There’s a video I posted on Instagram a few months ago.

It’s had more than half a million views.

Remy’s sitting on my workbench while I show him how to use power tools. Together we’re making a ladder for his playground.

I like reading the comments.

“My dad…”

“I remember…”

“I wish…”

“We lost my father…”

The video has landed somewhere I didn’t expect.

Then yesterday someone left a comment I can’t stop thinking about.

The timing was exquisite.

I’d just dropped Remy home after two full days of grandparenting.

I was knackered.

If you’d asked me right then how enthusiastic I was about grandadding, you might have caught me at a bad moment.

I kicked back, started scrolling and read this…

“Makes me want to adopt since I can’t have children.”

Whoah!

I feel as though I’ve double-dipped into the parenting luck fund.

Happy parenting.

Now happy grandparenting.

If I ever start complaining, write back and remind me of this story.

Please.

Listen

SBS Insight - Grandparenting (airs Sept 8 2026)

There’s no such thing as the perfect grandad.

But there are different ways we show up.

I think about it using two simple questions:

How well do I understand the world my grandchildren are growing up in?

And:

How much am I actually showing up in it?

Put those two questions together and you get four kinds of grandad.

DEFAULT GRANDAD
You love your grandkids, but you’re mostly doing grandparenting the way it’s always been done.

KNOWING GRANDAD
You understand a lot about their world, but you’re not showing up as much as you’d like.

WILLING GRANDAD
You might not understand their world yet, but you’re there, you’re interested and you’re willing to learn.

MODERN GRANDAD
You’re making the effort to understand their world — and showing up in it.

These aren’t labels.

And they certainly aren’t grades.

You might recognise yourself in more than one. You might move between them as life changes.

The point isn’t to decide whether you’re a good grandad or a bad one.

It’s simply to stop for a moment and ask:

Where am I now?

And perhaps the more interesting question:

Where would I like to be?

There’s no finish line here.

Modern Grandad is a direction of travel.

I’m figuring this out myself.

If you are too, come along with me.

You know where you’d like to be. Now there’s another question worth asking: how much time do you have?

Share Modern Grandad

Most of us assume we have plenty of time with our grandchildren.

Years, certainly.

But years are hard to see.

Weeks are different.

The Life in Weeks chart turns a 90-year life into something you can see at a glance. Each little square represents one week.

Try this.

Find your age today and mark it.

Now think about your grandchild. How old will you be when they turn 20?

Mark that too.

Then look at the space between those two points.

That’s your window.

Not a countdown.

Not a reason to feel old.

And definitely not a reason to feel guilty about what you haven’t done.

It’s an opportunity to think about what you can do with the time ahead.

You don’t have to make every week memorable. Most won’t be.

But over those weeks there will be breakfasts, walks, stories, silly games, difficult conversations, small adventures, mistakes, questions and ordinary afternoons together.

Those small moments add up.

So look at your window and ask yourself:

What do I want to do with it?

Life In Weeks A4 Modern Grandad

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Now you can see your window. The question is: what are you going to do with it?

Do you remember where you were when you made a decision that quietly changed the direction of your life?

Mine happened this week.

In a darkened cinema.

I was watching Neighbourhood Backyards, a documentary about what happens when adults step back and let children choose how they want to play.

At one point a school principal said something that grabbed me.

“For years, I was looking at play all wrong.”

Then he added,

“The biggest risk we could ever take is not allowing kids to engage in this type of play.”

Something went off inside my head.

Not because it was a new idea.

Because it wasn’t.

I’ve been drifting towards this for months.

Maybe years.

I just haven’t admitted it to myself.

When I started writing Modern Grandad, I thought I was writing about grandfathers.

Lately I’ve realised I’m writing about childhood.

...the kind of childhood that helps children discover who they are without adults constantly directing the outcome.

I don’t know exactly where this will lead.

But I do know this.

Some ideas stop being interesting.

And quietly become your work.

—

Learn more about Neighbourhood Backyards

Neighbourhood Backyards follows the real-world experiment of giving kids a local communal space and getting out of the way – and asks what happens to our communities when kids, not adults, are given the freedom to lead.

This hour-long documentary solves a problem for me.

I’m looking to create a loose-parts playground for my grandson and the other children/grandchildren on our street. When I speak to other local parents/grandparents, the concept of unstructured play throws them a bit. Even though they nod along, I can see they don’t really get it. Now they can ‘see’ it.

