Miles Morales, the first Afro-Latino Spider-Man, was the focus for the first half of the film, but, thereafter, he became a Spider-Man among Spider-Men. He was no longer the focus, and that puts me in a tough place as a father of young children.

“Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen,” with its racially indelicate portrayals of black people in the form of the Skids and Mudflap characters, was an easy fix: I took away the film. They have not watched “Pocahontas” yet because the movie’s whitewashing of American history is too much for me — and, thankfully, the movie has not been requested. We’ve discussed why films like “Revenge of the Fallen” and “Pocahontas” are a problem, and when we talk about the kind of racial stereotypes those films present (the ghettoized machines of the former, and the noble Indians vs. the violent savage dichotomy of the latter) they usually shrug their shoulders and move on to the next toy.

But I could not imagine having a similar conversation with them about “Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse.” They loved it too much.

Quinn, who is 8, thinks he is Miles Morales. He zips around the living room on pretend spider webs and fights imaginary bad guys, much to his mother’s chagrin. LJ, 10, loves, for some reason I can’t fathom, the character of the Prowler, and has taken to drawing him in markers on random scraps of paper around the house. He did something similar with Killmonger in “Black Panther” and Thanos in “Avengers: Infinity War.” (The kid clearly has a thing for complex villains.)

“Spider-Verse,” more than any other movie we’ve seen together, puts me in a precarious position. My sons loved this movie. They have taken to listening to the music from it. They told all their friends to watch it. They deem it the best Marvel movie to date (and it is). They have not stopped talking about the film, and this is all because they saw themselves in the characters that looked like them on the screen.