I gave my two oldest grandsons (15 and 17) condoms for Christmas this year.  Not like wrapped with a bow in front of people or anything weird.  I just brought them over one day when they were home alone.  I wanted them to be able to ask me questions that they might not ask with a parent in the house.  But when I presented them each with a box of Trojan value packs, they were nonchalant.  

“Thanks, grandma,” they said and stared at their phones. I asked if they had any questions. 

 “No.”  

I asked if they had ever seen one out of the wrapper.  

“No.”  

So, I did what I did with my son Ben decades ago. “Pay attention” I said and I got a banana from the kitchen, opened a condom, and rolled it down the banana to demonstrate.  That made them giggle.  I explained that I wasn’t encouraging them to have sex.  That I hoped they would wait as long as possible.  

“But when the time comes, I want you to be prepared,” I said.  “Okay, see you later,” they said.

Recently, I was spending an evening with my 12 year old grandson.  We were watching a horror movie, his favorite genre, when out of the blue, he asked, “Grandma, how old were you when you had dad?”

“18,” I said as a look of sheer terror spread over his face.  

“I knew you were young,” he said, “but I thought you were at least 20!”

And then he asked,  “How did that happen?!!!”

“Well,” I said, “you had that class in school about how babies are made, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, “but how did it happen?”

“Well,” I said, “did they teach you about birth control?  Things like condoms?”

“Dad told me about them,” he said and a surge of pride for my son Sam lit my face.  

“Didn’t use one,” I said, “that’s how it happened.”  

Bronson just shrugged and went back to watching the movie.  Maybe because it was a little less scary than this conversation.  

And I vow to continue my quest to make sure none of mine are as unprepared as I once was.