I have two kids, 19 (girl) and 25 (boy). I blog, I tweet, I can make WordPress sing and I know all the ins and out of social media. I can cook, clean, iron a shirt or a pleated skirt and go bra shopping if called upon (not often these days, but earlier.) I have changed thousands of diapers, I have rocked each kid to sleep many, many times. I stayed up way past the point of tired to tell them stories. I have helped them through the frustration of homework and I have played in sandboxes. I have sat in emergency rooms in the wee hours of the morning and have held their hands during shots and stitches. I have held them through crying and anger after a breakup or a betrayal. And I have shared their happiness at making a team or singing on stage.
But I am not qualified to be a daddyblogger or contribute into the online dad community because I am too old. My kids are too old. “Parenting for dads has changed since you had kids,” they tell me. “Go away, old man, we don’t need your ideas. We’re the experts now.”