Kids head back to school this week bursting with stories about their summer fun — swimming, hiking, biking, roasting marshmallows around the fire, telling ghost stories during camping trips. You have to wonder, though — do disabled kids have as many stories to tell or did they spend most of their summer indoors, in front of a TV screen?

For young people with disabilities, the playing field is hardly even. I remember spending many summers sitting on the front porch watching the kids in the neighborhood ride their bikes and play tag or hide-and-seek. “Watch” is the key word there.

There seems to be growing recognition that active fun and play are just as important for kids with disabilities as those without. There are residential and day camps for kids with “special needs” (how I hate that term); in fact, name the diagnosis and you’re likely to find a camp just for those kids.

There’s also the Miracle League, which gives disabled kids get a chance to play baseball on specially designed fields. Let’s allow the organization’s web site to explain its philosophy: “If I were to tell you about an organized youth baseball league, you might call it ordinary. If I were to tell you the athletes are physically and mentally challenged, you might call it touching. If you were to see them play you would call it a Miracle.” (Emphasis is theirs, not mine.)

Far be it from me to criticize any of the thousands of volunteers across the country who raise the money so kids can play adaptive baseball. It’s fun for the players, the coaches and those in the stands. But the name “Miracle” League is so patronizing I want to scream. Add that to the “special needs” concept and voila!, we have the perfect mindset to segregate disabled kids.

I’ve heard the reasons given to justify separate recreational programs (basically because of the kids’ special needs, emphasis on needs), but who are they really benefiting? Not nondisabled kids who will go through life thinking they’re superior to the crippled kids. And not crippled kids who will go through life with a fear of being bullied or pitied by the nondisabled.

I know of one summer camp (and I pray there are many others) where all kinds of kids come together during the summer. Cradle Beach, located on the shores of Lake Erie outside Buffalo, N.Y., has combined for many decades children of varying abilities, ages, economic backgrounds and cultures. At this residential camp, they’re just kids – no other tags are necessary. The campers share all the activities – from swimming in the pool to boating on the lake; from meals in the big house to roasting marshmallows in the woods; from cleaning their cabins to celebrating Christmas in July.

Cradle Beach is the first place I had the opportunity to sleep under the stars (hated it; too many bugs). It’s the place I finally overcame homesickness, and it was where I met kids like me and others who were different, yet we shared the same need to celebrate summer by having fun outdoors. I was a camper there, a counselor and later served on its board of trustees — all because I believe in its mission of serving all kids.

There are no “special” miracles needed for children to enjoy summer. They just shouldn’t be burdened by labels and automatically shunted off to “special” land.