Someone who looked like the Ninth Dr. Who once asked Da-da why this blog is entitled, "Triumph of a Man Called Da-da."
First off, it's pronounced, "DAA-DAA." It's what Da-da's been hearing for a decade, so he responds to it. He's forgotten his own name.
Second,
 Da-da informed the inquirer, a young and unmarried, non-child-laden, 
early-release scaled model of Hugh Hefner, that the title on his business card is, 
"DA-DA," CEO to the small, the loud, the 
diaper-challenged. You've heard women say -- and Da-da will affirm -- 
that it's The Hardest Job in the World. It's also The Best Job... and 
the The Worst Job. Basically, it's somewhere between Christmas and a 
trip to the Emergency Room.
Third, and most 
importantly: Da-da is YOUR Da-da. He is, in plain fact, a kind of 
Meta-Da-da: parent to those who need one; leader of those who need one; 
student and educator of all; asker of difficult questions; truthsifter 
and speaker of unspeakable truths; and general naked-emperor 
pointer-outer.
Da-da does this free of charge.  
And YES, Da-da talks and writes in the Third Person, since Da-da has lost a couple Persons in 
this da-da dada transition. It happens. And YES, da-da is also 
dada, each indistinguishable from the other.
Finally, those born before 1979 may recall the movie, "
A Man Called Horse,"
 with a young (early) Dumbledore... er, Richard Harris, as well as its 
many sequels ("Triumph of A Man Called Horse," "Complete 
Flaccid Collapse of A Man Called Horse," "Radioactive Underpants of a 
Man Called Horse," etc.). Anyway, being a parent -- esp. a meta-parent 
-- is much like the Native American ritual featured in said film, where 
the supplicant, of his own free will, hangs painfully for hours and 
hours and hours and hours in a hot sweaty stinky room from a long 
sharpened horse bone inserted 
beneath the skin of the supplicant's chest until he either passes out or
 has an OOB experience 
and someone has to stab him in the back with a spear to wake him up. Ow.
 But in a GOOD 
way.
Being a parent is like that every single day... at least for Da-da.
Anyone who tells you different is rich and has 10 helpers. Or is selling something. Or is a Divine Being.
In
 truth, EVERY DAY you survive as a parent is a minor triumph. Every day 
you advance the tribe one step UP the near-infinite staircase of truth 
is a major triumph.