In an effort to get L to socialize with other 9-month-olds on a regular basis, Powergirl and I have been searching for playgroup activities to which I can take the baby during the day.

Other cities—New York among them—offer classes specifically designed for dads who spend most of the day at home with their youngsters. The problem: There’s not much of that kind of stuff out here; we live in a fairly remote part of Sonoma County and the few parent-child classes that are available meet least 30 minutes south (which isn’t exactly convenient).

None of these playgroups has particularly piqued my interest. In fact, most of them have turned me off.

Perhaps the biggest offenders are these classes titled “Mommy & Me.” The mere name of this class makes me angry; it implies the playgroup is only for kids and their mothers, since, of course, according to years of stereotypes, fathers are the ones who go off to work.

(Just look at the Web site! No pictures of dads are anywhere to be found.)

You’d think that in this age of political correctness, health care providers would change the name of the group to something like “Parents & Me” or “Mommy, Daddy & Me.” Alas, no dice; in order to participate in these classes, we dads have to check our manhood at the door and play second-class citizens to those parents for whom the class were designed: the moms.

I first learned about these types of playgroups in a seminar Powergirl and I took before L was born. Even then, I raised my hand and asked our instructor if the classes were open to dads. “Of course they are,” she said. When I followed up and asked how many dads actually showed up for the classes, she responded curtly: “They’re great classes. You should go.”

Translation: None. Zilch. Zippo.

Even if the classes are worthwhile (and they probably are), on principle I’m not going to attend a playgroup that welcomes my daughter but ostracizes me. Call me pigheaded. Call me closed-minded. Hell, call me stubborn. But L can make friends elsewhere.

Here’s a novel concept, Kaiser Permanente (and other assorted health care providers): Offer a class that respects and honors my existence as a stay-at-home dad, and I’ll be there in a heartbeat. Otherwise, stop pretending that your playgroups are open to everybody, because they’re not.