That’s the power of this film.

You see kids choose play over screens. You see kids sort problems without adults. You see adults change their opinion towards the perceived problems of giving kids autonomy over their decisions. You see how kids respond to the freedom to make their own choices.

Check it out here.

https://www.australianinstituteofplay.org/neighbourhoodbackyarddoco

Like me, if you want to start your own smaller-scale version, start here.

Follow along on Facebook

A million minutes ago, my grandson was born.

When I first held him, I fell in love.

I leaned in and whispered,

“I’m going to be the best grandad I can be.”

I wasn’t sure what that meant.

I wasn’t even sure how to begin.

I just knew I wanted to try.

He turns two soon.

He’s grown.

Somewhere along the way, so have I.

I used to think becoming a grandad was about what I could give him.

I’m starting to think it’s also about who it’s asking me to become.

A million minutes isn’t very long.

But it’s been enough to change one little boy.

And one older man.

Twenty-three months ago, my first grandson was born. When I first held him, I fell in love, and I whispered, “I’m going to be the best grandad I can be.”

Now, I didn’t know how, but I was willing to learn.

And I was sort of excited because—talk about getting the timing right—more grandads are walking the earth right now than at any time in human history. That’s roughly 700 million grandads to call upon to show me the way. If you gathered them all into one place, they would form the third-largest nation on the planet—more than the populations of the US, Indonesia, and Pakistan combined.

So, twenty-three months later, why can’t I find them?

I started by looking online for groups. I found groups for older men who are lonely, but I’m not lonely. I found groups for grandparents who are looking after grandkids full-time, called kinship carers, who often need financial and in-person assistance. I need neither. Then I got excited when I found a prominent grandparenting conference, only to be deflated when I realised their primary goal is to pass on a religious legacy. I don’t have an agenda. I just want to be a role model to my grandson, support his parents, grow as a person, and do it with like-minded men.

Hmm. A book might give me answers. I found no granddadding titles. There’s a swag of grandparenting books out there, but they were either written for grandmothers, relationship-focused, or heavy on research. Some had a token section devoted to grandfathers—you know, a “let’s not forget grandad” chapter.

I wanted a how-to guide to build a capable grandson. I wanted ideas on how to offer young people alternatives to the poorly thought-out ideas of the Manosphere. I wanted a book full of possibility and the future, not nostalgia and recycled advice like “take your grandkids to the movies.”

Alright then, looks like I’ll have to start my own group. I called it the New Grandad Club. It was meant to be an easy afternoon for grandads and grandkids to chase, chill, and chat. I ran a six-week campaign across ten Facebook community groups, through three local council offices, and on public notice boards. It was enthusiastically supported by… women.

“Such a fab idea!” “This one’s for you, Dad!” “Love love love this!”

Men? Not so enthusiastic. Two turned up, but they were two friends I had practically begged to come along so I didn’t run the risk of looking like Nigel-no-friends.

I know, I’ll speak to civic groups like the Lions Club. Maybe they’re interested in a partnership. I spoke. I inspired them. But they were committed to established projects like sausage sizzles once a month at the local big-box hardware store. I got a pat on the back and a “good luck” as I walked out the door.

Time to think bigger. I approached people who have created social enterprises to see what they thought. They saw potential to turn this into a service that helps fulfil State and Federal government health objectives for older Australian men. But I didn’t want that. I just want to be a role model for my grandson, support his parents, grow as a person, and do it with like-minded men. With no hidden agenda.

So here I am. My grandson is about to turn two, and I feel alone in a world of 700 million grandads. I’m not sad. I’m not hurt. But I’m not finished. I’m curious.

Is “Grandad” Out of Date?

I can’t be the only person thinking this way. There are 700 million grandads on the planet. If only 1 in 1,000 men think the way I do, that’s 700,000 people—the population of a major city. So if I’m failing to reach even one man, then I wonder: am I speaking the wrong language to someone who isn’t really there anymore?

Just who is a Grandad in 2026?

An identity problem?

How we see grandfathers feels like it is stuck somewhere in the middle of the last century. The popular image of a grandparent is often someone in their late 60s or 70s, but the statistical reality is much younger. The average age for an Australian man to become a grandfather falls between 56 and 60.

A design problem?

