Dad comes into my room holding a zucchini and a small black plastic bag. “We need to talk.”
Uh-oh.
“You’re starting high school, and that means you’re growing up. A lot of things are changing, including your body.” He reaches into the bag and pulls out a box of condoms.
“No,” I declare. “Dad, no. It’s fine.” I went through puberty like two years ago and had to sit through him talking at me about sperm and eggs. I shudder at the memory. “I know all about the birds and the bees already, remember?”
But he forges on. “In my day, we learned this stuff in school, but that’s not going to happen under an abstinence-only curriculum.”
“Dad.”
“Abstinence is still the most important thing,” he reminds me. “As Christians, our faith dictates that sexual activity must be reserved for marriage.” He tips his chin down, giving me a pointed stare.
I toss him a double thumbs-up. “No sex before marriage. Got it. Are we done now?”
Dad nods. “Good. But your body is capable of it now, so there are things you should know.” He holds up the zucchini.
“Ew, Dad. No. It’s fine. I’ll wait. I promise.”
“This is awkward for both of us.” He hands me the zucchini and opens the box of condoms.
“Dad. What would Pastor Carle say?” My last-ditch effort to stop what’s about to happen, though thinking of Pastor Carle in this context activates my gag reflex.
“Your mother and I believe that information is power.” He holds up one square foil pouch. “Do you know what this is?”
“It’s a condom, duh. I wasn’t born yesterday. If I take a vow of eternal chastity, can we be done now?”
Dad laughs. “That’s easy to say right now. But someday you’ll meet a girl who lights things up for you, and it won’t be so academic.”
These are the moments. It’s like the pitch is tossed and all I’d have to do is step to the plate with “or a boy” and the truth would be out there. Instead it sails past me, right into the glove. Strike.
“I’m not in a rush.”
“Good,” Dad says. “Girls complicate everything. You’ll see.”
Strike two.
“Okay, tear it open carefully,” he instructs. He holds the zucchini steady and talks me through pinching the condom tip, rolling it down, and sliding it back off. I’m supposed to be picturing doing this on myself, but instead I’m picturing doing it on someone else. A series of snapshots flows through my mind. Hot young celebrities with sultry expressions, all aimed at me, maybe lifting the corner of their shirts to reveal their perfect abs.
“Good,” Dad says, ruining the fantasy. He’s sitting right there. So gross.
“I thought married people didn’t have to use condoms,” I say. “Isn’t that the point?” Meanwhile, I’m thinking: Does the waiting until marriage rule apply if you’re already sinning?
“It’s more complicated sometimes,” Dad says.
“But, mainly they’re useful for people who don’t wait.”
“Abstinence is a choice, and it takes effort. I want you to be safe.” Dad sighs. “Not everyone succeeds at it. You haven’t gotten really into girls yet, but when you do, all this talk will make sense.” He claps my shoulder.
Strike three. I’m out.
“What doesn’t make sense is to wait until you’re about to get married to talk about protection. Even though we want to emphasize that we believe in you, Kermit. We believe you won’t abuse this knowledge. And knowing is nothing to be ashamed of.”
Dad stands up. “Trust me, Kermit. Girls can be real temptresses, Garden of Eden style. You can’t expect them to fully know what they want, or to fully understand the consequences of sex. You have to be the strong and levelheaded one.”
“Dad!” Sheila shouts, bursting into the room. “Don’t tell him that. That’s such toxic masculinity.”
Ew. She’s been listening? That’s extra mortifying.
“Hey,” Dad says, holding up his hands. “I was a teen boy once, okay? There are some girls who throw themselves at you, as if they don’t have a care in the world.”
“Ew,” Sheila and I say in unison. No one wants to imagine Dad as a sex object.
Sheila crosses her arms. “I think your work here is done,” she says. “Kerm is gonna be fine.” When Dad doesn’t immediately leave, she grabs him and drags him out the door.
“God,” she says, leaning her back against the door. “I’m so sorry.”
“You got the condom talk, too?”
“Oh, you’re not even done. You’ll get Mom’s version next.”
“Better or worse?”
Sheila grins. “Nah. I’m not gonna ruin it for you. Where’s the fun in that?”
“So helpful. Thanks.” I toss a pillow at her head.
She tosses it back.
We stare at the used zucchini. “Bet you didn’t consent to this abuse,” I say to it.
Sheila snickers. “Nonsense.” She affects the high-pitched voice of the zucchini. “I like rubber hugs.”
We laugh till we ache.