From ADHD to Dog Man: The Superpower of Neurodivergent Kids

Anyone who knows an elementary school student probably knows Captain Underpants—the principal-turned-superhero who isn’t so super at his job. But what most people don’t know is why he’s a principal in the first place. I love a good origin story, and Learning Disability Week is the perfect time to revisit this one.

Captain Underpants, like many of author Dav Pilkey’s beloved characters, was born out of the isolation and turmoil Pilkey experienced as a student with dyslexia and attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). His elementary school teachers constantly kicked him out of class, leaving him in the hallway with nothing but time. So he started drawing—characters he hoped might entertain his classmates, make them laugh, maybe even like him. He didn’t want to be seen as the bad guy who slowed down the class read-alouds and made the teacher angry. 

Those hallway doodles eventually became Dog Man and Captain Underpants stories, series that include more than 60 million books in print, with translations in 47 languages, multiple Captain Underpants films—and now, a major Dog Man movie adaptation. Dog Man’s characters grapple with feeling like outsiders and finding joy in connection. Pilkey’s childhood is all over the pages and screen—a central robot character is even named 80-Hexotron Droidformigon, or better known as 80-HD. 

The worldwide embrace of these characters shows just how many readers—especially students with learning disabilities—see themselves in these stories. Mr. Krupp, the grumpy principal who transforms into the ridiculous Captain Underpants, is a mash-up of school administrators Pilkey knew growing up. There’s something cathartic for kids in watching the rule-enforcer become a clueless superhero in tighty-whities, resembling a giant baby. Kids want to laugh, feel safe, and belong. These aren’t just silly characters; they’re commentary on how the U.S. education system fails to make space for joy and connection—especially for kids with learning disabilities. 

“These aren’t just silly characters; they’re commentary on how the U.S. education system fails to make space for joy and connection—especially for kids with learning disabilities.” 

Pilkey went to elementary school in the 1970s, the same decade Congress passed the Education for All Handicapped Children Act—now the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act—which gave every disabled student the right to a free, appropriate public education tailored to meet their individual needs. Though it radically improved the experiences of millions of students with disabilities, scientific and social understanding of learning disabilities is outpacing education policy. Today, about 15 percent of U.S. students receive special education; of those, one-third primarily identify as having learning disabilities such as dysgraphia, dyscalculia, or dyslexia. We know more than ever about the brain science behind these diagnoses.

And yet, we’re moving backward. The Trump administration has conflated brain-based neurodivergence with metabolic conditions like fatty liver disease and diabetes. Supports for students with disabilities are under threat from efforts to dismantle the U.S. Department of Education and weaken civil rights protections. One recent executive order described rising ADHD diagnoses as “a dire threat to the American people and our way of life” that signifies that America is “becoming sicker.” Robert F. Kennedy, Jr., tapped by Trump to lead special education efforts, has also called disabilities a curable sickness through “wellness farms” and “healing camps” rather than listening to science—or disabled people themselves.

In Pilkey’s books, two fictional kids with ADHD—Harold and George—drive the stories with wild creativity, potty humor, and stick-to-itiveness in the face of authoritarian adults. In real life, students with disabilities are rarely given that kind of agency. Unlike in other countries, U.S. students have little say in their educational paths, even though student voice is associated with better engagement and learning outcomes. We should trust students to co-create their learning experiences—by giving them real roles in individualized education plan (IEP) meetings, in shaping education policy, and in training the teachers who serve them. This all is an important step to demonstrating trust in the brilliance of students with learning disabilities.

Pilkey credits his mother, the inspiration for the optimistic character Little Petey, with helping him become a reader by making reading feel like love. “It changed everything,” he told Today. Our education leaders should take a cue from Little Petey: Reframe learning as joyful, inclusive, and empowering—and finally give students with learning disabilities the chance to thrive. 

Dog Man is now available to stream on Peacock.

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