As governments worldwide push retirement ages higher to combat aging populations, the working grandfather, it seems, is becoming the universal norm. In Australia, you can get the Age Pension at 67, while the average actual retirement age for men is 63 to 65. So most men spend their first 5 to 10 years as a grandfather while still working. Are they balancing career with a desire to be more present in their grandchildren’s lives?

An invisibility problem?

Despite working, midlife men are heavily relied upon. Nearly a third of working parents rely on grandparents as their primary source of childcare when returning to work. Then there’s the “triple load”: maintaining their own employment, providing hands-on care for grandchildren, and frequently supporting their own aging parents.

So it seems that while midlife men are silently grandadding in the background, they are trying to apply a 1980s grandparent model to a 2026 life pattern.

Maybe that’s how they like it. Maybe I’m poking a bear that doesn’t want to be poked.

What Do Midlife Men Actually Want?

If you ask men in their 50s, 60s, and beyond what they want out of the next chapter of their lives, their answers usually boil down to three things: Purpose & Legacy, Autonomy & Freedom, and Deep Connection.

Men think that to achieve these, they need to stay relevant in business or find a purpose through a hobby like fixing up old cars. They love the idea of having no boss, no schedule, and no expectations. Many feel the isolation that hits post-retirement, when work friendships fade, so they look to clubs and groups for connection.

But here’s where I see the irony.

I’ve found my Purpose & Legacy, my Autonomy & Freedom, and my Deep Connection by simply showing up for my grandson. I’m mentoring the next generation directly. I see it as a leadership role, not a hobby. I’ve reinvented myself as a guide, operating entirely outside the stressful metrics of career production. I’ve built a wonderful, unconditional bond with a child that keeps me current and a socially integrated part of my family.

Being a Modern Grandad has helped me find meaning, structure, and connection. I feel it is possibly my most important work yet.

What Is Stopping Men from Engaging More?

A radio producer asked me, what’s stopping men from stepping up as proactive grandads? I didn’t have an answer. So I dug in online. Here are four invisible barriers:

• The “Support Staff” Illusion: Many men view grandparenting as an extension of domestic labour—changing nappies, managing schedules, and enforcing rules. Because they historically left domestic management to their partners, they assume they don’t have the skill set, or they view it as “women’s work.”

• The Fear of Getting It Wrong: Modern parenting styles are different. Many older men look at these new rules, get intimidated by the fear of “doing it wrong” or causing friction with their adult children. It’s safer to stand back.

• The Lack of a Roadmap: Unlike women, who possess distinct biological signposts like fertility, childbirth, and menopause to naturally mirror the transitions of life, men have only puberty. Without biological markers to announce the shift into elderhood, modern men default entirely to an institutional map dictated by school, career, and retirement. They miss out on a tribal ritual to transition them from the role of “Warrior” (provider) to “Elder” (anchor).

• Few Role Models: Because grandparenting infrastructure is heavily matriarchal, retired men rarely see active, powerful archetypes of themselves serving as developmental guides.

I think there is a real need to reframe the whole identity around being a grandad. To say: you aren’t just babysitting; you are intentionally guiding a child’s future. It’s not a demotion from provider; it’s a promotion to elder.

What a Bloke Like Me Would Do…

In my two years of searching for like-minded grandads, what has struck me most is that I felt nothing out there was speaking to me. As a man. A regular bloke.

So I would like to offer alternatives to the traditional caregiving language—words like nurturing, helping out, minding the kids, or babysitting. When I read those, it makes me feel—rightly or wrongly—like a commodity. I want to offer more than that.

Agency, leadership, legacy, and adventure. That’s my language. Here’s an idea. What if we translate grandparenting into a dialect that aligns with how men are socialised to find value: through challenge, competence, and building things?

A man’s day job rarely reflects his actual soul. Work is often just a placeholder for purpose. Can we use this phase of life to offer a “second chance” for men to step into personas they always wanted to inhabit, but never got the opportunity to play in the professional world?

A corporate lawyer might have secretly dreamed of being a performance coach. A school teacher might have always wanted to be an explorer. Just by changing the way we frame it, can we at least get more men into the conversation?

I asked AI to give me a list of descriptors based on how a man naturally approaches and processes the world. Look at this list through the lens of the older man in your family’s life. Is there a version of himself he is waiting to unlock?

The Archetypes of Granddad Leadership

• The Master Builder – For the man who wants to lay solid foundations, assemble character, and construct things that last.

• The Creative Director – For the man who wants to shape the vibe, the culture, the imagination, and the vision of the family.

