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My mother was helping me fold clothes into my suitcases when she started clearing her throat. So, you know, um, if there’s anything you want to ask me …”So imagine my surprise — after moving in with a gregarious Danish family in their big, rambling house on the outskirts of Copenhagen — when I observed that my younger Danish host brother, at age 15, had a girlfriend who would frequently eat dinner with us … My host mother, assuming (correctly) that most Americans are more puritanical than Danes about sex, and anxious not to tread on my own parents’ values, asked me the next day (somewhat belatedly) if she should give my mother a call. It wasn’t the first time I’d had sex, and yes, we were using protection.

In fact, thanks to the Danish healthcare system, I had already gone to a doctor in town and gotten a prescription for birth control pills, which I was able to fill at the local pharmacy free of charge.

My daughter and I never had “the talk” either, but not because I was afraid to talk to her about sex, or because I wanted to shelter her from the facts of life, or because I willfully pretended not to know that she had become sexually active.

Rather, I strived to create an ongoing sense of openness and trust between us.

I remember asking my parents, when I was about 10, where babies came from, and my parents fumbled through a faux-jokey response. He was actually an acquaintance of my host mother’s — she was a well-known amateur collector of fluorescent minerals, and he was a science geek who had met her at a talk she gave at the Danish Geological Museum — so it was natural for him to spend time with me in my host family’s home.

During that discussion, they awkwardly informed my younger brother and me about the basics, and dispelled some misconceptions (but I thought babies came out of the woman’s butt! And it was the only conversation we ever had about sex — until the night before I left for Denmark. And, you know, they’re a lot more open about, um, sex over there. One Friday night, after a late dinner, it seemed just as natural for him to spend the night rather than driving back home, which was at least a 30-minute commute.

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But she said nothing further about it, and we all had a nice week together before my parents flew home. I’m home for the summer after my first year in college. That is where they expect him to stay for the duration of his visit.

The first time I slept over at Peter’s house, we arrived so late his mom and dad were already asleep. ” She was so sweet and warm and matter-of-fact that I wanted to cry with joy.

We had a fun evening in his attic bedroom, but I was anxious when I woke up the next morning. I walked down the stairs with great trepidation, wondering if I should gather up my things and bolt. In fact, I think I may have hugged her, right then and there. The recent New York Times article “Sex in a Teenager’s Room?

My parents came to visit me in Denmark in the spring of my year abroad, staying in my host family’s house.

The first morning after their arrival, my mother came into my bedroom, just like she had always done when I was growing up, to wake me up.

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