thought I had died and gone to heaven. But Ben’s shiny, matchbook-sized Shuffle has a 240 song capacity and nearly limitless possibilities when you consider that - once I’ve figured out how to filter out the vulgarity on iTunes - he’ll be able to download virtually any song he wants for 99 cents. That was a dime back in my day. Sadly, I realize how lame my beloved mixed tapes really were when compared along side this modern marvel.

“So the Blues Brothers – did they invent the blues?” Ben is wide-eyed as I copy our most recent iTunes acquisition, Soul Man, to his device.

“No – you see they were comedians in real life. But they loved the blues and wanted to introduce that style of music to a younger generation,” I’m trying to put the proper perspective on this important piece of pop culture lore. “So they created these two characters, Jake and Ellwood, and got all these real blues musicians together and recorded an album. They made a movie, too.” I’m delighted that he actually asked for this song to load on his player; the other night on T.V. he had seen Drake & Josh, his favorite Nickelodeon characters, dressed in black suits and fedoras doing a faithful Belushi and Akroyd send up. The skit resonated with Ben just as the original Blues Brothers did with me nearly 30 years ago, so now it’s my chance – a rare nexus; his world intersecting mine.

A car accident twenty four years ago left me paralyzed and permanently confined to a wheelchair. I can’t show Ben how to dribble a soccer ball, pitch a splitter or demonstrate a flutter kick. I’ve taken the deferential backseat to those more physically capable, struggling as the non-blood related care giver; my relevancy often eclipsed by Ben’s real father. But when it comes to vintage rhythm & blues, we’re at last in my comfort zone. I can finally teach Ben a thing or two -- I am for once the keeper of something cool.

Ben’s older brother Josh has an iPod too. He’s twelve, and for his birthday six months ago he received the fancier model with a screen, and storage capacity great enough to download feature-length movies. Confession: in order to load it up with some music he might like the night before, I actually Googled “popular, teen, music”.

One by one, my original installations have slowly been replaced by the increasingly strange and unfamiliar songs du jour among his friends. I don’t mind. Next fall he starts junior high and I’m just a few months away from being officially uncool.

It was bound to happen sooner or later. The process of losing my cool began slowly; some seven years ago, right after I welcomed Josh, Ben and their mother Elizabeth into my home - the solitary world of a disabled bachelor. Up until then I thought I had been through the worst that life could serve up. I had learned to live in a world patently designed for the non-disabled. Yet despite the ambivalence, the pity, and the stares everywhere I went, I had emerged with the ability to still put the needs of others before my own. I didn’t feel like the world owed me anything, and could look back fondly on most of my life thus far. I was tougher than most – or so I thought. Then the children came, and virtually overnight, I became my own parents.

Having ushered Josh and Ben through diapers, training wheels and grade-school, I suppose it’s only natural, even for a step parent, to want to rub off on them; to leave behind some lasting influence. But then again, I shouldn’t want them to carry forth too much of me, lest history repeat itself – after all, at age nineteen I got into a car driven by a drunk driver, failed to put on a seat belt and flew 75 feet through the front windshield when it veered off the road. Even young Ben had enough insight to remind me just the other day: “It’s your fault you’re in a wheelchair.”

Perhaps it will only be possible to see myself reflected in these boys in more subtle ways. It’s likely that I’ll be the only one able to detect it.

“How about Shotgun by Jr. Walker and the All Stars, can we download that?” Ben asks, back at the computer, tapping eagerly on the top of the mouse with this forefinger.

I’m slack-jawed, but I don’t want Ben to see. Where did that come from? Perhaps he’s been perusing through my case of compilation CDs (organized not by date, but by genre) that I used to take with me on DJ jobs back in the nineties. If so I can’t be mad that he’s raided the “off-limits” section of the utility cabinet. Now I know how my father felt on days when he arrived home from work to find me on the living room floor with his own beloved LPs sprawled about me in a circle, soaking up every liner note I could manage to find.

If we’re on Jr. Walker, I might be able to turn him on to Curtis Mayfield, Sam Cook, Otis Redding or even James Brown - but not tonight. Perhaps in a week or two he’ll be ready.