• The Storyteller – For the custodian of identity, history, and the deeper meaning of where the family came from.

• The Anchor – For the unshakeable, grounding presence who provides safety and stability when the world gets chaotic.

• The Navigator – For the map-reader who helps the next generation read the terrain, spot the pitfalls, and find their true north.

• The Performance Coach – For the mentor focused entirely on unlocking potential, building resilience, and sharpening mindset.

• The Senior Partner – For the trusted advisor who stands shoulder-to-shoulder with the parents, offering high-level wisdom without micro-managing.

• The Explorer – For the champion of curiosity, unstructured play, risk-taking, and outdoor adventure.

• The Trustee – For the ultimate custodian of value, acting out of deep trust, integrity, and protective care.

• The Catalyst – For the man who wants to spark energy, curiosity, and new ideas in a child’s life.

Some of you might be rolling your eyes. The nappy needs changing and you’re asking us to indulge men in childhood fantasies? Of course, we have to keep it real. Someone has to change the nappy. Everyone benefits when men do their share.

But words are persuasive. Maybe don’t ask him to babysit. If you are an adult child trying to get your dad to step up, have a go at changing the way you invite him into your world.

Something like ‘You know, I always think of you as the master builder, you always seem to me to be building things that last. I’d love to see you bring some more of that into the family…’

I think we are all better off with more modern grandads around. So regardless of what it said on his old business card, help a man in your life become one.

—

I’m stumbling my way through this. I’d love for you to share your ideas and insights and support. If you speak up, I’ll listen.

There are somewhere around 700 million grandads in the world. I’m one of them.

And I’ve started wondering where everybody is. Not physically. I can find grandads. I mean, where is the conversation about being one?

I’ve been searching online for information about grandfathering and finding surprisingly little. So I tried a very simple experiment.

I searched for father.

Within the first few pages I found:

What is the Role of the Father?
7 Types of Dad
Fathers Matter: The Importance of a Father
Understanding the Vital Role That Fathers…
The Role of Fathers in a Child’s Life
What Is a Father, Anyway?

Then I searched for grandfather.

I got:

GRANDFATHER definition and meaning
Discover Sydney’s Grandfathers Restaurant
A List of Names Kids Call Their Grandparents
Grandfather Images and Stock Photos
Gifts for Grandpa

One search wants to understand the man. The other wants to categorise him or sell him something. One is meaningful. The other is trivial.

So I kept looking. I did an SEO keyword search for grandfather. The big search term. Grandfather clock.

Then I did an image search for grandparents. Happy multigenerational families stared back at me. I searched for grandfather. Then half the page was cartoon images of balding white-haired men with glasses, braces and walking sticks.

Apparently we’ve got 700 million men and four ideas about them:

Old.
Bald.
Nice.
Buy him a mug.

Something doesn’t add up.

There have never been more of us

There are around 1.5 billion grandparents alive today. That’s roughly one in five people on Earth. In 1960, there were about 500 million. By 2050, there are expected to be around 2.1 billion.

I haven’t found a definitive count of grandfathers alone. Estimates put the number somewhere around 700 million.

The exact number isn’t really the point. The point is this:

There have never been more grandads alive than there are right now.

And we’re not all sitting in rocking chairs. In Australia, men retire at around 65. The Age Pension starts at 67. The average man becomes a grandfather years before either.

That means there’s a period in many men’s lives that we don’t talk much about.

He’s a grandad. But he’s still working.

Still driving to work. Still solving problems. Still learning things. Still using technology. Still capable of climbing ladders, building things, travelling, playing, exploring.

He’s not the old man I saw in the image search. He’s potentially got decades of grandfatherhood ahead of him. Yet somehow our picture of him hasn’t caught up.

Then there’s the other number

I look after my grandson two days a week. He’s still little. Which means for hours at a time, I have something every trillion-dollar technology company on Earth is fighting to get.

His attention.

That’s when the numbers really stop adding up for me. Google wants his attention. YouTube wants it. TikTok will want it. Advertisers want it. Game companies want it. AI companies will want it. Entire industries employ some of the smartest people on the planet to work out how to capture and hold a child’s attention.

And for these few years... my grandson just gives me his.

He follows me into the garage. He watches what I do. He points. He copies me. He wants to help. He wants to have a go. He listens to my stories. And, perhaps most importantly, he watches how I behave.

