I could see the light of teenage subterfuge in his eyes. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?” He looked insulted. I had a few seconds to respond in a way that kept him talking, but didn’t betray my real feelings of, “ Holy shit! Are you insane?”

My son told me he planned on engaging in his first sexual encounter, in public, in winter. More: My son had sex in the back of my minivan He said they planned to “do it on the beach at night,” because (romance isn’t dead) that’s where they met. They would pack a blanket and, because they wanted to be smart, a bunch of condoms. He told me they had already figured it all out. “So,” I said, “what are your plans?” Like a detective, I knew better than to say anything that would cause my son to hesitate telling his story.

It took me a few painful seconds to plaster a compassionate smile on my face and speak in a calm, collected tone. He looked a little scared, a little excited and a whole lot like my baby speaking a strange, foreign language that I couldn’t process. It was a cold winter afternoon in January, just after my oldest son’s 16th birthday, when he cornered me in the kitchen and said, “I think my girlfriend and I are going to have sex.