Surviving Grandma’s Sex Talk

Grandma Janette and Me

Many family moments from my childhood helped shape who I am, but some conversations stand out more than others. Among the most memorable was a talk with my Grandma Janette, a woman whose honest advice and simple wisdom always left a lasting impression on me. On numerous leisurely afternoons, we would sit across from each other in her warm, inviting living room, enjoying her delicious homemade treats as she reminisced about barn dances, playful times with her brothers and sisters, and the rhythms of farm life. Her soothing tone and heartfelt guidance not only held my attention but also nurtured a profound appreciation and clarity that stays with me to this day. Those talks were far more than mere words exchanged; they were invaluable lessons about life’s simple realities and created a lasting connection between us that continues to inspire me well beyond her lifetime.

At the age of twelve, my grandmother decided it was time to have "the talk" with me, a moment that immediately overwhelmed me with discomfort and shame. As she began discussing subjects I barely grasped, all I wanted was to disappear beneath the table, plugging my ears to shut out the unsettling new information. The clash between her serious demeanor and my childish humiliation created a bizarre experience where I was both deeply puzzled and oddly intrigued. Although I can't recall every detail precisely, I will do my best to reconstruct Grandma Janette's notorious sex talk.

We sat around the Formica kitchen table in her 1950s ranch-style house when Grandma faced me and said, "I believe it's time you understand how having sex relates to becoming pregnant."

My mouth dropped open, and I let out a sharp gasp. A flush of heat surged from my chest to my pale cheeks as I vigorously shook my head, insisting, "No."

Ignoring my clear discomfort, Grandma pressed on. "When I was a young parent, there weren’t many options for birth control." Noticing the confused expression on my face, she quickly realized I didn’t know what contraception meant, so she explained it in straightforward terms, "Contraception is a way to have sex but avoid pregnancy." I wish I could share more of her wisdom, but my ears were buzzing, and I escaped into the safety of my imagination as she spoke. By the time I returned to the present, I found Grandma describing the first method of contraception she tried: the rhythm method.

"Once your uncle Gus was born," Grandma confided, "Grandpa and I agreed we needed to take things slower. We already had four children born close together and our finances were tight. So, I spoke with our priest, who suggested the rhythm method. It was a ridiculous plan where I marked my periods on a calendar, avoiding sex during certain days. Despite our efforts, life had other ideas, and Dan arrived."

Sitting opposite Grandma, I blinked slowly, my face heating with a mix of shock and embarrassment. Without a doubt, this was the most uncomfortable "sex talk" any preteen could endure. The room seemed to close in, every word ringing louder in my ears, my heart pounding as I desperately wished – yet again – that this conversation would end before I died of shame.

Unfazed by my unease, Grandma, speaking with an unexpectedly straightforward tone, continued her story. "After Dan was born, I went to my best friend, who suggested I try douching with vinegar and water. She said it would not only keep my uterus clean but also prevent pregnancy. I tried it after every time we had sex, but it left me sore, so I had to stop after a few months. Before long, I found out I was pregnant with Pat."

While Grandma’s sex talk dragged on, filled with puzzling methods and seemingly endless details, my patience wore thin. I silently questioned whether it could possibly get any more awkward. Each time she launched into another colorful story ending with an unexpected pregnancy, I gripped my tin water cup tighter, my thoughts wandering to the comforting idea of home.

As I battled the impulse to bang my head against the table, Grandma leaned back in her chair and continued talking without pause. "By that point, since I couldn’t think of anyone else to consult, we chose to try condoms. Grandpa wasn’t very fond of wearing them, so occasionally we skipped them. That’s how I ended up pregnant with Peggy."

Oh, dear God above, would she ever cease tormenting me with these disgusting, detailed stories? The last thing I wanted was to imagine my grandma and grandpa having sex, especially while using all these unsettling methods to avoid pregnancy. Slowly, I began to see why Father Power insisted that sex was sinful and should be avoided!

To my complete dismay, there was even more. "After having Peggy, I went to my doctor asking for advice. He recommended a diaphragm – such a messy, awful contraption. I despised using it, so it wasn’t a shock when I got pregnant with Mike."

By this stage, I felt an overwhelming urge to leap from my chair and flee, but instead, I crossed my arms tightly over my chest and began gently rocking back and forth. Exhausted, bewildered, horrified, and utterly fed up with this conversation, I wondered if promising never to even consider sex would make Grandma stop talking. Yet, when she cleared her throat to carry on, I lowered my head in resignation.

After taking a sip of water and clearing her throat, Grandma finally brought this dreadful discussion about sex to a close. "We had no other alternatives after trying the diaphragm, so we alternated between that and condoms. I had hoped for a better outcome, but then your aunt Joyce was born, and that was the end of it!"

Her words appeared to signal a clear end to the discussion, which made me glance up, a spark of hope kindling within me. Grandma remarked, "I guess I'm trying to say you come from fertile people. If you don't want babies, don't have sex!" 

Caught off guard by Grandma's bluntness, I sat quietly for a moment, trying to make sense of the blend of embarrassment, curiosity, and confusion swirling through my thoughts. Her straightforwardness, unlike the usual cautious conversations I was familiar with, seemed to open a realm I hadn't even thought about before. I found myself torn between wanting to ask questions but fearing her answers. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken feelings, yet underneath it all, I sensed that Grandma hoped I would acknowledge her message and move on. So that’s exactly what I did. "Thanks, Grandma," I declared, "that really makes sense, so I definitely won't have sex with anyone."

A gentle smile appeared on Grandma’s face, her eyes sparkling in a way that eased the tension between us. “That’s good,” she said warmly. “Just keep in mind that life rarely goes as planned, so use your head to make the best choices for yourself.”

I acknowledged her words with a nod, though my mind was still clouded with confusion. The discomfort of the conversation hovered in the air, yet a small seed of comprehension started to take root. Grandma’s tales might have been uneasy to hear, but they were genuine, filled with authentic struggles and valuable lessons.

As I prepared to leave, I turned back to her and offered a smile. “Thanks for telling me everything, Grandma, even the strange parts.”

With a wink, she replied, “Anytime, Tara. Life is chaotic, but that’s where the best stories come from.”

Grandma’s brash “sex talk” had certainly caught me off guard with her candid, no-holds-barred stories and blunt advice that was unlike anything I’d heard before. Feeling embarrassed and confused, I didn't tell my friends or even close family about our talk. It was only in adulthood that I gained a more objective perspective on her willingness to communicate openly, and came to appreciate her candour in a society often characterised by stigma and misunderstanding surrounding topics such as sex. Her confident approach to discussing sensitive issues inspired me to engage with such subjects thoughtfully and honestly, though I chose not to repeat her precise words when I had “the talk” with my own children.