I don’t know how long that lasts. Five years? Ten if I’m lucky? At some point, Poppa Jules won’t be quite as fascinating. I’m under no illusions about that. But right now I have his attention. So what am I going to do with it?

We had the conversation about fathers

Something else happened while I was searching. I realised how much we’ve talked about fatherhood.

What is a good father? How important are fathers? Should dads be more emotionally available? How much time should they spend with their children? What role do fathers play in resilience? Confidence? Play? Discipline? Education?

We’ve challenged the distant father. The breadwinner father. The authoritarian father. The absent father. We’ve debated what should replace them.

We certainly haven’t solved fatherhood. But we’ve taken it seriously enough to argue about it. And somewhere along the way, fatherhood stopped being merely something a man was. It became something a man could willingly aspire to do.

Then Dad becomes Grandad. And the conversation seems to stop.

We turned fatherhood into a role.
We left grandfatherhood as a relationship.

Maybe that’s what I’ve been noticing.

So what is a grandfather for?

I don’t know. And increasingly I find that a really interesting question.

I’m not interested in producing another list telling men how they’re supposed to behave. We’ve got enough of those.

I’m certainly not claiming my way of grandfathering is the right way. I’m one grandad with one grandson trying to work this stuff out as I go.

But I do think the questions are worth asking.

What is a grandfather for in 2026?

What can we offer grandchildren that parents can’t?

What do grandchildren need from us?

What should we keep from previous generations of grandads?

What should we leave behind?

What does a useful modern grandfather look like?

And what happens if millions of capable older men start seeing grandfatherhood not simply as something lovely that happened to them, but as an opportunity?

Not another obligation. An opportunity. Because maybe the biggest thing we have isn’t wisdom. It isn’t money. It isn’t experience. It’s attention. Ours. And, for a surprisingly short period of time, theirs.

Maybe that’s where we start

I don’t want to start a campaign telling 700 million men how to be grandfathers. I’d rather start a conversation about what grandfatherhood could be.

We can ask better questions. Try things. Share what works. Show up.

And perhaps become role models not only for our grandchildren, but for the grandfathers some of them will eventually become.

Because if we do that well enough, maybe one day something changes.

A boy grows up. He becomes a father. Years pass. Then one day, he becomes a grandfather.

And when that happens, he won’t have to search Google to find out what he’s for.

He’ll have seen it.

There are three big hills between my grandson’s house and mine.

With two trips a day, there and back, that’s six climbs on the bike.

I’m not getting any younger.

And my grandson’s definitely getting heavier.

Yesterday we were grinding up hill number six.

I was puffing.

He was laughing.

We were halfway through one of our silly games when a man on the footpath held out his hand.

Half hello.

Half stop.

He had a little boy beside him.

We slowed.

They slowed.

“I’ve seen your grandad initiative online,” he said.

“Fantastic. Keep it up.”

Then we both rolled on.

The whole exchange lasted maybe ten seconds.

By the time I reached the top of the hill, I found myself smiling.

When I write these newsletters, I still wonder sometimes if anyone is listening.

I probably always will.

But somewhere along the way, something has changed.

I used to need encouragement so I could keep going.

Now I’ve discovered the joy is ‘the pushing.’

So I kept pedalling.

A teacher said something that I can’t shake. She said she was seeing more and more six-year-olds in ten-year-old bodies.

Ten-year-olds who melt down when they miss their turn. Ten-year-olds who don’t have the hand strength to hold a pencil. Ten-year-olds who seem less capable than their predecessors.

Weirdly, I felt some responsibility. Because children don’t become capable accidentally. Capability is transferred. Slowly. Through adults.

Then I noticed something else happening at the other end of life.

Many of the men around me were retiring. Some loved it. Many quietly struggled. Work had given them purpose. Without it, they were drifting.

At the same time, young parents were stretched thinner than ever.

Kids needed guidance.

Parents needed backup.

Older men needed purpose.

Three separate problems. Or perhaps one opportunity. That was the beginning of Modern Grandad.

This diagram explains how I think about it.

Kids need guidance.

Not because parents aren’t enough. But because communities, extended families and steady adults have always raised children.

Parents need backup.

Not because they’re failing. Because modern parenting has become an enormous job.

Men need purpose.

Not because retirement is bad. Because usefulness doesn’t retire.

Where those three circles overlap... Modern Grandad.

Modern Grandad is both about grandchildren and about becoming the kind of older man the future needs.

One who decides: Don’t retire. Repurpose.

One who understands: Presence matters more than presents.

One who leaves something more valuable than money. A modern inheritance.

I didn’t build Modern Grandad because I had the answers. I built it because I had a grandson.

I kept asking myself, what kind of man do I want him to become? What can I do to help him get there?

If there’s one idea I’d like you to leave with, it’s this: Modern Grandad isn’t another hobby for retirement. It’s a leadership role.

The future needs experienced men. It just needs them in a different position.

If being a grandad matters this much, the next question is: what do I actually want to give him?

When people ask what I want for my grandson, they usually expect me to say… Happy. Healthy. Successful. Confident.

They’re all wonderful things. But they’re outcomes. I’m more interested in the beliefs that produce those outcomes. I realised they all point back to three simple ideas.

I matter.

I belong.

I’m strong.

Not physically strong. Life strong.

If a child genuinely believes they matter... they’re less likely to spend their life chasing approval.

If they know they belong... that anchors them into an increasingly disconnected world.

If they believe they’re strong... they don’t assume hardship means they’re broken.

They assume they can find a way.

That’s what this model describes.

These three beliefs reinforce each other. Together they create something I simply call... a capable grandkid. Not exceptional. Not fearless. Not perfect. Capable. Ready to take life in their stride.

It starts small. Already I’m changing what I say.

Instead of telling my grandson, “You’re clever” or “Good boy,” I want my words and actions to quietly communicate something deeper.

You matter. You belong. You can do hard things.

Over time, I hope he starts saying those things to himself. That’s the inheritance I’m really trying to leave.

Money can change someone’s circumstances. Belief changes the way they move through the world. One disappears. The other compounds for a lifetime.

But believing you’re strong isn’t something a grandad can simply tell you. You need chances to discover it for yourself.

Once I knew what I wanted for my grandson... I needed to work out how. I started reading. Researching. Watching. Trying things. Gradually, a pattern emerged.

I believe capable kids need three things.

Agency. The feeling that “I can do things on my own.”

Pathway. The confidence knowing “I’m heading somewhere.”

Skills. The experience of becoming better at things through practice.

I can’t tell Remy this. So I use these tools to help him experience it.

Stories are where children imagine who they could become.

Play is where children practise adulthood.

Standards show children what normal looks like.

I see this is where Modern Grandads can shine.

We become storytellers. Not simply reading books, but offering children different ways to see the world.

We become guides. Stepping back enough for children to struggle, explore and grow.

We become reference adults. Steady people children can quietly orient around.

Notice what’s missing. Rules. Rules belong to parents. Modern Grandads respect that.

We don’t enforce. We model. Children watch us long before they listen to us. Which means the question isn’t, “What did I teach today?” It’s, “What did I demonstrate?”

Building capable kids isn’t complicated. It’s simply being consistent over hundreds of ordinary days.

And perhaps helping them grow requires something from us too: a willingness to keep growing ourselves.

I never intended to start something called Modern Grandad. I was simply trying to become a better grandfather. Somewhere along the way, I realised that the more I invested in my grandson... the more I changed.

People often think purpose comes from looking inward. I’ve found the opposite. Purpose usually arrives when your attention moves outward. Toward something greater than yourself. Toward people who matter. Toward becoming useful again.

That’s why this final model isn’t really about grandparenting. It’s about reinvention. Real reinvention isn’t pretending you’re thirty again. It’s becoming more useful at sixty-five than you were at fifty-five. Different role. Same contribution.

Modern Grandad has changed my own life. It’s made me healthier. More curious. More optimistic. It’s pushed me to learn about child development, neuroscience, education, storytelling, play and leadership. Not because anyone told me to. Because I know someone small is watching.

That’s the unexpected gift. We think we’re shaping grandchildren. Quite often... they’re shaping us. My grandson is my life coach in nappies.

If you’re reading this and something here resonates, don’t feel like you need permission to start or you need to become extraordinary. You don’t need the courage of a lion, the wisdom of Buddha or the confidence of a Formula One driver. Just... a bit of spine, a willing mind and a daily dose of mild discomfort and you’ll find your way.

So will the child who’s watching you.

So that’s the idea. Now let’s make it about you.

I spend a lot of time on the ground lately.

My grandson is closer to it, so for convenience, we often meet there.

I’d forgotten just how wonderful the ground is.

Water trapped in crevices.

Growing up, I wanted to be a scientist.

I had a microscope and a fascination with puddles.

A thimble full of water

Holds a thousand lives or more

Tiny minute creatures

In an ocean

With no shore

- A.J. Bradley

I love that poem.

Musty? Peaty?

What is that smell?

It’s comforting.

I’d forgotten that decades ago

as an army sniper

I lived on the ground

literally, for days at a time.

Sun-bleached. Powdery. Brittle.

Bones at the base of a tree.

They must have been Emmy’s treats that she buried.

Our first dog.

Hello Emmy.

Funny what you notice when you stop standing over everything.

We’ve become very good at blaming children.

“Kids these days.”

Lazy.

Entitled.

Always on their phones.

No resilience.

No attention span.

Really?

I’ve seen no kids on the board of Facebook, Instagram or Snapchat.

I’ve seen no kids deciding how addictive the algorithm should be.

I’ve seen no kids approving bubblegum-flavoured vapes.

I’ve seen no kids designing gambling mechanics into video games.

I’ve seen no kids manufacturing ever-faster eBikes.

I’ve seen no kids replacing backyards with housing estates.

I’ve seen no kids deciding children should spend more time indoors than outside.

Yet somehow...

Kids these days.

Children are behaving exactly as children always have.

They explore.

They copy.

They seek status.

They take risks.

They push boundaries.

That isn’t the problem.

The environment is.

Adults built it.

Every generation inherits the childhood the previous generation creates.

That’s uncomfortable.

Because it shifts the conversation from blame to responsibility.

It also gives us something far more valuable than outrage.

Agency.

I can’t redesign social media.

I can’t bring back every vacant block.

I can’t rewrite government policy.

But I can become one more adult who changes the environment around one child.

A bike ride.

A campfire.

A conversation.

Teaching scepticism before the algorithm teaches certainty.

Helping them discover capability instead of consumption.

I don’t have all the answers.

But I know one thing.

The answer isn’t doing nothing.

Question

What’s one small part of your grandchild’s environment that you could improve this month?

Fla-wah.

Flower.

My grandson’s second favourite word.

His favourite is ter-tell.

Turtle.

Which is odd because after hundreds of bike rides together through suburbia, we’ve never seen a turtle.

Flowers though?

Thousands.

Red flower.

White flower.

Yellow flower.

At least that’s what I thought he was noticing.

Turns out every flower is either red, white or yellow.

Those are currently the only colours available in his universe.

He points.

I stop.

I pick one and hand it over.

Then comes the ritual.

A dramatic sniff.

A satisfied “mmmhh.”

The only problem is he hasn’t quite mastered the mechanics of smelling yet.

So instead of inhaling, he usually blows on the flower.

Or licks it.

He holds each flower carefully until we get home.

It’s ridiculously cute.

And completely genuine.

No pretence.

No performance.

Just a little boy lost in a moment.

I found myself wondering when that changes.

Not because he’ll stop liking flowers.

Because one day he’ll become aware of being watched.

He’ll get a sense of what’s cool and what’s not.

What’s worth showing.

What’s worth hiding.

I’ll miss this version of him.

And if I’m honest, I think I’ll miss it because I can feel how much of that freedom I’ve already traded away.

Here’s something most people don’t know.

For decades, a huge number of everyday products were designed around a fictional person called “Reference Man.”

Reference Man is a white male aged about 25–35, roughly 70 kilograms and 170 centimetres tall.

He became the default human used to design everything from medical research to cars, tools, office spaces, and public infrastructure.

Not because someone formally voted for him.

He just quietly became the standard.

And once a standard exists, people tend to keep using it.

The hidden assumption

If you design a car seat, a safety harness, a medicine dosage, or even the temperature of an office building around the average male body…

you end up with systems that fit some people perfectly and others only roughly.

Sometimes the difference is small.

Sometimes it matters a lot.

Sometimes the bias is annoying

No pockets in women’s clothes.

Shoes designed poorly for female athletes.

Public transport handholds positioned too high for shorter passengers.

These things are irritating.

But they’re mostly inconveniences.

Sometimes the bias is dangerous

Women experience adverse drug reactions far more often than men, partly because many medical trials historically tested mostly men.

Protective equipment often doesn’t properly fit female healthcare workers — even though women make up the majority of the workforce.

In some cases, the system literally fits the wrong body.

Sometimes it’s dangerous — for your granddaughters

Car safety systems were developed using male crash-test dummies for decades.

As a result, studies show women are significantly more likely to be injured in car crashes.

Think about that.

We’re talking about safety systems designed to protect your daughters and granddaughters.

One traffic safety researcher in Sweden was so frustrated by this that she created the first average female crash-test dummy in 2022.

Let that sink in.

Cars have been crashing into walls for generations…

…and only recently did someone think to test them with a female body.

The encouraging part

None of this was a conspiracy.

It was mostly a blind spot.

Designers used the data they had.

And the data mostly came from men.

But that’s starting to change.

More researchers are collecting data on different bodies.

More designers are thinking about different users.

And the next generation of engineers and designers is far more aware of this issue than the last.

Which is good news.

Because better design for more people usually makes things better for everyone.

The Modern Grandad Lens

Grandads sit in an interesting position.

We grew up in one world.

Our grandchildren are growing up in another.

Understanding the changes between those two worlds helps us do something valuable:

Ask better questions.
Have better conversations.
And stay connected to the lives our grandchildren are actually living.

Sometimes the most powerful thing a grandad can do isn’t give advice.

It’s simply to be curious about the world his grandchildren are inheriting.

Grandad Conversation Starter Kit

One-sentence opener

“Did you know a lot of everyday products were designed around something called ‘Reference Man’?”

Three quick examples

• For years, car crash tests mostly used male dummies.
• Some medicines were historically tested more on men than women.
• Even things like public transport handholds are often designed for taller bodies.

One-sentence closer

“Designing for more people usually makes things better for everyone.”

Then ask the magic question:

“What do you think?”

This is part of my Modern Grandad Briefing series where I explore what’s changing in the world — and why it matters to our grandchildren.

“Science, reason, and secular values.

Science gives us the way to understand reality.

Reason gives us the way to argue about it without throwing things.

Secularism shows people of very different beliefs how to live together in relative peace.

These are what make civilisation civilised.

They are the antidote to superstition, tribalism, and wishful thinking.” — Richard Dawkins

From Making Sense with Sam Harris: #481 — Sam Harris Receives the 2026 Richard Dawkins Award, 18 Jun 2026

My grandson isn’t yet two.

The other day I interrupted his joyful play with:

“Bath time.”

He cracked it.

Foot stomping.
Red face.
Full-body outrage.

I carried him inside kicking the whole way.

Then it hit me.

Right now he only has a few dozen words.

Cat.
Car.
Flower.

“No” is basically his entire negotiation strategy.

That tantrum wasn’t manipulation.

It was vocabulary.

He had no real agency yet.

And for the first time, I could feel how frightening that must be:

To not be able to properly explain yourself.
To not be able to argue your case.
To feel powerless to change your circumstances.

That’s existentially scary at any age.

I’ve been lucky.

I’ve felt high-agency for most of my life.

Even when life was hard, I usually believed I could influence what happened next.

Not everyone feels that way.

And once you see that, you start noticing something uncomfortable:

Adults often disguise fear with more socially acceptable language.

Stress.
Frustration.
Anger.
Withdrawal.
Defensiveness.
Outrage.

But underneath a lot of it is something far more primitive:

“I don’t know how to regain control here.”

I think we underestimate how deeply human the need for dignity is.

Not status.

Not attention.

Dignity.

The feeling that:

• your voice counts

• your inner world matters

• you have some say in your own life

• you aren’t invisible

And when people lose that feeling for long enough, strange things start happening.

Not always violence.

Sometimes conspiracy.
Sometimes rage.
Sometimes addiction.
Sometimes tribalism.
Sometimes shutting down completely.

Different vocabulary. Same instinct:

“I need to matter again.”

That doesn’t excuse destructive behaviour.

Adults are still responsible for what they do.

But understanding why humans behave badly might help us build a world where fewer people feel cornered in the first place.

As for my grandson?

I still needed to get him into the bath.

But I told myself to stay calm.

In my arms was a frightened little boy with unlimited feelings and very limited ways to express them.

Getting angry would only add shame to frustration.

So I just held him close and said:

“I see you. I love you.”

I didn’t know what else to do.

But maybe trying to understand people a little better is part of how we help them become better tomorrow.

This is part of my Modern Grandad Briefing series exploring what’s changing in the world — and why it matters to our grandchildren.